The Worst Date
"Hi, I couldn't get my medication from my doctor."
This is a weird way to introduce yourself at a date, but sure, okay, why not. I hadn't been waiting that long, my book had managed to be actually dangerously entertaining and after a long month of work travel an entertaining date seemed like a good choice.
"Why not?" I ask. Opening a door I should not have opened.
"Adderall."
"Oh, but, I don't -"
"I don't mind it's just that you know the withdrawl is a bitch and hi."
He runs his hand through his hair, which is greasy and disheveled. He looks nothing like the pictures he has posted. He's certainly lying about his age. He is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, shaking just visible, that plus the twitchy mess and flared nostrils of someone clearly having a really bad come down.
I am
at
a
loss.
I don't know what to say or how long to draw this awful thing out. Small talk? Small talk.
"So what do you do?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm not actually employed, you know."
His entire demeanor is off. We had chit chatted for a few days before I decided to call it and schedule the date. He wasn't the most dynamic conversationalist, but sometimes people are better at talking in person.
This is not one of those people.
He fidgets. His fidgeting makes me fidget. I start kicking my boots in the high bar chair.
"You said you go to a lot of quizzes, do you have a team?"
"What, I win games, yes. No...I just play wherever you can play. Not here, maybe Edgewater. Loyola sometimes. Not up here. Around here. Here."
My kicking foot accidentally touches him. I jerk back, put my feet under the chair on the lift. Try to still myself.
"How was your date last night?"
He had asked me to meet him the night before, but I was meeting a French traveler downtown. We went to an elegant wine bar, we talked about languages and the world, politics, travel, managing stress. Later in bed I told him what to do and he took direction well, it was an early night, but a good night none the less. I would have stayed longer but he fretted over the time. Intellectual, effete, traveled, read, and eager to see the end of the evening. These things are practically perfect in the way I view the world.
I could have lied to this stranger in the bar. I probably should have lied, but I didn't want to make that effort so I told the truth.
"Oh, so I have to be better than him now?"
"What, I-"
Something pressed against my leg, his shoe, against my boot, sliding up and down my leg, I managed to hide a deep shudder of disgust. I pull my feet away, trying to move in such a way that I don't seem to be inviting more while at the same time making my legs difficult to access. He tries to move with me, stops, still not quite getting it.
"But that's what you do, isn't it. That's why we are here."
"No, I wanted to meet you. I said, I'd like to meet you once, see if I want to meet you again."
"We should go now, I have a lot of work to do to prove myself."
"I'm sorry?"
"To have sex."
"I-"
At a loss again. Don't know what to say and a thousands words playing in my head. Most of them begin with "I'm off my very addictive medication which a professional (theoretically) withheld from me."
"No. Oh, no."
"But-"
"Look, I have a lot of sex, some good, some middling. I've had loves and lovers. My lover in New York is most important to me, but I always decide how and when I'm doing something. Or someone."
"But, can't you see what you are doing to me? I feel like now I have to really rebound. Prove myself."
"No."
"Look, don't you get it. By telling me all of this you are basically telling me that I have to be as good as all these people. Can't you see that."
I sit back in my chair and look at him.
"No. I don't see that."
"I can't believe you. Why are you doing this to me."
"I'm not doing anything to you. I think maybe we should try this again when you are not going through withdrawal."
"I'm fine!"
He gets close to my face, practically shouting at me.
"We should go now to your place."
"No."
"How can you do this to me."
Finally, I stop. I lean back in my chair, body physically open. Freeing my arms to grab the chair so I can kick forward if I need to. I look relaxed but I'm fully ready for a fit at this point, positioning myself for best recovery if he pushes me or the chair.
"You are making me very uncomfortable and I think you should leave now."
"How can you do this."
I repeat myself.
"Unbelievable! Maybe you shouldn't tell everyone about your fuck dates." It's pointed and designed to hurt. Maybe if I were less shame-resistant it would have found a mark. I don't take my eyes off him, prepared for an attack at any moment. He leaves the bar and I take a deep breath and order a drink and get the check.
My phone buzzes, a message from him.
-Unbelievable!
I move my finger over the block button but not fast enough to stop the next message.
-Come talk to me outside.
I block the number but this stops me. I was happy to see the back of him, happy to see him take his violence and his withdrawal away from me. I know the people in the bar well enough to know that I have help here if he had gotten violent, but outside the bar he is an unknown entity. I don't know what he will do. I don't know if he is waiting now. I don't know if he is armed.
What I do know is I probably shouldn't walk home. I start trying to plot the best decision before finally breaking down and asking one of my flatmates for a lift explaining the situation. I feel like a fool but at least I get home safe. He is not outside, or if he is, I cannot see him as I leave.
Bad dates I've had, this was pretty awful, and yet, it won't stop me from living my life. Or talking about my fuck dates. Or being who I am.
However, it does stand out as worst date in history after the forty year old guy who did appear to be waiting today. A different day. Another story.