Real stories about dating and relationships in New York City. Truth is more interesting than fiction.

and the Bad Dates…

I had a post all set and ready to go for today. It just needed a bit of polishing… And then I read The Big Girl Blog’s post this morning and she totally inspired me to write this.

Her post was called, How to Deal with Rejection. An important topic for any dater (or human being, for that matter), as everyone is rejected at some point. Let’s face it, no one is universally liked.

She tells the story of a with a very rude man. VERY RUDE. I’m not going to retell it, as it’s well worth reading. Just go read it yourself. Anyway, it reminded me of one of my worst dates ever. A story I don’t think I’ve ever told here. Or maybe I have and I’ve forgotten about it.

It was one of those I-should-have-known-better dates. The guy only posted one picture, and it was arty and fuzzy and didn’t look much like anyone I’d recognize in real life.  But his profile was funny and he came off as smart and charming.

He’d asked me to meet him for a late afternoon , on a weekend day. And he suggested a place for us to meet. I usually like it when men make concrete plans, but his suggestion was really inconvenient for me. I wasn’t thrilled with going such a long way for a date, but I agreed.

The day came – and I remember this clearly (and I never remember anything) – the weather was horrible. Drizzly and humid. Extreme bad hair/I’d rather stay in and read weather. But I got my shit together and got there, on time.

I had NO IDEA what this guy looked like, his picture was that bad. So I stood outside the cafe in the nasty weather and hoped he’d see me.  Time passed, lots of time, until finally I called him.

He answered. He was sitting inside. He’d just walked in, right past me, just a few minutes before (about 15 minutes late for our date).

Anyway, when we finally got together at the table, he was horribly rude to me. He said something like, “I didn’t recognize you” with a negative tone. And he had this sour look on his face. Like he was disappointed.

Which really got under my skin. So much so that I remember the details of this date years later. Because here was a man who a) wasn’t particularly attractive b) didn’t post an accurate picture of himself online c) showed up 15 minutes late to a date that was in his neighborhood, and a total shlep for me d) was disappointed in me, even though the pictures I’d used online were recent and accurate.

Our date was miserable. He was about as rude as anyone I’ve ever tried to chat with. I remember him picking a fight with me over something related to my work (old career). I should have left early. Hell, I probably shouldn’t have bothered sitting down. But I stayed and finished my coffee. I don’t remember our goodbyes, specifically, but I do know that neither of us bothered with the, “it was nice to meet yous.”

I remember feeling like shit when I left. He had me questioning myself. Had I suddenly become much less attractive? Had I done something to deserve the way he treated me?

Eventually it hit me. NOT. ABOUT. ME. Some people are just assholes.

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2 to “and the Bad Dates…”

  1. Sonja says:

    I really admire that you would stay and finish your coffee with “the asshole”. I don’t know if I could do that. It worked out though, because you learned something from it, gathered some information, and perhaps have related to many, many women who have perhaps experienced something similar. Or should I say, experienced an asshole? lol. Better yet, you have the security to know that you werent the problem. Very nice. Too many women these days don’t have enough confidence.

  2. onlinedating says:

    Good conclusion, Simone.

    One of my coworkers awhile back had a bad date with someone she met online. She followed the “rules” of meeting in a public place, not telling him where she lived, etc.. She had no intention of ever seeing him again after the date. Well, the next night – around 10pm – the guy shows up at her door wanting to know if she wanted to go out again! He had used her phone number to find out where she lived. Scary.