Oh the Humanity!
When a first date takes a turn, and makes you question your faith in humanity.
For many of you, this post may not make sense unless you read my Uncle Johnny post.
If you aren’t interested in reading the full story let me give you a brief recap:
A few weeks ago I was incredibly bored and melancholy and decided to go on a date with someone from Craigslist. After chatting with the mysterious Craigslist man (John) for about a week we decided to go out for coffee. The first date went well, so we decided to meet up for dinner. Unlike the first date, the second date was nothing short of a shit show. After learning that John was married, I suggested that he take me home immediately. Upon returning home I had noticed that my neighbors were out sitting on the porch. I politely introduced John to my neighbors as my uncle; which was slightly uncomfortable. After I had introduced John to my neighbors I learned that John was actually the uncle of my neighbor Natasha.
Needless to say John and I never went out again. Instead, he texted me the following day and apologized for the whole fiasco. I understood and thanked him for dinner. I thought that would be the end of that, but I was wrong. A few days had passed and I had received a random message from John at 8:00 P.M. The message said: “Hey, I showed a picture of you to my friend and he is very interested in meeting you.” I froze. Great uncle Johnny’s friend? Who the hell is that? Is he the distant cousin of Mike, my other neighbor? I was mildly annoyed. I messaged him back, and asked who was his ‘friend.’ John had explained that his friend was a local business owner, and was very charming. “I think you two would get along swimmingly,” he said.
I was a little nervous, but equally as curious. “Sure what the hell, you can give him my phone number,” I said. An hour had passed and I had finally received a “hey there beautiful” text message. I groaned. I have always hated being complimented on my appearance. We texted back and forth for a few hours. He was very interested in my goals and aspirations and had sent me a picture of himself. He wasn’t bad looking. He was tall, dressed well, and had ice blue eyes. Days went by and he had asked me to grab lunch with him on Monday. I had a class in the morning but I decided to meet him for lunch at Quaker Steak and Lube. Monday morning was rough. I woke up at 7 A.M. and quickly got ready for my class. I attempted to put on a little bit of makeup, but it just wasn’t working out. At 8 A.M. I had finally made it to my class. I sat through an hour of the typical, Italian class, bullshit and left around 9 A.M. Between 9 A.M. and 11:30 A.M. I sat and did homework in Starbucks. By 12:05 P.M. I had made my way over to the restaurant. At 12:06 P.M I received a text that said “I’m sitting at the bar, won’t you join me?”
I felt uneasy, but decided to walk inside. I sat next to him at the bar; he was drinking a rum and coke. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked. I paused. “One won’t hurt,” I said. I began sipping my beer, when he had ordered another rum and coke. “Stand up for me darling, give me a spin,” he said. I awkwardly did a turn and sat down; my face was flushed and I wanted to die. We discussed John for a bit, his business, and his love of traveling. He was British, and he told me stories about what it was like back home. It was like having lunch with your slightly inebriated grandfather. “God you’re such a beautiful girl,” he said. With every compliment, I died a little more on the inside.
I had quickly finished my beer, and was ready to leave. “Won’t you accompany me back to my business, I think you’d really enjoy it there,” he said. At this point, I was really questioning the people in my life. John thought I would get along “swimmingly” with this Pete guy. Pete thought I would enjoy seeing his business. Fuck, nobody even asked me what I wanted or enjoyed.
There was no time to make a decision. Pete had taken my hand and walked me out the door. We had driven down the street to his business, and I was prepared for death or awkward sexual advances. “Why do I do this to myself,” I thought. I already knew the answer. Part of me liked feeling anxious; not knowing what was going to happen next. I had always left every sketchy encounter with a story to tell at the bar, or a joke to tell my roommate.
Pete had showed me every nook and cranny of his business. He introduced me to his assistant and some of his other employees. We walked into his office and he had offered me to take a seat. He put on Frank Sinatra and asked if I cared for a drink. I declined his offer because I wasn’t trying to become a lampshade in his office. He fixed himself a vodka soda and sat in his office chair. It was really uncomfortable. His office smelled like my orthodontist. His employees were very odd, and his business looked like something out of the movie American Psycho. I asked where his restroom was, and he pointed down the hall. His company bathroom was very strange. There was a shower inside of it and a door which led to another room.
I’m not even going to lie; I had to see what was in the other room. After I had washed my hands I slowly opened the door. I expected the worst. I expected to see sex slaves, human bodies, or a weird BDSM room. There was none of that; in fact the door just led to a small bedroom. I shut the door and went back to sit with Pete. “Did you smell that cologne I have in the bathroom?” he asked. “I’m not one to go through other people’s things,” I laughed. “I bought it from France, I need your opinion on it,” he said. Pete sauntered over to the bathroom and grabbed a yellow bottle from his bathroom counter. “Tell me what you think,” he said. Great. This is probably a ritzy type of chloroform from France; eau de chloroform. He looked away for a second so I pretended to take a whiff. I was not about becoming an addition to his hideaway bedroom. I could smell it as soon as he had brought it in. It smelled like lemon Pledge. “Do you like it?” he said. “Of course, it’s very tasteful” I said. Sometimes I’m so full of shit it’s scary.
“Did you notice my spare bedroom?” he asked. “I was unaware you had one, do you live here?” I asked. He explained that he used that room for ‘special occasions.’ “We could get funky if you want,” he said with a shit giant grin. I almost vomited. “You see, I enjoy having sex on multiple occasions with a variety of different people,” he said. This time I held back a tiny baby barf in the back of my throat. I was afraid to hear what he was going to say next. Maybe he was a swinger. Maybe he enjoyed orgies. Maybe he enjoyed fucking John on occasion. The possibilities are endless. “I swear if he uses the phrase ‘make whoopie’ or cunnilingus I’m making a run for it,” I thought.
Pete smiled and poured a large amount of the cologne onto his hands, and rubbed it in. “This man is using this shit like it’s water,” I thought. He sat next to me and poured himself another drink. I was waiting for him to touch my hand, or brush the hair out of my eyes. Instead, he decided to show me his Facebook. THANK GOD. He showed me pictures of him posing with artists I had never heard of, and he showed me his collection of dad memes. He smelled like alcohol and lemon Pledge which was not an appealing combination. He kept scrolling on his phone and accidentally clicked on an image of a woman who looked like she was in her forties. She was pretty. She had soft eyes and a nice smile. He looked at me in horror, but I already knew. He was married. I started gathering my things and began leaving. He thanked me for accompanying him for lunch, and I remember saying “what lunch?” In my mind, that day had never happened. I wanted to erase it from my memory. It served as more ammunition towards my hatred of dating and my trust issues.
Let’s be real: I wasn’t ever going to pursue that man, but the whole situation made me question my faith in humanity. How can a person be unfaithful towards their significant other?