This should not be confused with my first Tinder date. Obviously, I went on a bunch of those this summer, and Thursday night I had my first one since becoming single again. That date went fine, if not great. (There was no spark.)
No, this is my first Tinder “adventure.” Misadventure more like. I count this episode as worse than my only truly bad Tinder date. And that was with the dude who asked me one question in the 90 minutes that we were together and claimed he dated the director Twilight and was almost Edward.
Just to give you some perspective.
It all started at 4 p.m. on Friday when my date for the night texted to cancel due to car trouble. That sucked, but I figured I could get on Tinder again after my 5 p.m. massage and see if I could rustle up another date. No biggie.
Right as I’m getting home from the massage, my phone rings. It’s Justin, the guy who cancelled. He starts talking about how he realized that we never talked on the phone and usually he always talks on the phone with a woman before meeting her.
Oh, and that he feels like he knows me, is that weird? (Uh, a bit, because we mainly texted good morning or about what we were watching on TV or other superficial stuff.) My actual answer was so non-committal that I don’t even remember it. He didn’t seem to notice.
At any rate, it quickly becomes obvious that he’s been drinking. It’s 6:30 p.m., by the way.
He punctuated every joke with “Naaaaah, I’m just kidding!” Like, dude, yeah I figured your nine tattoos weren’t really all Care Bears.
Speaking of tattoos, he tells me that one of his is the angel of death because he works in a hospital and the whole subject is so taboo. But that we’re really just, like, a breath of life in the universe in the grand scheme of things. (I think he meant “poof of life”?)
Then he proceeds to tell me about this time when he was still working in the hospital’s cath lab (he’s performs cardiovascular tests now) and a guy comes in having a heart attack. And they’re holding him down, trying to put the catheter in the guy’s femoral artery while the guy is begging them not to let him die. Except he does anyway. Then Justin reiterates that we’re all just a breath of life in the universe.
Great pre-date story, dude.
He tells me that I seem really cool and he doesn’t like that many people. Also, that he’s always been attracted to women with dark hair and pale skin and that I remind him of the suicide queens, which is a reference I don’t get even though he makes it seem like it was super pop culture from a while back. Maybe the four-year age difference was rearing its head, I dunno.
Annnywaay, he proposes that he Uber to meet me somewhere in the middle of us. (He’s about six or seven miles east of me.) He then suggests a movie theater that’s actually to the west of me. Um…
I tell him I don’t like movies on first dates, and he laughs as though this conclusion of mine — that we’d see a movie when meeting at the movie theater — was hilarious. No, he says, we’ll just meet there and then figure out something to do after that.
Based on the area, this would mean either a meal at one of the two a chain restaurants in the complex or my driving us both somewhere. Gee, tempting.
Oh, and somehow we get to the point where he tells me that I might have to worry about him dancing. “You mean, like, if we go somewhere that there’s music?” No, just in general. Because, he says, he’s just a big goofball, a 6’3″ goofball.
At this point, I’m thoroughly sick of being the sober one in the conversation because he’s clearly pretty intoxicated, though he insists he’s only had a couple of drinks. (When I ask at one point how many “a couple” is exactly, he laughs and says, “Don’t be mean.”)
Overall, he wasn’t making a very compelling case for meeting up. That said, I was also looking at a boring night in. So I was a bit torn.
I told him to give me half an hour to shower and think about it. I weighed the pros and cons and decided it would be too exhausting to be the sober one — especially since I’d be driving to the movie theater and therefore couldn’t catch up to him drinks-wise.
I get out of the shower about 15 minutes after we hung up. He’s already texted me “So yes or no?”
I text back to remind him that I’d asked for half an hour. He apologizes. But at that point I tell him that I think we should just reschedule for another night — when either we’re both sober or both drinking.
He texts back that he understands but also promises that he’s fine, truly.
Shortly after the last message, my phone rings. He’s calling me again. When I pick up, he acts confused. Apparently, he was drunk enough that he called when he meant to text me. I’m not completely sure how that works.
He proceeds to tell me that he’s really one of a kind. And how he’s not actually that interested in most things and he used to think there was something wrong with him but no, that’s just the way he is he guesses.
And some other stuff that I really wasn’t following. I think it was about how he’s a fun guy? The cat was on my lap, and I found petting her more interesting than the conversation and mainly “Uh huh”ed my way through the exchange. He didn’t seem to notice and kept talking for a good (or, arguably, bad) five or so minutes.
Then he asks me again to meet. I reiterate that it should be another night.
“Never mind,” he says.
“You had your chance. I’m done.”
And he hangs up.
Then two or three minutes later texts “Please.”
I ignore it, convinced I very much dodged a bullet.
I make a date with another guy on Tinder, aggravated that all the back and forth with Justin meant we were getting a late start. (I had to get ready and couldn’t even meet the guy until 9:30 p.m., ugh!)
On my way to the bar, my phone rings. Yep, it’s Justin again.
I click ignore and proceed to go on my date. At one point, the guy went to the bathroom, so I checked my phone to see if my friend Leila had messaged me. Justin had called two more times.
The guy gets back and I update him — I’d told him the whole saga — and we both have a laugh about it and shake our heads.
About an hour later (it’s now past midnight), Justin calls again. I picked up thinking it would at least make him stop. I answer the phone with a thoroughly annoyed, “Can I help you?”
He asked what I was up to, and I told him I was at a bar and what did he want? He was sober now and apologized. He told me he had been “four or five sheets to the wind.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I got that.”
He wants to know if he scared me off. I told him that, in fact, he weirded me out. He said some more stuff, but the bar was loud and I couldn’t really hear him — and wasn’t particularly interested in anything he had to say. So I told him I was hanging up now. And did just that.
He called back almost immediately. I put my phone back in my purse and finished my date. As we were walking out of the bar, I checked my phone again. Not only has he called again, he texted me:
“Sorry for everything…Truly.
“I pride myself on not being disrespectful. Especially with women.
“Hope you are doing well and are safe.”
Weird note to end on.
I’m pretty sure he called again shortly thereafter, but honestly I’d had a couple of drinks and he called so damn many times that it’s hard to keep track.
But looking at my call history, I can tell you that, in all, he called me six times after our initial two conversations.
The next morning I called my mom to regale her with the tale. I had the phone on silent, so it wasn’t until I heard my iPad going off (for some reason it rings when my phone does) that I realized he was, in fact, calling me again.
When I didn’t pick up, he texted:
“Do you hate me?
“Because I really really really really really hope you don’t.”
I ignored it and, thankfully, that’s the last I’ve heard from him. So I guess he finally took the hint. Eventually.
So that’s my tale of woe/amusement/slightly creeped-out-ness. Hope you guys enjoyed the story. I’ll do my best to keep the entertainment coming!
Any of you ever find out that you clearly dodged a bullet date-wise?