Date on Fire

Story Submitted by Elizabeth:

I fielded messages from way too many skeevy men online, and was about to delete my profile when Ben messaged me.

Ben was a part-time musician in a local band and a full-time middle school librarian.  He joked that working with kids was just what he needed to ground him after rocking out, and that rocking out was just what he needed after working with kids.

He took me to a place that had little pots of scented oils on the tables, lit from below by a candle.  The decor was dark and had plenty of curtains.

We had been talking for a little bit and already had our food when he accidentally knocked over one of the oil pots.  It fell to the ground, near a curtain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he yelled, jumping down to his hands and knees.  I thought that he might have spilled some on himself, but he grabbed his water and poured it down, under the table where I couldn't see.

I began, "Are you–"

"It's on fire!" he yelled, and grabbed my water.  Then he grabbed my plate (as opposed to his) and poured all of my mostly uneaten food onto the floor.

"Sorry," he said, "I had to smother it."

And then he started in on his food without a second thought.  After a moment of figuring out if he was planning to eat his entire dinner in front of me (which, apparently, he was), I said, "I think I'm going to get a salad."

He didn't respond, and I ordered my second dinner.

When the bill came, he called the manager over and argued with her about my first dinner plate, telling her that it was irresponsible to have a little pot of flammable oil on the table in the first place, that he had probably saved the restaurant from a fire, etc.  He eventually did manage to have my first dinner order canceled, and we left the place.

I was already a bit turned off to him, but when he asked me if I wanted to take a walk, I liked the idea of being outside on such a warm night, so we did.

At one point, we were walking side-by-side in silence when he stopped and did some air guitar.  "I've got to invite you to one of my shows," he said, then let loose a massive fart.

He jumped.  "Ooh.  A juicy one," he said, then belted, "Juicy!" as loud as he could, still jamming on the air guitar.

He offered to take me home and once we made it there, he leaned in for a kiss.  As he wasn't very attractive to me anymore, I leaned back.

He asked, "What's wrong?"

I said, "I don't think we're a good match."

"Why not?  Let's talk about this.  Come on," he said, and sat down on my porch.

I didn't feel like talking about it, and I said, "I just don't think it's a good match.  Good luck out there."

"But why?" he asked, "Why?" and I let myself inside my house and shut the door.

He asked, "Why?" about ten more times, then left.