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Of Little Monsters and "Men"

When the turkey sandwiches just aren't worth it anymore...

By Angela Nicole ChuPublished 6 years ago 8 min read
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A first date always brings with it a plethora of emotions. Excitement. Nervousness. Ecstaticism. Dread. But more than all, a first date brings with it a sense of change.

In July 2012, I was ready for that change. I had been out of my previous relationship for seven months, and I was ready to slip back into the dating scene. I was aimlessly scrolling through Facebook when Scott slid into my DMs.

I had known Scott for around two years. He was decent looking. Very tall and thin. Funny. He often stopped by my store in the mall and said hello while I was at work. But there was always something about him that was off-putting, which had always deterred me from seeking out a relationship with him. Scott had asked me on a date around a year prior, but I was not single and had to decline.

This time, I accepted, figuring it wouldn't hurt to give the guy a chance.

We made plans to meet the next day for lunch at Panera Bread. I wanted to get a chance to feel him out and to try to pinpoint what hesitations I had with Scott and how to overcome them. I picked out a cute outfit, shaved my legs, and prepared for the following day.

Scott arrived at the Panera Bread shortly after I did and greeted me with a warm hug. So far, so good. I ordered a turkey sandwich and some chips, and he quickly offered to pay for my meal. We chose a sunny table beside the window to eat our meal.

One of the first things I noticed was that Scott had a giant tattoo of the Avatar logo that took up his entire left forearm. Avatar, as in the movie with the blue people. As the owner of several unique tattoos, including a Pikachu, Incubus lyrics, and a 30 Seconds To Mars triad, I am not one to judge someone by their tattoo choices, but Scott noticed me staring and asked if I liked Avatar.

I was honest and told him that I had yet to see the movie, and he was horrified. Scott spent the next five minutes rambling about how awesome of a movie Avatar is and why I needed to see it as soon as possible. I laughed and told him I would take his word for it and check it out. He asked about my favourite movies, and I told him about my love of Kevin Smith films. Scott kept repeating, “Oh no, Avatar is MUCH better,” which was a bit annoying. But I let it go.

I told him I was more of a music person than a movie person, and I asked if we could talk music instead. My connections with most people are forged over a love of music. I don’t bond with people based on their age, race, religion, political orientation, or anything else. I bond with them over music.

Concerts are my happy place. I have experienced more spiritual moments—heart-wrenching, tear-inducing, soul-uplifting spiritual moments—at concerts than I ever have anywhere else. I experience frisson on a daily basis while listening to music. I don’t like to be in a quiet room unless I can turn on some music. I knew that the make-it or break-it for Scott and I would be over whether we could bond over music.

The latter occurred.

Scott asked me what genre of music I preferred, and I told him that I enjoyed a little bit of everything, but that late 90s to mid-2000s alternative rock was my sweet spot. I elaborated by telling him that Incubus and 30 Seconds To Mars were my favourite bands, with Chevelle, Shinedown, and Trapt close behind.

Scott laughed obnoxiously, declaring loudly, “Those are pussy bands!”

I was shocked. And angry. But mostly shocked. “Well, what sort of music do you like?” I scoffed, checking my iPhone for the first time since the date began. I had to head to work post-date, so now I was counting down the minutes.

Thirty-five minutes to go.

“Mother is the only music we need.”

I looked at Scott curiously. “I’ve never heard of ‘Mother’,” I told him.

“Lady Gaga,” Scott explained. “She is my mother.”

Born in 1986, Lady Gaga is a mere four years older than Scott and I. This man was crazy.

Scott continued to speak of Lady Gaga for the next ten minutes, his eyes wide and manic. He told me Lady Gaga’s life story and used points of Gaga’s history to illustrate why she was a far better artist than any of my “pussy bands.” Before long, I expected Scott to start reciting her social security number by heart or to produce her tax returns out from his backpack. Scott refused to call her anything other than “Mother,” which made the entire experience even more cringeworthy.

A turkey sandwich was not worth all of this.

Twenty minutes to go.

Finally, he looked at me and asked if I agreed with everything he had just said.

“I mean, you’ve said a lot,” I told him, feeling overwhelmed and like I needed to lock myself in a quiet room for a very long time.

“But don’t you agree that she is the greatest musician of all time?” he pursued, looking at me with eyes as big as full moons as he continued egging me on to adopt Lady Gaga as my new mother, too.

“No.”

Scott’s face fell.

“I mean, I think she’s a great artist, and I love what she’s done to represent the less-privileged in society,” I told Scott honestly. “She’s definitely used her platform well. But her music doesn’t really do anything for me, and she tries too hard with her outfits.”

Scott’s face now looked like a constipated old man, his skin reddened behind his freckles. “How dare you?” he finally said. “You’re probably one of those people who thinks that Ke$ha is a good artist!”

“Actually, yeah. I have all of Ke$ha’s albums. I like her music a lot more than your mother’s.”

I was hoping that would be the conclusion of the date and that Scott would leave to go touch himself in his car while sobbing in wonder over how someone could be so critical of Lady Gaga. But instead, he launched into another rant about Lady Gaga’s superiority and why Ke$ha was a whore.

Fifteen minutes to go.

“You know,” I said, starting to gather my trash. “This has all been great, Scott, but I’m going to have to run. I need to stop by the post office before I start my shift at work. Sorry that I didn’t mention this sooner.”

The intensity fell from Scott’s face, and he pouted a little. “Awww, do you really have to go so soon?” he whined. “We were just getting started!”

I couldn’t bear to think of what life would be like with this man. Rage-inducing. Nervewracking. A good way to sign yourself up for 25-to-life. “Yeah, I’ve gotta run,” I told him, “but thank you so much for lunch!”

“Anytime!” Scott replied, his trademark large grin sweeping across his face. He stood up as well and helped me clean off the table.

As I began to walk away, he opened his arms for a hug. This man had bought me an overpriced $8.00 lunch, so I figured I could at least give him a final hug goodbye. The hug went on for far too long, and eventually I backed away. “Well,” I said, a fake smile plastered to my face. “See ya around!”

“Wait!” Scott said, continuing to grin at me, his hands now placed cockily on his hips in self-perceived victory. “Don’t I get a goodbye kiss?”

“I don’t kiss on the first date,” I lied.

“Awww, you’re no fun!” he whined, his smile fading slightly. “I’m even going to break up with my girlfriend when I get home and everything!”

What?

“What?”

Scott smiled sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t want to break up with her in advance in case our date didn’t go well,” he explained, “so we’re technically still together. But you’re a much better match for me than she is, so I’ll break up with her when I get home, and then we can be Facebook official! And we can listen to Mother together! You know. To show you to way.”

I laughed to myself. “Goodbye, Scott,” I told him, and then swiftly started to walk to my car, my blood boiling in harmony for myself, for Scott’s poor girlfriend, and for Lady Gaga, too.

“Is that a yes?!” Scott called out, still standing on the sidewalk, but I didn’t turn back around.

Instead, I got into my car, rolled down all of my windows, and began to blare Incubus’s “Nice To Know You” as I sped past Scott, hoping that he would get the hint. He was swiftly unfriended after I got home, and luckily he did not come back into my store after that day.

Later that year, Scott began dating a fourteen-year-old girl (we were both twenty-two-years-old at the time). So not only was he psychotic, but he was a pedophile, too.

#MyWorstDate

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About the Creator

Angela Nicole Chu

27. ENFP-A. Bestselling author and journalist. ESL teacher. Dancer. Left-Leaning Centrist.

💚Stay trippy, young hippie💚

Follow me on Twitter and Instagram @TheAngieChu!

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