A couple weeks ago, I experienced what can only be described as one of the worst dates I have ever been on. Now, to be fair, I'm sure there have been worse dates than this one... This just happend to be my own personal seventh circle of dating hell. So I now present for your reading pleasure, an account of my date with the guy I now affectionately refer to as Ironed Pants Guy (IPG).
I met IPG on match.com. I rarely meet guys whom I feel a real connection with from this site, but they're usually nice enough, and I continue to use the site because I feel like I need to keep making an effort to date, however much I may hate it. Anyway... IPG guy and I started emailing and he seemed nice enough. Well travelled, well spoken, and he had a good job as an engineer- which honestly, that should have been my first clue. He asked me out for dinner and I accepted, and we exchanged numbers for setting plans. When the day of the date rolled around, I had something come up at work and I had to text IPG and let him know that I wasn't sure I could make our date, and if I could it would need to be closer to my work rather than the hour long drive we had planned on. Now, allow me to preface: I understand that this may have come across as rude, insensitive or even flaky. But the bottom line is, I notified him as soon as I could and offered to reschedule if the uncertainty in plans didn't gel with his day. After that text, I recieved a voicemail. Following are actual quotes from that voicemail. I will paraphrase for your benifit reader, because the actual voicemail was a minute and a half long. A MINUTE AND A HALF.
- "I got your text... I did kind of get...get...get a bunch of stuff, bought a nice outfit, ironed it"
- "sounds like it's a pretty serious matter, so I guess I understand "
- "sure I guess we could end up rescheduling... I don't have a lot of time, I travel a lot so I try to make the best of my time so I guess I was a little bit frustrated"
- "I don't know what you want me to say... I guess we could look into rescheduling"
Needless to say, it was obvious that IPG (the origins of the moniker should now be obvious to you) was not happy with my text message. I was incredibly put off by the tones of the voicemail, to the point where I almost cancelled the date all together. But, my co-worker admonished me that perhaps IPG was just sensitive and he thought I was flaking on him, so I decided to go on the date anyway. Never again will I ingore the inner voice that tells me "don't do it, this is gonna be bad!!" Never. Again.
Because the date was, of course, real bad. It started off ok, IPG actually apologized for the voicemail and seemed nice enough. Then the menu arrived. It took him 5 whole minutes just to order a drink because he grilled the waitor on the type of whiskey used in each of the whiskey drinks on the menu... Which was like seven btw. When we did converse, it was stilted and awkward. The best way to describe his intonation and mannerisms of speech would be for me speculate that he might fall somewhere on the spectrum. I apologize if this causes offense, it's just the most accurate description I can provide.
Then came the jokes. Or should I say "jokes." Just a quick sample- when I told him that I didn't eat seafood because I was around it too much at work, he joked that it made sense because he didn't eat robots. Nope, that was actually the joke. Even better, he cracked himself up so hard with that one that he couldn't remember what he had been saying before he made it. Ugh.
The pièce de rèsistance however was the actuall dinner. He took an impossibly long time to decide on the burger.... Then proceeded to get everything that actually came with it taken off, and added a bunch of other stuff. When the burger arrived, it had red onions on the side, which caused great offense because IPG hates onions. Like a lot. Then the bun had aioli on it. Big mistake. IPG decided that not only was that unacceptable, he needed to cut the bun in half to stop the offending aioli from having the opportunity to ruin his burger. I watched all this in a sort of fascinated horror... I mean, he cut the burger bun IN HALF. And then he ordered dessert... Insert head smack here.
In the end, the date ended with an awkward t-Rex arms style hug and me beating tail to my car. But, do not dispair dear reader, for the really bad date only makes me appreciate even more the unicorn that is The Really Good Date. More on that next week😊
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