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A few years ago, after a long drought, I decided to venture back into the dating world. At the encouragement of friends and family, I joined a popular dating site, hopeful at the promise in finding the potential love of my life. One of my first dates ended up being #MyWorstDate ever.
After a few weeks of communication, we had agreed to meet at a local bar. It was a place I had formerly worked, although he didn't know that; It was a place I was comfortable. I arrived on time promptly at 8:00 PM. First sign of trouble, he was 45 minutes late. Most girls would have left, but as a single, working mother, I don't get to go out much, and I was NOT about to waste the effort I had put into looking good that night. No, I would stay and attempt to salvage the night. No matter what.
When he arrived, he walked straight towards me, casually sat down, folded his arms, and stared right at my breasts. Without any eye contact his first words were "Nice titty balls." These were the chosen first words the "potential love of my life" spoke to me. “Nice titty balls”? What does that even mean? Is it a joke? I pictured myself as an old woman telling her grandchildren, “Oh kids, it was wonderful. As soon as he said 'nice titty balls,' I just knew he was the one.”
The server had impeccable timing and came by to grab his drink order immediately after, saving me from my speechlessness. Once he left, I made an attempt at normal conversation. I asked general questions: What do you do? Where are you from originally? Do you like pool? We spoke about the fact that we both had children, our jobs, and the conversation trailed off. His eyes might have made contact with mine three times. Nothing about this guy was normal. I began to see the risks involved in online dating.
Frustrated, I said, "It would be nice if you would actually look at me." This prompted a traded lecture from him about “women these days,” and how women are always telling him to be respectful and he can look where he damn well pleases. He went into a speech that people often ask him as the father of a little girl, would he want someone to treat his daughter that way? Something I was wondering about him myself. He felt this was completely irrelevant to him and he just couldn't understand it.
I attempted to end the date right here. “I’m sorry, this isn’t working. Feel free to leave. I am going to go play some pool," I said, as I went off to grab a free pool table. I linked up with another group of people, and began to play. (Like I said, I was determined to salvage my night, no matter what.) He followed me.
"Come hell or high water, I am going to have a good time tonight," I thought. Even if my only reasons for doing so was the fact that it was something I rarely got to do, and I had paid the sitter.
Throughout the entire game he lamented about the fact that he hates pool. He was bad at the game, disgruntled, and began insulting those around us. I once again told him to go ahead and leave if he was having such a bad time.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said. "I have news for you. You're not that hot."
This confused me and I gave an inquisitive look.
"You're one of those girls that thinks they are so hot that guys will just bend to them. Well, you're not. You're not that hot," he said cockily, leaning up against the wall with his pool cue. "And your little tricks won’t work on me.” He got a little more cocky and tried to get our server, and the guys around us to join in with him as he insulted me.
I may have not had a date in a while, but the last time I checked, dates were supposed to be fun. Your date was definitely NOT supposed to insult you.
"I'm going to make this easy," I stated. "I will leave." As soon as I got to my things, he decided he would leave with me. Now, I was in a conundrum. These are the thoughts that entered my mind: “If we leave at the same time, who knows what this crazy man will do.” “Will he follow me home?” Torn, I tried to decide the best course of action. Leave, and put myself at risk possibly, or stay, and hope he gets bored and leaves first? I chose to stay, and hoped that he would leave. (Wrong choice.) I paid my tab, told him "the date was over, we clearly do not get along," said goodbye, and made my way over to the group I had joined earlier to play pool. I was going to wait him out.
He chose to stay, of course, and sat at the bar. The next hour went by OK. He sat at the bar drinking, every now and then pointing me out to someone sitting next to him and trashing me. Our previous server brought me a couple of drinks, one on the house he said, thinking I must need it after dealing with that guy, and one from my so called date, which I refused. I was keeping to myself. He was being so insulting that a couple of people even came up to me and apologized on his behalf.
Finally, after what felt like forever, my waiting him out strategy appeared to have worked when I heard him loudly ask for his tab. "Awesome!" I thought. "Then I can leave!!" I was looking forward to ending this night and could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Then, all hell broke loose.
An abruption of chaos rang out from the bar. Someone was screaming, cursing and throwing things. I was not surprised to see my "date" screaming at the bartender, face red with anger. "You bitch!" he screamed, pointing at me. "Get the f*ck over here! NOW!" He came towering towards me as I made a beeline for my things. He sat down on my coat and thrust his receipt into my hands. On it was over $100 worth of whiskey and beer. "Look at it!" he demanded. "You better have some way to pay for all of this!" I got a quick glance at the ticket, but know that none of the drinks were mine, with exception to the cranberry vodka he had sent over to me.
"I didn't drink over $100 worth of drinks by myself," he half said, half shouted. "There were two of us on this date."
"Get off my coat," I said. "I am not putting up with this."
"Just look at it!" he said and once again thrust it in my face. I tried to grab it, but he took it, crumpled it up, and threw it to the floor. "Pick it up, bitch," he said. "You're paying it," and he crossed his arms defiantly.
Upset and panicked, I tried to pull my coat and purse away from him, and he shoved me, laughing. His laughter at me quickly quieted down as the bouncer and owner of the bar appeared on either side of him. "What's the problem?" the manager asked, prompting my "date" to go off on my multiple indiscretions that night. The bouncer, a large man who looked eerily like The Rock, asked for him to let me get my things. When he refused, the Bouncer/The Rock, grabbed him by both arms and physically removed him from the chair. The manager continued discussing the problem with him in an attempt to distract him as The Rock escorted me out of the bar.
I ran to my car, and once safe inside, I sobbed. I was upset that my one night out was ruined, and that I had made the stupid decision to wait him out. As I waited for my car to warm up, scolding myself for my bad decisions, my date came banging onto the hood of my car. Startled, I just started at him. He was sobbing, "You need to drive me home. I'm drunk. You can't just leave me here. I have no way to get home. Don't leave me here, you stupid bitch!" I quickly threw my car into reverse and took off.
The next day, still in disbelief over the events of the night before, I got a text message:
Hey girl! I'd love to see you again! I feel we had a major connection! When can I see you again?
To this date, a year or so later, I am baffled at the fact that he felt there was a connection. If that is what passes for a connection, I’d hate to see what some of his worst dates are! No, there was no connection. And, I would seriously question myself if I had felt any attraction to him at all. Meeting him has completely turned me off of online dating. I will stick to the old fashion way. The only good thing that has come out of this, is the story. I am now the proud owner of the nickname “t-balls,” and have something to laugh about.