A Number Three

Story Sent in by Brianne:

I was out to dinner on my first date with Rob. He had lost his job some time ago as a middle manager in the corporate office of a retail clothing sales company, and had since then worked at a Mexican food chain to make ends meet.

After hearing a bit about his life story leading up to his most recent job, I asked him, "Are you searching for a different job?"

"Than the one I have now? What do you think? I used to pull in low six-figures a year."

"What are you looking for?" I asked, which I thought was a valid follow-up question.

He gave me a dark look and said, "Are you judging me?"

"No."

"Don't you judge me."

"I'm not."

He took a big swig of beer. "My ex judged me all the time. 'When are you going to get off your lazy ass and find a real job?' 'You smell like Mexican cheese.' 'I'm tired of dating a burrito salesman.'"

"It sounds like she had trouble sympathizing. I'm sure you're looking hard."

"I am," he said, then downed more beer, "She judged me up until the day I punched a few of her teeth out."

My breath stopped, my heartbeat slammed into my ribcage. He went on, "Got a court date, a restraining order, and a big lawsuit. That's all over now, but hey," he downed more beer and winked at me, "It sure as hell shut her up."

I put $5 on the table to pay for my drink and left that very moment.

He wrote me a few texts, each drunker than the last: "Where did you go?" "Must be a long trip to the bathroom… number one, number two? Number three??? Call me." "Am I just talking to a black hole here? Where you are you?"

I'm at least grateful that he pulled out his baggage on the first date. I wouldn't have wanted to find out the same way his ex did.