My Worst Date Ever

It was my sophomore year of college and I wasn’t exactly looking for a relationship. I had been single since my junior year of high school and enjoyed the single life. Unfortunately, many of my friends were in long-term relationships and didn’t share my lifestyle views. They were constantly preaching the virtues and happiness to be found in relationships and were always trying to set me up with girls that were “perfect for me.”

I deflected these suggestions often, but I was swayed a few times to at least meet the girl in question; Facebook and Instagram profiles playing a large role in my decision. Most of the time, these set-ups ended curtly, with no bad blood and led to relatively insignificant contact afterwards. However, there was one case that differed from the norm. My friend Mike and his girlfriend Danielle were trying to set me up with a friend they had in one their classes (yes, they even took most of their classes together).

Her name was Carly and she was “pretty” and “very much my type,” even though I really don’t have a “type.” I looked her up on Facebook and she was very pretty, so I decided to agree to their proposal. They convinced me to Facebook message her, creepy I know, but I was assured it wasn’t and she was friends with Mike and Danielle, so it should be fine, right? Wrong. Oh, so wrong. Apparently, they had used the term “friend” aggressively, as in, they had never spoken to this girl before. They merely saw her in class every week and heard her give some presentations and thought it would be a “good fit.” So now I am a creepy stalker, good first impression, I know. She responded as any person should, with an awkward “Uh hi, do I know you?”

Thankfully, I am very clever, well, somewhat clever and I was able to turn it around enough where she wasn’t thinking of me as a creepy stalker. I made a few jokes, she replied with a few quips and suddenly we had been talking for over an hour. I thought it would be a good idea to ask her out and she thought so as well. We were all set for the upcoming Saturday. I didn't know much about this girl's interests or likes, but I was determined to plan a fun evening. I thought dinner and a movie was as safe a bet as any. Saturday arrives and I have to admit, I'm pretty nervous. This girl got cuter every day that passed and we had been consistently talking for the entire week.

I got dressed up in some nice blue khakis, my coolest shoes, and an ironed button down shirt (well mostly, I swear it is impossible to fully iron something; if anyone can 100 percent iron something, they practice witchcraft, yeah, I'm looking at you mom). I was feeling pretty good about the night to come. That was the last moment I felt that.

So I ask her if she's ready for me to pick her up and she responds with a cheerful "Ready when you are!" So I drive to her house and text her I have arrived. She quickly replies, "Coming down now!" Perfect, great start to the night, she seems excited and is ready to go, right? Wrong. I went and knocked on her front door, her roommate answered and said she would be down in a few minutes. So I sat down in their makeshift living room and waited. I don't mind waiting a few extra minutes for someone, it is common courtesy. However, it is also common courtesy to not let people think you are ready and then even say you're coming, and then don't. Let me just say, you don't realize how long 29 minutes is until you are waiting for someone else who told you they were ready to go. I didn't mean to count, but I remembered what time I arrived, and after 15 minutes of sitting in that room I was thinking of anything that could occupy my mind.

Finally, she came down and we head to the restaurant. The beginning of the end, from what I remember. I never understand why people are rude to waiters and waitresses for no reason. If they stink, you can complain once or tip a little less, but to constantly berate them? There really is no need for that.

Turns out Carly was one of those people I do not understand. Nothing was right for her. Her salad had brown lettuce leaves (they didn't), her chicken was undercooked (it wasn't), her diet Coke was flat (nope), our waiter was avoiding her (this one may have been true, but I can't really blame the guy).

What's worse, Carly had little to no personality. She was responding to every question and story I had with one word responses. She was a living, breathing angry text. Everything was "haha nice" or "no way" or "yes." She didn't really deviate from that script much. It was an incredibly long hour and 15 minutes and we still had a movie to go to, woohoo.

So we get to the movie; she had mentioned before we went out that she enjoyed horror movies. I decided Get Out would be a perfect choice to end the night, it had just been released and was getting great reviews. If I were able to watch it normally, I probably would have been a huge fan. Unfortunately, Carly was (and probably still is) a dreaded movie-talker/screamer.

Every scary moment, and a lot of non-scary moments, were met with yells, shrieks and constant talking. This constant talking was not only annoying, but it was a lot louder than she thought it was. During the quieter moments of the film, her voice carried to at least one-third of the movie theater. I could feel the annoyed glares of around 30 people every time Carly decided to give me her latest critique/theory/observation.

The movie finally ended and I dropped her off at her house. She told me she had fun, but expected to be taken to a nicer restaurant next time if I was going to take her out again. Yeah, probably not.