Mixed Nuts

Have you ever been to the kind of restaurant that has long tables at which you are seated with people you don’t know? Presumably the “pro” is to pack in as many people as possible into a small space. The con: you never know what kind of nut job or annoyer you’re going to get stuck sitting next to. FYI: overheard convos aren’t any less annoying in a restaurant just because it’s a place where talking is acceptable.

Take the quaint Italian bistro I recently tried in Brooklyn. To the right was a harmless, quiet couple who I could barely hear (thank you), followed by two old ladies with smokers’ voices who ordered “a half a glass of wine” each. To my left, however, was a painfully obvious first date couple plagued with cringe-worthy convo. The couple looked to be in their thirties, the man a chubby-cheeked dork with thick black plastic glasses of the variety so frequently sported by Brooklyn hipsters. The girl was thin, had an '80s hairdo and a sour puss, and was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. The man’s voice immediately penetrated my space with geeky, radio personality-like flare as he demanded that the girl “not be a lady.” When she looked confused he said: “Don’t be a lady, just don’t be a lady. Actually, be whatever you want to be. Don’t let me tell you what to do…but what I mean is take these [mussels] and slurp them up.” As he explained, he himself slurped one up noisily, wiping drool off of his chin in the process. “Just slurp them up, mussels are meant to be slurped,” he continued, his mouth full. A barely hidden look of disgust flashed across the girl’s face as she opted to scoop her mussel out with a spoon.

“So, you said you’ve traveled all over the world?” she asked. Internet date, I immediately thought, picturing his profile blurb “World traveler seeks equally motivated companion…”

“Maybe it’s better to say where I HAVEN’T been,” he said smugly with a nerdy guffaw. He then continued to name most of the globe. “I haven’t been to Asia. Africa. South America. Antarctica. Eastern Europe….Basically I have been to North America and ALL of the countries in Western Europe, well, those on the Atlantic, except Spain and Portugal.”

Was this guy kidding me? So, he’s been to Canada and three other countries?

She looked equally disappointed as he tried a new tactic.

“Sooo, what’s your favorite dessert?” he quizzed.

“Oh, I like all desserts,” she said, unadventurously.

“Come on, you must have a favorite…let me help you narrow it down. Let’s say you have a choice between…..ice cream, homemade cake, homemade pie, homemade croissant, homemade tart, homemade brownies, homemade muffin…”

As the list went on I asked myself on what planet this was considered NARROWING it down. Just give him an answer, I thought, so I could go back to my meal in peace.

“Well, they’re all homemade...so I’d probably like them all equally.” Weeerwerrrrrrrr. Lame alert.

Dish number two came out at this point—cavatelli with goat’s cheese. They were apparently sharing and ordering a dish at a time (his idea). After a few spoonfuls she admitted it wasn’t up to much.

“Yes…I see what you mean,” the geek mused, looking pensive. “But it’s like…I can TASTE the quality. It’s like, QUALITY food. The pasta has quality. The cheese has a quality, non-processed, non-pasteurized taste to it. But maybe you’re right. Maybe it needs something else. Maybe some sage or thyme to spice it up.”

At this point I think everyone at the table was rolling their eyes heavenward. He then made the cardinal first date sin of complaining to the waiter and suggesting what could be done to improve the dish—this time throwing in parsley and rosemary as a suggestion. (Was he perhaps thinking of the lyrics to "Scarborough Fair" rather than having actual knowledge of food and what tastes good together? I’d venture yes.) The girl squirmed in her seat, looked at her watch.

“Let’s say we get another dish!” he said, undeterred.

“I’m really not going to finish another dish.”

“Well, we’ll share it…”

“Well, if we must…”

“And I know exactly what you want…the pork loin. Right?”

The girl wrinkled up her face. Cardinal sin number two—don’t presume to know what someone you just met wants to eat, or order for them.

The arrival of my food must have distracted me for a moment, 'cause the next thing I knew, their check was on the table and they were leaving.

I immediately thought of Chuck Woolery saying, “Well, I’m sorry your date didn’t work out for you, Samantha. If you’d like to go out with Daniel again, we’ll pay for it, or you could try to see who the audience picked…”

Meantime, I think I’ll try sticking to a table for two.

An Unfortunate Sighting

The other day, as the train pulled into Grand Central Station, something happened that nobody should ever have to suffer. I saw My Worst Date Ever hovering in the aisle right next to me as he waited to exit. Immediately put on red alert, I sunk down in my seat, slid on a pair of sunglasses and lifted my collar like a high school preppy, hoping this makeshift “disguise” would let me be incognito. Sneaking a sideways glance, I checked to see if it was really him. It had been eons since I'd suffered through several dates with this joker. And oh yes, it was. He looked worse for wear, dishevelled and unkempt. Ha! I thought before the train doors opened and I bolted.

Man, Worst Dates Ever. We’ve all had them, and I hope you’ll share yours in the comments section! And FYI: my friends can forgo the “Amy has always had dubious taste” comments. That was a long time ago. And while there is obviously a complex, multilayered labelling system and varying levels of “WTF was I thinking?” for anyone who has ever had an awful date, I will admit that in this case, we could tag it as: I must have been smoking hectic crack and even then it’s no excuse.

While I could write a book about WDE, as we will affectionately name him, his many shortcomings and perplexing plethora of bad qualities, I will instead provide an outline. (You see, high school does come in useful!)

I. "Cheap" does not do justice to his level of stinginess.
a. While I’m a modern girl and like to pay my part, this guy took splitting the tab to new levels of nuclear fission. He once insisted I split a bill for two sodas (it was like 5 bucks). He also refused to pay for snacks at the movies even though I’d paid for the tickets, because they ‘work out as more expensive.’
b. Once bumped into him and his old school Italian fam in a pizza joint and they invited me to eat with them. At the end of the meal, I grabbed my wallet, as was the Custom of the County with WDE, and tried to pay. I was immediately accosted by shouts of disgust as to how I could even conceive of paying. I couldn’t help but say “Oh, don’t worry. With WDE, I’m used to paying.” I suddenly felt a sharp kick under the table while the family proceeded to rip him a new one for being so miserly. His defence: “I’m for Women’s Lib.” Paaa-lease.

II. He was a Shit Stirrer – Literally.
a. On the few WDEs we had, his conversation moved around his bowel movements like food through an intestine. The first time he brought me to dinner he said “I didn’t eat all day cause I was worried I’d let one rip in front of you.” FYI Guy: you might as well have.
b. On another occasion he left in the middle of a movie with no explanation. He later said “Sorry, I had to leave. I was shitting in my pants.”

III. Freakfest
a. A horror buff, he took me with a group of friends (think Big Bang Theory cast) to a Halloween haunted hayride, where he a) forbade me from hiding behind him in the haunted house, pushing me out in front of the abundance of scary ghouls lurking behind every corner; and b) spent the night with his hobbit-like best friend acting out scenes from superfreaky sci fi movies that I’d never even heard of .

IV. A Christmas Story
a. This gets a category of its own. For Christmas he gave me a fairy night light (from Hallmark cards or the like). At first I thought it was thoughtful (I’m scared of the dark) until he a) told me he picked a fairy because I have pointy ears; b) insisted several times that it was real porcelain and very expensive; c) I later found the price tag: $19.99.

Now comes the part where I tell you how I dumped his cheap, bad date ass! Except…erm…he dumped ME! I knew something was wrong when, on something like our fourth and final date, he took me to lunch and PAID. He then tried to “let me down gently” by saying that while I was awesome, gorgeous and unbelievably fun (hey, I'm for Ad-Lib), he needed to focus on his career and move to California to pursue it. I later discovered he never moved, so it was just an excuse! If only he knew what a favor he did me, and how much my friends and I laughed when I told them that he opted out! Oh WDE! May you find your equally WDE soulmate! And thank you for giving me something to write (and laugh) about!

Now come on, come on! Tell me yours!