The First Disaster

This experiment was inspired by the only Tinder date I had ever been on prior to starting this blog:

Flashback to May 2015; I was a college sophomore and an avid Tinder user, but always wimped out before actually meeting anyone. I had been chatting with James on Tinder for days now, so naturally he invited me to hang out. But there was a catch. Apparently, he lived 30 minutes away without a car. So clearly, we’re off to a great start. I agreed to pick him up at his place, trying to keep an open mind, not that I was taking any of this too seriously.

I pulled up to the apartment and texted him to let him know that I was outside– to which he responded by insisting I come up to see his puppy. He might as well have just offered me candy to get inside of his white windowless van. Against my best judgment, I hesitantly parked my car and headed up like a little kid craving M&M’s. As he opened the door, I was greeted by a hyper puppy who immediately peed all over my shoes. Ew. I mean, he apologized, and I didn’t want to make him feel bad, but still. Gross.

We decided to go to Centennial Park, which happens to be right next to my apartment. So that’s 30 minutes there, and then 30 minutes back. Cool. Upon getting out of the car at Centennial, he started with what he must have thought was a great ice breaker: “Yeah, so I’m gonna be honest with you, I’m dealing with some court stuff right now because of some shit with my previous girlfriend, but I swear, she hit me first.” I wanted to run right then and there, but at this point, being as I had driven him all the way there I didn’t know how, so I just tried to keep a safe distance between us. We walked around the park, awkwardly talking before both deciding to diffuse the discomfort with pizza.

By the end of the date, here’s what I knew about this kid: He was a 21-year-old college drop-out with no job (looks promising already, right?) whose humor was equivalent to that of a first grader with a potty mouth. He insisted on calling me “butt-part” for half of the date because I part my hair down the middle, instead of off to the side. I’m not even kidding. Remember how they tried to tell you that boys who called you names did it because they liked you? Didn’t work in first grade, doesn’t work now. So I somehow endured an entire meal with this guy, trying to be polite and seem interested, but feeling like he only had negative things to add to the conversation. Here comes the best part: he made me pay for his meal. That’s right, I actually had to pay for his meal because like I said, no job. “I’ll pay next time, I promise!” he said when I begrudgingly pulled out my wallet. “lol, next time…” I thought, knowing that there was no way in hell there would be a next time.

Don’t forget, this guy still has to get home somehow as he doesn’t have a car– clearly, I pick winners. Like I said, this is a 30 minute car ride. To pass the time, I made awkward attempts at small talk while trying not to look annoyed every time he blew e-cigarette vapor in my face. When we FINALLY made it back, he insisted yet again that I come up to his apartment this time to MEET HIS PARENTS (you really can’t make this stuff up). Like, was he TRYING to scare me off? But I heard myself agree, and cautiously walked up the stairs to his apartment. As I walked in, I was greeted by a man and woman covered head to toe in tattoos who, at one point, actually admitted that “The last time he brought a girl over we never saw her again!” (I wonder why…) and a 6-year-old who enthusiastically kept talking about how he couldn’t wait to show me the video game he was about to get the next time I came over. Sorry, not going to happen.

After this train-wreck of a date I avoided him like the plague, which was harder than it sounds because he was a very clingy texter. He would actually panic if I didn’t text him back within 5 minutes. In the end, I told him that I was moving back home to California because A, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I never wanted to see him again and B, seeing as how he hit his last girlfriend I’m not gonna lie, I wanted there to be as much imaginary distance between us as possible.

And James, if by some freak chance you reading this and you know it’s about you (and how could you not?), I would like my money back for the food I bought you and for hauling your ass around town all day. Gas is expensive, pay up.

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