Bad Date

I had a bad date today. A lunch date. Here’s how it came about.

Yesterday I went to the grocery store. While standing in line at the checkout, I noticed the woman behind me in line was cute and had on interesting glasses and an interesting necklace. I smiled and complimented, she smiled back and said “Oh these? These are my Eurotrash frames.” And then proceeded to notice mine, which are Danish and modern and striking and perhaps a bit Eurotrash, too. We laughed. We chatted. She seemed interesting. So I gave her my card and said if she’d ever like to go for coffee or anything, to give me a call. She gave me her card and said she’d like that.

Then we noticed the cashier had started putting a lot of her stuff on my order. So cue the separating of the groceries, the backing out of several items that were hers (a large beef roast, some veggies, a half gallon of the exact same 2% organic house-brand milk I’d just bought) and the re-figuring of my bill. I paid. We laughed again. I said farewell.

On my way out of the store I was accosted by an earnest young thing trying to get people to sign petitions for political causes. I agreed with and signed one, and refused to sign the other, explaining to her when she tried to persuade me it was a worthy cause, that the new language weakened the existing law. She had the big-eyed, socks-and-birkenstocks look of college-age social-action volunteers everywhere, and seemed a little surprised at the duplicity in the language of the petition. In any event, the point is, I was delayed getting to my car.

As I loaded my groceries after my petition-signing and -not-signing adventures, I discovered a bunch of organic celery and a bag of snap peas which were not mine, since I’d bought celery three days before and already had some, and I detest peas. Obviously they were Eurotrash-glasses chick’s things. I pulled her card out of my pocket and called her, hoping she might be still in the parking lot, but alas, I got voice mail. So I left her a message.

She called me back last night, we laughed about the groceries, and she asked if I had her beef. No, actually. In fact I remember the cashier taking her beef off the belt and backing it out of my order. In any event, I did have her celery and peas. We agreed to meet today for lunch or coffee at the same shopping center. I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for the morning, and said I’d call her as I was leaving it.

So today I met her.

Actually I ended up waiting for 45 minutes in a bookstore, because she didn’t answer her phone when I called. But eventually I got hold of her, and we met. We tried a cafe near the grocery store, but left because she thought the table had been wiped with a dirty rag. She had been a waitress when she was younger, she said, and she always hated the busboy who wiped the tables with a dirty rag. It hadn’t looked dirty to me, but hey, I had actually wanted a bagel, so going to the bagel place instead suited me fine.

In the bagel place I learned that she

  • grew up in Germany
  • works as a recruiter in Silicon Valley
  • was planning to get Safeway to give her another piece of meat and said they would “pretty much give you anything” if you complained
  • smokes
  • tells people who say anything to her about her smoking that she kicked heroin and they should leave her alone
  • told me that last bit was a lie
  • went to the Hash Fest in Ann Arbor, but has never heard of the Michigan Womyn’s Festival
  • is a little racist
  • is a lot prejudiced against the South
  • is judgmental
  • accuses rural Illinoisans of incest on general principal
  • believes that drinking two Cokes a week will give you pancreatic cancer because of the corn syrup
  • hates rats
  • loves that TV show about hoarders and looks down on people who are messy
  • thinks money is the most important thing
  • talks a lot
  • listens only a little
  • is married

Right, so if all those other things (except the first two) weren’t deal-breakers, the whole married thing is. For sure. Of course it wasn’t like this “date” was a real date. It was a hostage exchange: her celery and peas for the $2.45 I’d paid for them. But part of me had hoped, when we’d talked in the line and admired each other’s glasses, that there might be some potential here.

Mostly I’m proud of myself for having given her my card. For not just being a wuss about it. Even if it did turn out she’s married and about the complete polar opposite of me in too many ways to count. I think maybe you have to go on a few bad dates — maybe a lot of bad dates — in order to go on some good ones.


~ by Nezu on 11 March 2010.

3 Responses to “Bad Date”

  1. Yeah I was just taken to task for not getting the name of the very hot butch bus driver I met and chatted with. But all those lovely fears cropped up and so I just said good night. Maybe I’ll invest in some cards, that would at least be something. Good for you for sharing yours! Maybe next time.

    • Well, there’s always next time! Maybe when you get up the nerve to slip your bus driver your phone number, you’ll find out she is totally into you. I’m very fond of Moo cards for this purpose. They’re little half-sized calling cards you can put your own art or photographs on.

  2. *laughs* Man, that sounds about as awesome as my date a few weeks ago! 😉 But I’m impressed at the handing of cards and calling about. I think it does take a lot of bad — or only okayish — dates before you get good ones. But I’m glad you went at all. 😉


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