WHO: Another idiot. Who cares.
WHAT: Just another Plenty of Fish failure. The only thing I’m finding plenty of is wasted time.
WHEN: June 25th, 2015
WHERE: The same restaurant I’d been stood up at the night before in Ballard, WA
WHY: I was still in the throes of breakup sorrow. The only way to distract myself from the sad was to spend as little time alone as possible.
THE DATE
Ok, so maybe you think I’m a masochist for returning to the scene so soon after being stood up. In all reality, that was a totally embarrassing thing to do. But after sitting there for so long the night before staring at the menu, I was desperate to try everything they had. So when this guy and I were deciding on a place to meet morning of our date, I jumped in quickly and suggested Matador.
And here is where I already start to get annoyed. I know, shocking right?
Him: “Matador is good. It’s a little expensive but I’m down if you feel like getting schmancy.”
Me: “Let’s try it, I’ve never been. I’m from CA so I’m obsessed with Mexican food.”
Him: “Oh let’s definitely go if you’ve never been. They do Mexi-fusion really well.”
Mexi-fusion?
Me, annoyed, which luckily didn’t come through because texting: “Ok cool.”
Him: “If you want real authentic Mexican food I know a lot of other places. You have to get out into the ghetto and they’re the kind that make you ill all the next day.”
Me: “Well I have to work tomorrow so I don’t really want to feel ill.”
Him: “I’m starting to question your commitment to Mexican food.”
Strike one. No one should ever, EVER, question my Mexi-foodmmitment. He clearly has no idea how many burritos I have eaten in my life. My insides are made of salsa and tacos, guy.
So we go to Matador. I walk inside 1 minute late and he’s already sitting at the bar drinking a beer. Maybe it’s just me, but I find that exceptionally rude. Unless I’m like 10 or more minutes late, be a patient human being.
He’s got a fully bald head with a full beard. I think I’ve mentioned before that this is not a good look (see the previous Superstar dating event). I order a margarita at the bar and sit next to him, but as soon as it’s in my hands the waitress says our table is ready. We pay and the guy tells the bartender it’s separate.
Keep this point in mind for later on in the story: he did not offer to pay. It will become absurd later, I promise.
I don’t see the waitress I had the night before, so I breathe a tiny sigh of relief. We sit outside one table away from the table I was stood up at. So at least I’m not 100% repeating my previous evening. At least this guy showed up.
That’s a pretty sad “at least” to focus on.
It’s tolerably hot outside and I sit on the side of the table facing the sun. I love sunshine, so what do I care?
But the sun is directly in my eyes with nothing to block it. I put on my sunglasses but it’s so directly burning into my corneas that I literally can’t see the guy’s face across the table. I put my hand up to block it, he says nothing.
He has a Newsies-type hat and he puts it on backwards. He says he needs to keep his head and neck from getting burned.
If you think those hats are a bad idea, you should see someone bald wearing one backwards.
Luckily for me, I could barely see him.
The waitress came and I asked for chips and salsa.
Waitress: “Would you like some fresh guacamole? We make it in house.”
Me, looking blindly across the table with my hand shielding my eyes: “Would you eat some if I get it?”
Bald Backward Newsies Hat: “Erm, no.”
Me: “Um, ok” and then to the waitress, “No thanks I guess.”
The waitress leaves.
Me: “You don’t like guacamole?”
Him: “I’m indifferent to avocados.”
I stared silently into the sun.
WHO IS INDIFFERENT TO AVOCADOS?! They’re delicious. And pick a side, guy. You either like them or you don’t. Take off your hat, grow a pair, and make a decision.
Suddenly, a tall, plaid-clad, cutey face guy appears at the side of our table. He refills my water, and I grin like a moron. He makes a joke and I giggle. He returns several times to our table for various reasons, and I make a point to catch his eye and smile every time I see him walking through the restaurant.
Back to the moron across from me.
We have basically nothing in common. So we talk about online dating since I guess we both do that.
Ulgh. Whatever.
My arm is starting to shake from holding it up to block the sun for so long.
He brags about how he has been on over 30 first dates this year. He says, “This is my year of dating.” I say I’ve been on probably just as many, but he doesn’t really care. He brags about how he has paid for almost every single date.
I’m having a terrible time so I comfort myself with the fact that maybe he will at least buy my tacos for me. And the tacos were absolutely delicious, by the way.
I make eyes at the cute plaid-wearing guy. He’s so tall and smiley.
This idiot across from me is still talking. He says, “You’re going to have a weird sunburn on the back of your hand from holding it up like that.”
No offer to switch places with me, and I’ve been blind for over an hour.
I finish my food and he is not even close to being done. He had ordered the nachos, which were some of the most impressive nachos I have ever seen. They came out piled like a foot high with basically an entire animal’s worth of chorizo piled on top.
I’ll bet that guy felt ill from that meal even though we didn’t go to a dirty ghetto place. Mission accomplished.
Cutey McPlaid had brought the nachos out and when he set them on the table, he smiled at me again. I squirmed a little in my seat and smiled back. He patted Baldy across the table on the shoulder and said, “Good luck.”
Anyway, I sit there staring at the Mt. Everest of nachos this guy is never going to finish. He continues talking at me like there’s any remote chance I’m showing I care about anything he’s saying.
My arm is so tired.
He says something about how he made such a valiant effort at the nachos, but he’s barely scraped the surface. I tell him to scrape all the toppings off the chips and take them home to throw in some eggs or on top of new chips. He seems unimpressed by my ingenuity.
The cute waiter guy comes back eventually and we smile at each other. He asks the idiot if he would like a box, which idiot finally agrees to.
Our table has been cleared for a while and the bill hasn’t come. I’m so ready to leave, but I’m enjoying smiling at that cute boy.
I begin formulating a plan in my brain.
The check finally arrives like 15 minutes later. We’ve been at dinner for over an hour and a half. After all the bragging I’d heard about his year of dating and shelling out, I mildly expected the guy to make some grand offer to pay for me.
Nope.
I get my card out and he does nothing to stop me. I throw it down on the bill and when the waitress comes back the guy says, “Split it.”
Whatever.
We walk out of the restaurant and do the lame “see you soon, let’s do it again” thing, and we set off in different directions.
But I’d made up my mind to do something I have only done one other time in my life.
I walk around the block and return to the restaurant, my third time arriving there in two days.
Not pathetic at all.
While I walked around the block, I’d grabbed one of my business cards from my wallet and scribbled my cell phone number on it. I was going to give my number to that cute boy.
When I enter the restaurant, a few people look at me weird. I had been taking deep breaths on my way back to psych myself up, and I’m sure I looked like a deer in headlights. I looked around frantically and when I didn’t see him, I almost bailed. Instead I noticed a group of servers standing around staring at me so I bolted into the bathroom. And I just stood there.
Oh, Sarah.
I looked at myself in the mirror and breathed. It was like a scene from a movie that everyone says doesn’t really happen in real life. Well, apparently it does. I probably should have splashed water on my face to make it completely cliche.
I took a few breaths and walked back out. I scanned the room as I slowly walked back towards the door. I didn’t see him, but I did spot two waitresses standing around doing nothing. I quickly walked over to them fearing he would appear before I could leave.
Me: “Um, hi. This is sort of weird and awkward, but would you mind giving my phone number to that guy who works here who was wearing the plaid shirt?”
Waitress 1: “Um..”
Me: “I don’t normally do this or ask people out, but I was just on a really bad date and he was nicer to me than my date was.”
Waitress 1, less weirded out now: “Aww I’m sorry.”
Me: “Oh it’s fine, but he was just so nice to me. Is he single?”
Waitress 1 and 2, smiling: “Yes!”
Me: “Oh ok good. I don’t see him anywhere, would you mind giving him my number?”
Waitress 1: “Sure!”
Me: “Thanks!”
Waitress 2: “Hope your night goes better.”
Me, suddenly spotting the plaid guy out of the corner of my eye: “Thanks!”
And I bolted out of the restaurant before my entire body had the chance to claw up with awkward. And he never called.
Never Compromise on Tallness or Baby Hands 