Dating Fail 1

Liz didn’t want to go on this date in the first place. The guy seemed weird and patronizing; although she mentioned in her JDate profile that she loves the movie Zoolander, he’d approached her with an obscure Zoolander reference that even she didn’t catch. And then he got all condescending and snide when she didn’t get it.

She really didn’t want to go out with him.

She felt obliged to go on this ill-advised date, though. First, she was only 24 at the time. She’d just recovered from breaking up with her college boyfriend, and she felt like she should go on as many dates as possible. She’d also paid for her JDate profile and had decided that, dammit, if she was going to get a return on her investment, she was going to go on as many dates as humanly possible. Even if it meant going out with guys who she’d already deemed to be unacceptable, she was still going to suck it up and go. She was going to give people the benefit of the doubt and get her money’s worth if it killed her. (Pardon the historic irony here, but it was like the blitzkrieg of dating. She half expected someone to roll up in a Panzer tank, just to make the motif complete. But I digress.)

In any case, everything about this guy seemed slimy. Nonetheless, they went about planning where and when to meet.

“You’ll come to the Starbucks by my office on Tuesday at 6,” he informed her. (How polite of him!)

“Hmmmm. Since your office is really out of the way for me, let’s meet somewhere in between.”

“No dice.”

“Um, there are lots of good options between Chinatown and Farragut West.”

“No can do.”

(Silence)

(Liz thinks of the JDate membership fee that was recently deducted from her bank account)

(She tries reaaaaaaaallly hard to give this guy the benefit of the doubt)

“Ok, fine. Tuesday. Six. Chinatown.”

Tuesday at 6 rolled around, and she got off the Metro in Chinatown. She schlepped to the Starbucks, suspecting that she was going to meet Prince Not At All Charming. They met, he ordered coffee and Liz ordered a cup of tea. He noticed that she didn’t take out her wallet.

“What,” he sneered, “you expect me to pay?”

“Yes," she replied. "I made the effort to come down here to meet you, so I’ll ask you to pay the $1.20 for my tea.”

(Meanwhile, Liz was trying to keep her jaw off the floor while thinking, For real? All this back and forth over a cup of tea? It’s hot water! With chamomile! I’m clearly going to need this lovely dose of Tazo Calm to get my blood pressure back to its happy place.)

“Fine,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at the mercifully unsympathetic barista. The barista glared at him. Liz knew she was in for a long evening.

“So,” he said as they found a place to sit, “you’re one of those stuffed-shirt DC types.”

“Dude, everyone in DC is a stuffed-shirt DC type. We’re a pretty self-selecting group of people.”

“Whatever.”

She looked at her tea and decided she might want to re-think her policy of giving benefits of the doubt and getting her money’s worth. This guy was even worse than she’d expected. She began running through the list of already-apparent qualities in her mind: He’s rude. He's oily. He works in DC, and yet he assails people for working in DC. I’d rather get blood drawn than go on a second date with him. Hell, I’d take an evening with Saddam Hussein over this. And Saddam Hussein was a fucking despot who is now dead.

As she was thinking of the various ways that this guy was beyond redemption, he busted out with yet another brilliant question.

“So,” he said, narrowing his eyes either in a lame attempt at romance or because his contacts were getting dry, “how many black-tie benefit events have you been to since you moved here?”

“Actually, none. I work at a think tank doing policy analysis, and we’re in the non-profit sector. I can’t afford black-tie benefits.” (Such events run $70-150 per person – so when you’re working an entry-level job in one of the nation’s most expensive cities, you can’t drop that sort of cash. Not even on food. It’s dire.)

“Well, I go to them all the time. They’re amazing. It’s really lame that you’ve never been.”

Who is this guy?! A bewildered series of questions marched through her mind. As she's pretty transparent and whatever she thinks usually winds up clearly displayed on her face, he could probably tell that she wasn't impressed. Does he actually think he’s being charming?! WTF?

But hey, he was a fighter – if he saw it on her face, he didn’t let it get to him. No more than 15 minutes later, she knew she’d reached critical mass. As she opened her mouth to say that she was getting a migraine and needed to go home, he dropped in her lap the ultimate nugget of dating wisdom:

“So my friend has a villa in Tuscany, and apparently the view off the balcony is a guaranteed lay.”

Whatever verbal response she would’ve come up with was obscured by the tea that shot out her nose.

Oh, no he didn’t! He did not just say that! Did they put something in my tea? Did I just hallucinate this whole thing?

(.2 seconds later)

Oh no, that was all real. He really said that. I have to leave here now before I lose my shit.

“Listen,” she said once she’d recovered enough to compose herself, “I’m not feeling well. I need to go home. Thank you for the tea.”

“Let me walk you to the Metro,” he said, suddenly morphing into the model of chivalry.

“That’s ok. I need to get to the Orange Line, so I’ll be walking a few extra blocks.”

“I don’t mind. Besides, if you’re not feeling well, I want to make sure you get there ok.”

Well hello, Dr. Jekyll, she thought. Enchanté.

He walked with her to the Metro stop, and even stayed with her on the platform. He also helped pass the 5 minutes until her train’s arrival by insulting her a few more times. (In case you were wondering, he determined that she hadn’t traveled extensively enough and that her hair was too straight. Who knew?!) By this point, the light of the train hurtling down the tunnel was like a beacon of hope. A ray of freedom! The light of redemption!

“So, gorgeous,” he said while doing that weird squinty thing again, “I had a great time tonight. When can I see you again?”

Her train was arriving.

“Um,” she said, stalling for time.

The train came to a stop. He squinted expectantly.

“Well,” she said slowly. She wanted to time this just right.

The doors opened. Liz stepped in.

“Never,” she replied.

The doors closed behind her, and the train sped away.