My Worst Date

Over the years, I have listened to my friends tell me the funny, and not so funny stories about people they have dated. I hoped never to be able to relate; unfortunately, things don’t always work out as planned, so here we are. Brace yourself, as I share with you the worst date of my life! Meeting people online is not as taboo as it once was. More often, couples are finding each other online, and I am no exception. Being in my late thirties, going out has become obsolete, so the internet (although it has a sense of humor) has become my best friend.

Two years ago, the relationship I was in was slowly creeping towards its demise. To avoid the emotional distress of breakups, I started entertaining distractions. I joined a dating website and introduced myself to single ladies looking for friendship and possibly more. One thing about meeting people on the internet is, it’s the best platform to reinvent yourself. With several keystrokes and an innovative mentality, you could be whoever you wanted to be. Online, the possibilities are endless. However, unlike most people, I remain transparent. I don’t pretend to be anyone else but Latisha, an openminded, unemployed, aspiring writer.

In hindsight, I should have dealt with my grievance head on instead of joining an online dating service. After creating an engaging profile, immediately I began chatting with a few people. One woman, in particular, caught my attention. She was beautiful! Fair skin, long, well-maintained locs, and a smile to die for. I thought I had hit the jackpot. We talked over the phone for several days, before finally meeting. Whenever I heard her voice, my palms would get clammy, and I would break out in a cold sweat that was only noticeable if I held my arms up. Finally, after a week of talking over the phone, she asked me out! We lived three hours from one another, so we agreed to meet in a neutral city. I was so nervous to meet her, so I arrived forty-five minutes early.

When I arrived at the restaurant, I sat in my car briefly before going in. I texted my date to let her know that I had arrived. She replied telling me that she was on her way. Instantly, my palms and armpits grew moist, and I prayed that my Secret deodorant wouldn’t tell on me. To help calm my nerves, I went inside, sat at the bar, and ordered the first of two drinks. Twenty minutes later, as I swirled my diluted residuals in my glass, I looked up and there she was. The photos did her no justice. She was even more breathtaking in person. Oh, no…butterflies and bubble guts all at the same time.

With naturally lush eyelashes and a hue of hazel in her eyes, patrons of the restaurant gawked admirably as my date walked in. For a brief, and I do mean brief moment, I was in awe of her presence until I was smacked in the face with the foulest of odors. The smell reeked of old cigarette butts, dehydration, feces, and hunger. I was offended. The fact that she was beautiful and holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, dissipated with the stench of her palette. How could someone so deliciously attractive be so intentionally flawed? Could she not smell her breath? Respectfully, I played it off, although my initial reaction was to protect my nostrils with my hands; however, I felt that gesture would be crass. Of course, once we were seated, I offered her a mint, and I popped one into my mouth as well. Naturally, she declined, as all people with halitosis do.

God bless alcohol. A few more drinks in, and I forgot all about her yuck mouth. For the most part, seemingly, we were enjoying each other’s company. After dinner, it was still early. My date wasn’t ready to end the night, so we decided to hang a little more. Ten minutes down the street from the restaurant, there was a bowling alley with open lanes. Once we arrived, my lady friend purchased our shoes and lane rental; she even swapped my shoes out for me. I thought that to be chivalrous of her.

Three double shots of tequila (her) and two pitchers later, my date was overly inebriated. We stopped bowling after the second game and just vibed to the music. Eventually, hunger set in for me because I didn’t eat much at the restaurant (first date jitters), but I knew alcohol needed to be absorbed. I asked my date if she wanted something to eat and she said yes. We ordered a pepperoni pizza and lemon pepper wings. Not knowing the adverse reaction that alcohol would have on her, the following events were unreal and unexpected.

My date handed me her bank card to pay for the food, and when I reached out to accept it, she snatched it back and asked me what was I doing. I was confused. I told her that I was going to pay for the food. Content with my purpose, she gave me her debit card.

When I returned from ordering the food, my date had tears in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me that she hated her job and they hated her. I didn’t understand, but I listened anyway. She was a truck driver, and her career kept her on the road months at a time, and she was frustrated. I tried to console her by gently touching her face and softly kissing her cheek. Why did I do that? She snapped out of her sadness and became defensive. She pushed me (slightly) and said, “you think this is a game?” Once again, I was confused. She repeated herself, and I stood frozen in a state of fight or flight. Then, without notice, she switched gears again and started smiling. That was my queue to go and check on the food. In the distance, I observed her singing to the music while sipping the last of her beer. I watched her closely.

Walking back to our table with food in hand, I stopped in my tracks as I watched my date slowly descend to the floor — she passed out! Staff and onlookers all rushed to her aid. Minutes later, I heard sirens; someone had called the ambulance just that quick. I sat the food down and rushed through the crowd of nosy people. When I reached her, she was regaining consciousness. She stood up with beads of sweat on her forehead. She asked me what happened, and I told her that she had passed out. The EMT took her blood pressure and asked her a few questions. They insisted that she be transported to the emergency room and advocated for the administration of intravenous fluids. I agreed with the EMT and convinced my date to leave with the ambulance. She was not my responsibility – she was an adult. Thankfully, we had driven separate cars, and I was able to get in my car and drive away. I was so embarrassed. I looked around for hidden cameras and a crew as I viewed the scene from my rearview mirror. I just knew I was being punked.

Later that night, my date called me to apologize for such a havoc evening and asked if she could make it up to me. Respectfully, I declined. She had been released and was in a cab on her way back to her car. Knowing that she was okay, I rested comfortably, but as far as a second date…NEVER! #MyWorstDate