People date. That's how we get to find someone we can connect with, right? First, second, third dates; this is how we put our best foot forward. We try to show our date the best possible version of ourselves, and in turn, we expect the same from the people we date.
Or maybe that's just me.
I have been on more than my fair share of dates, and it turns out I have a very special knack for finding...a special kind of date. Or maybe I just have a beacon hiding somewhere on my person that guides these weirdos directly to me. Maybe it's like a dog whistle, but instead of something only dogs can hear, it's something only douche bags can hear. Couldn't tell you what the deal is, but what I can do is tell you the stories. I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I did not enjoy living through them. Rest assured, I did somehow actually live through each and every one of these. The names will be changed to protect the D. bags from themselves, but also because I don't always remember their names. Hey, if they were worth it, they wouldn't be one of these stories, now would they!
Story One: Dipping Your Pen in the Company Ink
I worked in an office environment with all ladies. We loved 3pm because that was the time the mail got dropped off. I know what you're thinking: what an awesome job you have since the highlight of the day is when the mail comes. I know. Be jealous. Back to the story. So the reason we would get excited is if there were any large packages, the cute man would have to come drop them off rather than the tiny girl who carried the envelopes. After a few months of ogling the man we had so nicknamed, "The Large Package Guy," my coworkers convinced me to ask him out. To my complete surprise, he said he had been trying to ask me out for weeks! Happy Day! He says he would love to take me to dinner, and I, of course, agree. He would like to call me Saturday so he has time to figure out where he wants to take me. Lovely! Needless to say, I was on cloud nine.
Saturday comes, and I get the call I've been so excited to get. He says he's been looking forward to this all we. Me too! He asks if we're still on for dinner, and I say absolutely. He then tells me he was thinking of going somewhere fancy, and asks me if I've been to the Chili's in the neighborhood. Um, I'm not a snob or anything, but if you say fancy and then you say Chili's, well, it gave me pause. He then asks me where I live, I tell him, and he tells me that's good because I live really close to the Chili's so he doesn't have to pick me up. Interesting. I prefer not to let guys pick me up on first dates anyway because if it all goes to hell, I want to be able to get out of there asap, but it's weird that he just really didn't want to pick me up.
So we meet at Chili's. He's late, which is a big check on the con side of a list for me, but we go sit down for dinner. At this point, he starts talking and doesn't stop, even when there's food in his mouth. He starts telling me how he's so glad he found me because he really hates going out and doing thing that don't involve him sitting on his couch, playing video games, and oddly enough, it's really hard to meet girls in his living room. He tells me how he had a girlfriend, but she was Mexican and a whore and he should have known she was a whore because she was Mexican, as all Mexicans are whores. I happen to look up as he's slandering the Latino culture in general to notice the hostess, who happens to be about 15 feet away from our table, oh, and Latina, burning a hole in the back of his head with her death stare. Awesome. I try to deter him from this subject since I'm now scared of spit in our food and drinks, both of which Large Package Guy is ordering in abundance, and then he asks me if I've ever cheated on a boyfriend before. And I quote, "I just wanna know because I am so over dating whores." This guy apparently subscribed to the theory that you should say "whore" as much as humanly possible on a first date. I don't recommend this strategy.
Finally we get the bill. Thank God, the night is almost over. I'm pretty sure most of the staff wanted him out of the place too, because they couldn't bring our check fast enough. They set it down, and I was full well planning on paying my half. I want to make sure this guy knows I don't owe him shit. As I'm taking money out of my wallet, he starts patting his shirt pockets and then his pants pockets (not very convincingly, btw), and then gives an over dramatic sigh and tells me he left his wallet on the kitchen counter. Killer. That's what I wanted to do. Pay for his 5 drinks, appetizer, meal, and dessert. Life is totally awesome right now. What's that? Don't worry? You'll pay for our next date? Yeah, why don't you hold your breath and wait for that to happen.
I pay the bill and when we're leaving, he tells me the least he can do is walk me to my car. I told him the least he could have done was to have brought his wallet, so walking me to my car wouldn't be necessary.
From then on, for some odd reason, it was the tiny girl who brought our packages at 3pm. They got her a cart though, so that was nice.