The bad date. Oh my. I honestly can’t think of a much worse one. I hardly know where to start.
I suppose the beginning is a good place. This is long. You may want to grab a snack.
I met a guy. He’s a firefighter. He will henceforth be referred to as RescueDork, since that’s what I seem to end up calling him in conversation.
Our first date, drinks. Unremarkable. I was somewhat surprised when he did call for a second date. We went out for dinner and a movie. Third date, he had me over and made dinner. All in all, things seemed to be going pretty ok.
Fourth date. That fateful night. He invited me out for drinks with a bunch of his work buddies. I figured “what’s the worst that could happen?” Hah. You’re about to find out.
So we’re all sitting around (me being the only “civilian” at the table), and it’s suggested that I recruit some single friends. So I called Jen, who brought Tina out. Turned out none of the guys were actually single, just looking for excuses to ditch their girlfriends. Oops.
Regardless, we drank and were merry, and things were pretty average for hanging around a group of 20-something guys who like to party. At some point, Jen and Tina left, and a few of us moved on to another bar. Much more alcohol was consumed (thankfully not by me), and eventually the group dispersed.
RescueDork was looking a little worse for wear at this point. I made the executive decision that we were leaving. Outside we went, and hailed a cab back to where our cars were waiting.
This is where it all gets very messy. Quite literally.
The cabbie drives us back, and since between the two of us I’m the one with the wherewithal to deal with paying him, I do (with RescueDork’s cash of course). Meanwhile, RescueDork has leapt out of the cab. I’m getting myself out, and he starts shouting at me “DON’T TOUCH THE CAB! DON’T TOUCH THE CAB! I just pissed on it… *gigglefit*”
I really should’ve just left him to fend for himself right then and there. I am far too nice.
So I take his keys (no way I’m wasting my own gas) and decide I’m going to take us somewhere he can sleep this off. I suggest his place, which is instantly vetoed, since his ex is on her way over in the morning to pick up some stuff she was storing there. Oy. Baggage. My place it is then.
The 30 minute drive back to my apartment was pretty uneventful. As soon as I parked though, he leapt out as though his pants were on fire. And threw up into the bushes out front. Classy.
At this point I’m still thinking that ok, these moments happen to the best of us. Hopefully it’s all over and he’s just going to pass out. And initially, it seemed like that’s what would happen. I handed him a fresh toothbrush (because whatever happens, I’m still the hostess with the mostest), and he pretty much fell asleep immediately. Shortly thereafter, so did I.
I woke up a few hours later (sometime around 7:00am), and things were eerily quiet. I got up and started looking around – RescueDork, and all traces of his belongings, are gone. And remember, my car is a 30 minute drive (1 hour transit trip) away. MOTHERFUCKER.
Of course I called his cell phone immediately, and heard it ringing in my hallway. He was just on his way stumbling back in, with a large bottle of Gatorade from the gas station down the street.
Apparently, he woke up around 5:30am, still feeling ill, and wanted some air. So he took it upon himself to take off and wander around the neighborhood. Stumbling and puking. Puking and stumbling. At some point he found himself in an industrial area, finally realized that this is how people get mugged or murdered, and made his way back.
But how did he get back in? Did he take my keys or something? No. He just left my apartment door unlocked, and propped the building door open, hoping it’d stay that way until he came back. Thanks, RescueDork!
To recap, the score thus far is: made me somewhat uncomfortable and wasted my friends’ time, urinated on a taxi, threw up in my bushes, made me think I was left stranded, left my apartment and building vulnerable to vandals and ne’er-do-wells.
Oh, but there’s more!
He’s returned with his Gatorade, brushes his teeth again, and crawls into my bed, fully clothed. Ew. Considering he’s been drinking, wandering and throwing up all night? I redirected him to the couch, and hoped for a few more hours of sleep.
Not 10 minutes has gone by, when I hear the living room sliding door open. And then came the sound of someone violently vomiting. Turns out in his head, throwing up in the bathroom of the girl you’re dating is a bad idea. However, yakking over her balcony (aiming for the planter of the neighbor below) at a volume that could only be described as “turned up to eleven” is A-Ok!
This happens no fewer than four times in the hour between 7:00am and 8:00am, at which point I throw on some sweats, and inform him that I’m taking us back to my car. He rambles and babbles the entire ride back. I drive in stony silence.
We get back to my car, and I’ve no sooner thrown his truck into Park, when he jumps out and heaves (yet again) onto the pavement behind the vehicle. I resist the urge to cause him bodily harm, figuring his night has been punishment enough.
I wish I had some witty way to wrap this up, but all I can say is that I gave him his keys, wish him luck getting home at some point, then took myself back home and slept for another few hours.
He called later in the day to see if I wanted to come by and watch a movie that evening – I declined. I’m recalling now that there was no “thanks for taking care of my drunk ass” or “sorry for being a drunken ass” in that conversation either – so much for being a decent person. I should’ve abandoned him in the parking lot and hidden his keys as soon as he sprayed down the taxi.
I swear, if I ever have a date that’s WORSE than that one, I’m either going to shoot myself, or become a nun.