What is the easiest way out of a bad date? Perhaps it’s to give it a one-hour limit, and if either party is unimpressed, they should have license to tell the other party they aren’t interested. In my case, I went for a tactic a bit less socially acceptable. One of my friends, James, told me that I should text him in such situations with random numbers so he can call and ‘bail me out,’ so to speak.
I signed up for an account at Plentyoffish.com, realizing it was the only dating site not about flashing your crotch; it appeared to be tasteful, if not a bit depressing. The first person to message me, a mid-twenties bank teller named Joseph, asked me out for coffee before even exchanging messages. I happened to be free that night, so I accepted.
I waited inside the Blenz on Helmken and was a bit nervous. I had known something about most people I had been out with before this, or had at least had a conversation with them before the date.
Joseph strolled up in a three-piece suit, looking a little pissed off. I inquired, asking if something was the matter, and he frantically showed me a scuff mark on his Gucci iPod case, telling me he “just [didn’t] know what to do!” His day was seriously inconvenienced.
Instead of staying for coffee, he told me that he just had to go back to his place for a second because he was wearing his “grubby clothes.” I reconsidered my cardigan and jeans, wondering how business attire fit into the ‘grubby’ category. I walked him to his house a number of blocks away, and told him I’d wait in the foyer once we arrived. The entire conversation on the way there consisted of him laughing about how he couldn’t date a fellow First Nations guy because he felt he got something out of dating white guys. Apparently the social connotations behind that got his blood going. It was quite honestly the most bizarre and awkward first conversation I’ve ever had.
He was very insistent I come see his apartment, and after a bit of reluctance I acquiesced. I considered the danger of going up to the apartment of someone I had quite literally just met, but instead I went with my gut and felt that I was safe, albeit awkward.
He forced a glass of red wine on me after I declined twice, which I partially dumped down the sink. I left the remainder sitting on the counter while he changed into something else. Just as I was about to sit down on the couch, I heard a massive scream from his bedroom, and in a panic ran to see what happened. Honestly, my first instinct informed me that someone was killing his roommate or robbing the place. I got to his room and he was perched on the bed looking at his foot with tears in his eyes and said “there is a hole in one of my socks!” I gave him a death glare.
“Oh, while you’re here, let me give you the tour!” he said. He then went on to show me every expensive technological gadget in his whole apartment. “See this Macbook? Yeah, I got that from my mom because we don’t have to pay taxes. Haha!” or “I can afford things like this, and you can’t, because you probably have to pay for college, right? Yeah, see, I didn’t.” I began to feel sick to my stomach, and the moment he turned around I texted James, who called just a moment later.
Sadly, when I answered the phone, he was drunk and offered no help: “JJ, just be a man, and tell him you’re not interested. No, tell him I peed my pants and you need to come change them for me.” Turning the volume down on my phone, I faked a shocked look, spewing off a dramatic “That’s so awful!” and “I’ll be right there.” The whole time on the phone, James’ inebriated joking made it hard for me to think up an excuse. I scrambled to get my shoes on and ran out the door before I even had a chance to say goodbye. Slamming my phone shut, the first thing that escaped my mouth was a totally unconvincing: “My friend’s mother just got hit by a bus!” Oh, l’amour.
I signed up for an account at Plentyoffish.com, realizing it was the only dating site not about flashing your crotch; it appeared to be tasteful, if not a bit depressing. The first person to message me, a mid-twenties bank teller named Joseph, asked me out for coffee before even exchanging messages. I happened to be free that night, so I accepted.
I waited inside the Blenz on Helmken and was a bit nervous. I had known something about most people I had been out with before this, or had at least had a conversation with them before the date.
Joseph strolled up in a three-piece suit, looking a little pissed off. I inquired, asking if something was the matter, and he frantically showed me a scuff mark on his Gucci iPod case, telling me he “just [didn’t] know what to do!” His day was seriously inconvenienced.
Instead of staying for coffee, he told me that he just had to go back to his place for a second because he was wearing his “grubby clothes.” I reconsidered my cardigan and jeans, wondering how business attire fit into the ‘grubby’ category. I walked him to his house a number of blocks away, and told him I’d wait in the foyer once we arrived. The entire conversation on the way there consisted of him laughing about how he couldn’t date a fellow First Nations guy because he felt he got something out of dating white guys. Apparently the social connotations behind that got his blood going. It was quite honestly the most bizarre and awkward first conversation I’ve ever had.
He was very insistent I come see his apartment, and after a bit of reluctance I acquiesced. I considered the danger of going up to the apartment of someone I had quite literally just met, but instead I went with my gut and felt that I was safe, albeit awkward.
He forced a glass of red wine on me after I declined twice, which I partially dumped down the sink. I left the remainder sitting on the counter while he changed into something else. Just as I was about to sit down on the couch, I heard a massive scream from his bedroom, and in a panic ran to see what happened. Honestly, my first instinct informed me that someone was killing his roommate or robbing the place. I got to his room and he was perched on the bed looking at his foot with tears in his eyes and said “there is a hole in one of my socks!” I gave him a death glare.
“Oh, while you’re here, let me give you the tour!” he said. He then went on to show me every expensive technological gadget in his whole apartment. “See this Macbook? Yeah, I got that from my mom because we don’t have to pay taxes. Haha!” or “I can afford things like this, and you can’t, because you probably have to pay for college, right? Yeah, see, I didn’t.” I began to feel sick to my stomach, and the moment he turned around I texted James, who called just a moment later.
Sadly, when I answered the phone, he was drunk and offered no help: “JJ, just be a man, and tell him you’re not interested. No, tell him I peed my pants and you need to come change them for me.” Turning the volume down on my phone, I faked a shocked look, spewing off a dramatic “That’s so awful!” and “I’ll be right there.” The whole time on the phone, James’ inebriated joking made it hard for me to think up an excuse. I scrambled to get my shoes on and ran out the door before I even had a chance to say goodbye. Slamming my phone shut, the first thing that escaped my mouth was a totally unconvincing: “My friend’s mother just got hit by a bus!” Oh, l’amour.
//JJ Brewis
Columnist
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