How Mer-low Can You Go?

I’ve been seeing the same hairdresser for three years now. Three years. That’s a big commitment for me. My longest relationships weren’t that long! From the moment I found Rafi, I loved him! Photos of his wife and daughters adorned his station. His face lit up when he talked about them. Great with hair, sweet, caring, tall, dark, and handsome! I think I just felt myself swoon!

Each visit Rafi expressed genuine concern for me. I’m sure falling asleep in his chair didn’t help.

“Are you dating anyone?” he’d ask. “You’re too beautiful to be alone.”

Then, last week IT happened.

“I like you. I have a guy for you.” Rafi offered, “He’s a chef, he cook for you, he take care of you.”

His eyes met mine in the mirror. “He a good guy, I’ve known him for years. He like a brother to me.”

If this guy was anything like Rafi I clearly had to give it a shot. Right? And so I agreed to be set up with Sam. He had called the next day. The conversation was a little awkward with a lot of empty silence. Still, we made plans to go out for dinner tonight, Friday February 13th. Being a friend of Rafi, I broke my one cardinal rule to only meet in public and agreed to have Sam pick me up.

What was I thinking going out on a date on Friday the 13th?

Time for one last check in the mirror. Make-up and hair look perfect and my stylishly cut dress with a deep V draped nicely to accentuate my curves. The wind howled in the background reminding me of the bitter minus 30 temperature outside. I shivered. Not from the cold, but from nerves. My hand visibly shook picking up my glass of merlot.

You got this Maggie ol’ girl!

The ringing phone interrupted my thoughts.

“I’m lost.” grumbled the caller.

“Sam, is that you? What street are you on?”

Silence. Then a boisterous guffaw. “I’m outside, come out.”

He didn’t come to the door? NOT a good first impression.

Donning my coat, I step out locking the door and turn to face an empty laneway.

Where the heck is he? Oh my! He’s on the road. He didn’t pull into the drive OR come to the door ON A FIRST DATE! What the hell? STRIKE 1!

Calm down Mags. Rafi says he’s a good guy. Let’s give this a fair shot.

I shimmy down the icy path and get in the car. An overpowering stench of stale fast food greats me.

“I have a gift for you.” grumbles Sam handing me a cup. “I make you a milkshake at the diner.”

Diner? Hold on. I thought he was a chef. Rafi my friend, a short order cook is not a chef! Don’t be so quick to judge Mags. Everyone has a story. Maybe he’s starting over... But a milkshake? In winter? And who knows what he put in this thing!

Politely I take a sip.

“Drink up! Is good!” insists Sam gruffly starting to drive.

“Thank you. I’m a little cold is all.”

“You no appreciate?! I work hard on that for you!”

Oh, oh. Is he getting angry?

“I add extra milk and fruit and no tell my boss.” Sam barks.

He is undeniably getting angry. Definitely STRIKE 1.

“I’m lactose intolerant.” I lie, hoping to ease the tension.

Sam mutters under his breath but seems a little calmer. After what seems an eternity, but really only twenty minutes, we arrive at the restaurant. The parking lot is packed. Sam finally finds us parking a good ten-minute walk to the restaurant.

“Wait there.” Sam says running around to my side to open the car door. Taking my hand gently, he helps me out and wraps his arm in mine to steady me on the icy surface.

This is surprisingly thoughtful. Maybe we just got off to a rocky start?

We move as fast as we dare across the slick surface. Thankfully, Sam doesn’t tell me to move faster, although, he seems to be struggling to catch his breath. Sam opens the door when we arrive and as I step inside I can almost feel my skin melt as the warmth hits us.

“Table for two.” Sam says to the host.

“I’m sorry sir, it’s reservations only tonight. It’s Valentine weekend.”

“Valentine’s is tomorrow,” states Sam flatly, “table for two.”

Politely the host tries to explain again that there are no tables.

“Are you stupid? Valentine’s Day is tomorrow! Table for two!” sputters Sam raising his voice, “Get the manager!”

I AM APPALLED. Sam’s escalation earlier over the milkshake has nothing on this display. Nor on the deep crimson creeping up his neck and the vein pulsing at his temple. Sheepishly the young man scurries away.

STRIKE 2!

A manager approaches with the young host in tow. “Sir, I hear there has been a misunderstanding. We are on reservations only all weekend. I can sit you at a small table in the bar area until the band arrives. Does that work for you?”

“Yes of course! Why couldn’t HE just say that!?!” Sam growls pointing at the host.

Definitely STRIKE 2!

The manager leads us to the table setting down two menus. He offers to help me off with my coat and whispers in my ear while turning to hold out my chair, “Let me know if you need anything.”

“House merlot. Please.”

I look up to see Sam glaring at the manager before turning to look at me. Well at my chest anyway. I am now regretting the low cut dress.

“A drink to start sir?” the manager addresses Sam.

As we review the menu, Sam begins bragging about his gym routine, “I go 2 hours a day. Bench press 200. I run 10 miles.”

There is no way this guy runs 10 miles, he was winded walking from the car!

“I help others. Show them the right form…. Coach them. The girls especially.”

I bet you coach the girls at the gym! He is still staring at my chest.

“Rafi said you were a looker, he wasn’t kidding.” Still staring at my chest.

Pretend you are engrossed in the menu and cannot hear him. Just get through dinner and get home.

I am not evening listening anymore.

He hasn’t asked me a single question!

“…500 horsepower … top speed …”

Oh my gawd, he is talking about his car!

Our server arrives and I graciously accept my wine, downing a big gulp before ordering an entrée with a salad to start.

“Duck medall-lee-ohn” prattles Sam brashly.

“Anything else sir?” the young woman asks.

“No.”

The server looks a little confused. I immediately understand since I’ve been studying the menu. I turn to Sam and offer gently, “I think those are just appetizer rolls with duck in it, not a full dinner. Are you sure you only want that?”

Slamming his hand on the table, “YES! I want the duck!” Sam asserts.

The server scurries off and I return to my wine. Sam continues to drone on endlessly about himself, his car, how pretty I am.

“I can’t wait until we get closer.” He says ogling me again.

There is not enough wine in the world!

As if on cue our food arrives, my salad and his small plate with four ‘duck medallions’.

“This isn’t what I ordered!” he roars.

Every set of eyes in the restaurant turn our way.

STRIKE 3!

The manager appears out of nowhere. He really has a wonderful way with this maniacal jerk because let’s call a spade a spade here, the man is a jerk! After a brief exchange the two sort out a meal for Sam. The manager somehow mysteriously refilled my wine glass.

“No charge.”

I toast him surreptitiously.

I hadn’t thought my opinion of the jerk could be any lower. Then the food arrived. Table manners be damned. Mouth open while chewing, still bragging about himself and talking about holding me close. I have zero appetite.

The manager comes over again. He looks from me, to the jerk and back. Looking me directly in the eye he asks “Is everything okay here?”

How do I answer this? Hell no! Save me please! Sneak me out through the kitchen!

I nod. So far, the manager has been the best part of my date. He’s actually kinda cute. He’s topped up my wine at least twice, I’m sure out of pity, but still. Hell, anyone next to my date is a prize at this point! Where’s the dishwasher? Let’s get his number!

I make it through the rest of the dinner, I’m sure only due to the wine. As we are leaving, the jerk actually does a courteous thing! He insists I wait inside while he gets the car! I am shocked!

Maybe we leave him at two strikes Rafi.

Sam pulls up and I get in the car anticipating he’ll take me straight home.

“I want to take you dancing.” Jerk states.

CRRAAAAPPPPP! How do I get out of this?

“I’m really quite tired. I’d like to go home.”

“You’ll love it. All beautiful women love to dance.” Jerk insists. “It’s a great place, lots of fun.”

He really is adamant on this bloody dancing thing.

“I have to get up early and I’m tired.”

“One dance.” he insists.

I don’t know what else to say so I fall silent and close my eyes. Jerk is still rambling on about something or other. At this point I’m totally tuned out.

I wonder how much we’d have to slow for me to open the door, jump out and survive. Tuck and roll right?

It’s then I realize the jerk has stopped talking. “You’re so quiet, penny for your thoughts?”

I stifle a laugh and keep my face blank.

I cannot tell him I’m literally contemplating jumping out of a moving car to escape him can I?

“I’m just very tired.”

“Okay, okay, how about a quick coffee then. I know a great place.” Jerk says.

FINALLY he has given up on the dancing!

Anything to end this night, and coffee seems to be the lesser of two evils. We arrive at a small diner called AL’S. The jerk is actually behaving, opening doors. Speaking nicely.

“Sam!” call out a couple of older gents sitting at a table.

“How are you tonight Sam?” asks a young man by the counter.

Does everyone here know this guy?

“Hello Sam” says the woman behind the counter, “you’re not working tonight.”

The jerk directs his attention to the woman, “Claire, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend Maggie.”

Wait! WHAT? STRIKE 3, 4, 5, 6… How many strikes can you give a person?!

Clair squeals and hollers “ALI! Come meet Sam’s woman!”

Running over she pulls me in to a big hug, “So nice to meet you!”

A portly man comes from the back, dusting flour from his hands, “Good to see Sam finally has a nice girl!”

I AM DONE!

“Sam. Take me home. Now.” turning on my heel I walk out the door.

The jerk follows, chagrined for the first time tonight. The drive is deathly quiet.

Sam mutters “I want – ”

“Shut it.”

“But – ”

“But nothing.”

Arriving home and before the car is even in park, I’m at the door unlocking it, stepping in and slamming it in his face in one swift motion.

He actually tried to walk me to the door! Did he seriously think he was getting a nightcap or something?

My phone starts ringing in my purse. The son-of-a-bitch was actually calling me!

Pressing ‘ignore’ I kick off my shoes and toss my jacket on the floor and make a straight bee-line to the kitchen to pour another glass of merlot. The phone was ringing again.

Seriously?

It’s Rafi! Pressing ignore again I down the wine.

“FUCK!”

I think I just lost the best hairdresser I ever had.