My Worst Date

To pinpoint a singular moment in which I can call my "worst date ever" is an arduous task, as I am an exceptionally awkward person, and subsequently, I’ve had numerous bad dates. However, for the sake of this competition, I’ll disclose my most well-received anecdote.

Backpedal 2 years ago to spring semester of my junior year of college. Ah, what a simpler time—where my biggest concern was making sure I had a grav-bong packed and ready for use by the time I got back from my evening classes. However, amidst of all my pseudo-responsibilities, I was burdened with the endeavor of finding a date for my fraternity's spring formal. If there was one occasion that encapsulated the tomfoolery that took place during fraternal events, it would be spring formal. Nice weather, lack of supervision, and an unhealthy amount of drugs and sex. A perfect combination to celebrate the true sense of brotherhood. Needless to say, the anticipation surrounding this weekend was high, and I had to make sure whomever I brought as my date was just as ready to take on spring formal as I was.

After a two-week voyage of prospect scouting, in addition to some much-needed help from my biology lab partner, I was able to find a date. This girl was an absolute dime. Stunning beauty, a killer personality, and on top of that—an accomplished athlete. It all seemed too good to be true, and well, it was. The unavoidable pitfall was that she and her boyfriend broke up just a few days earlier. This makes up for some baggage I did not want to deal with. To make matters worse, her newly ex-boyfriend was an A-grade Ryan Gosling doppelganger. Since I waited last minute to find a date, my options were:

1. Back out and go to formal solo
2. Bring this incredible girl who may be handicapped by emotional stress

Safe to say I was in a catch-22. However, the thought of rolling up to formal date-less seemed criminal so I decided to stick with the latter.

Day 1

After a successful car-ride down the shore (where our formal took place), things were looking up. I was maintaining great conversation with my date and was even casually throwing in some flirtatious jokes. To keep the good vibes afloat, we decided to take a stroll down the boardwalk. We were about twenty minutes into our walk, and a few Mike's Hards deep, when the worst possible scenario unfolded. There he was, her ex-boyfriend, 10 yards away, walking belligerently towards my overly good-looking date and me. Though crestfallen, I was oddly excited to witness the drama that was about to take place in front of me. Alcohol and strong emotions don't mix well, and this brutal interaction can attest to that. A fiery blend of tears and verbal abuse slowly transformed into a physical altercation between the distraught ex-lovers, and there I was, stuck in the middle of it all. Before I was able to even slightly process this internal conflict, I was tossed into the arena like a piece of dog meat. My date was hoping I would defend her honor like the brave alpha male my persona may have given off, but Jesus this guy was built like a diesel truck. There was no shot I was going to risk my fragile wellbeing for a girl I just met. After a lengthy five minutes of back-and-forth jabs, her ex-boyfriend's crew stormed into the scene and held their fearless leader back, eventually walking the other way. These guys resembled a pack of wolves and embodied the term "douchery" in every essence imaginable. At first, I was relieved that things have subsided, but little did I know this quarrel would pave way for some serious tension between my date and me. Fueled by emotion, she really laid into me the fact that I did a poor job of protecting her from the instances that occurred, and as one would expect, the rest of the night was a complete bust.

Day 2

The next morning I knew I had to redeem myself in one way or another. A bunch of other people decided to get breakfast at this well-acclaimed diner, so I thought a couple laughs over some grub would be a great way to kick off the day. My date ordered a colossal stack of chocolate chip pancakes saturated in Aunt Jemima's, and I played it safe with the two egg special. A day-ending stomachache was the last thing I needed after last night's antics. Anyways, breakfast was delicious and the hostility between us seemed to be receding. The beginning of our day was going so smooth that my date wanted me to feed her a bite of my eggs. Needless to say, I was on the verge of climax. One bite of my eggs evolved into her indulging in 3/4ths of my dish, but I was completely fine with it, taking into consideration the positive direction our day was heading in.

Things didn't stay promising for too long, as the plot thickened in what felt like 30 seconds later. My date's complexion began to look flushed, which further developed into a frightful rash all over her face. Ridden with anxiety, my date rushed over to a waiter, and inquired about the ingredients of the two dishes she ate (her's and mine). It turns out she has a serious coconut allergy, and much to her surprise, the eggs that I ordered were cooked in coconut oil. The secondhand embarrassment I felt grew stronger, as this girl straight up looked like a ripened tomato. Paramedics swiftly arrived at the scene and prepared to take her away to the hospital. I asked her if she wanted me to come with her, but she strongly insisted I don't, since her parents would be meeting her there. That moment in time was the last I saw of my formal date, capping off what seemed to be my worst experience with a girl, and probably even more so, her worst weekend ever. At the very least, this story is one for the books.