A Dork in the Dark

Submitted by S.M.A.:

I meet this guy on an online dating site when I'm a freshman in college and he insists that we shlep into NYC for our first date.

"I'll pick you up, and then we can drive into the city to one of my favorite restaurants."

Each word feels like another drop on the blind, first date waterboard. Doesn't this boy follow the unwritten code?

Subsection A:
You meet at a place. Having to converse on the way there and back requires wasting precious topics that work even when you can't stand the person.

Subsection B:
First date establishments need not supply more than tea bags and coffee grinds.

I suggest a Starbucks, but he insists. I hate him already.

So he picks me up, steps out of the car, and I almost make a beeline back to my apartment.

He is wearing a tight Armani Exchange t-shirt with a big AX on the front.

A really tight one.

His hair is gelled. Into spikes.

And his jeans are tight.

I swallow the vomit that has just entered my mouth, get into the car, and he tells me that we're going pass through his neighborhood on our way into the city.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up to his house and stop. He turns to me and says, "That window over there is my room. My parents aren't home. Want to check it out?"

I literally give a "Hee-hee" followed by a "No thanks."

What's worse: the chutzpah to ask me that or the pride that his parents weren't home? I felt like a star in a health class video.

He turns the car back on, and we head into the Lincoln Tunnel. Against the backdrop of the fleeting silver tiles, he informs me that his ex dumped him because HE SLAPPED HER.

Refer back to Subsection A and tell me that you don't want to make it your campaign platform. So now I'm turned-off from the clothes, pissed at the hook-up invite, and scared of the slapping. And we're not even at the restaurant.

So we get there, and it's pitch black, save a tea light on each table. We sit down, and he orders wine. He proceeds to swirl, sniff, sip, and savor. I order a diet coke and gulp.

I then eye our waiter and make a polite break for it. The way I figure, the restaurant is completely dark, so Mr. Armani can't see my whereabouts.

I approach the waiter: "Excuse me? I am on a date from hell, and I need your help to get me out of here fast. Do whatever you have to. Please."

He winks and nods. We are officially in kahoots.

As soon as I sit back down, the waiter comes over and we order our food. Within five minutes, it's there, and he's already asking us for our dessert orders. Ten minutes later, I am ready to name my first child after the waiter as our dessert and coffee arrive.

My child's namesake returns with the bill and another wink for me.

In record time, we're out of there and back in the car.

He stops in front of my building and leans in for a kiss, a lean met with equal leaning on my part... towards the door.

"Goodnight!" I yell, waving from the sidewalk, running into my apartment.

A few days and ignored calls later, I get an e-mail. It was a cartoon of a dead, bloody bunny with a message that I had ruined his life by not calling him back.