On the screen, he was a sexily swarthy, backpacking medical professional. In reality a paranoia-riddled mouth-breather.In an attempt to make socially appropriate small talk, I ask him what his favorite movie is. Between wet-mouthed gasps, he breathily informs me that he loves The Hunt for Red October. And have I seen it? No, but I’ve heard it’s good, I demure. Well, I really need to see it, he insists. He’s seen it, like, 25 times.
Second attempt at small talk: what do you do, I implore. Well, I work in a hospital doing technical stuff, but I don’t scrub in, he tells me. Yes, but what do you actually doooooo? I’m not going to tell you. It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything but there aren’t that many hospitals that offer my service, so if I tell you what I do, you’ll be able to track me down.
I can assure you, sir, I will not be tracking you down. Ever.
Got that? Not going the gym. or reading. or sending out resumes. or rescuing puppies. After five months of not working, he spent his Tuesday sleeping. You sure know how to impress, mister.
My New Arch-NemesisBased on his photos and crazy witty emails, I arrive at this date convinced that I might actually like this guy. I begin to hate him once I’ve been sitting at the bar waiting for ten minutes. He arrives late and doesn’t apologize or mention the fact that he’s kept me waiting. Upon opening his mouth, I discover why all his photos were close-mouthed. There are two discolored, buck-toothed reasons that his photos were close-mouthed. Perhaps these teeth are also the reason for the condescending, nasal timber to his voice.
Over the course of an hour, I discover that he unwinds by writing code and watching IFC fighting. Friends? Most of his have moved away and he hasn’t really made any new ones. I begin to employ guerrilla tactics: after single-handedly maintaining the conversation for 45 minutes, I sit quietly in hopes that this will force him into asking me a question. Nope? Nope.
I nurse my one vodka gimlet while he drinks two beers and eats his way through a burger and fries. When the bill comes, I throw down my credit card to cover my drink. When the waitress comes, he asks her to split the bill 50/50.
And some email highlights:
* a 21 year old dude who points out that our age difference would probably prevent a serious relationship but he’d love to be my Mr. Right Now.
Please friends! Tell me I’m not alone here! Tell us about your worst date!