Spring has sprung, providing a glimmer of hope. Relationships are springing up as well.
At least seven of my friends, within the past month, have gone “Facebook official” and I am more than happy for them. But there are still a handful of bitter, cynical and single friends of mine that complain that there are no “good guys” in Binghamton. A theory I often side with, though, is that the seemingly “good guys” actually fit into the complicated territories: taken, gay or drug dealer.
Nonetheless, the hopeless romantic in me believes it is not a matter to rush or stress.
Noticing my passive approach and busy lifestyle, my newly wifed-up guy friends took it upon themselves to set me up on a blind date. Feeling the peer pressure to couple up and knowing I had nothing to lose, I agreed to a date with said “anon.” Free dinner, how bad could it be? Little did I know, I signed my life away to the most socially awkward event of my life.
It was time for the spontaneous outing. My blind date kept me waiting for 15 minutes, without a heads-up. I should have taken that as a sign, but I managed to sympathize and didn’t mark it as a red flag. But decked out with Euro-trash aviators on a rainy night, drenched in Axe and offering me a pound, he made me certain that this pairing had gone wrong.
But even though we were complete opposites, I figured I could try to make it through this date and make the best of it.
Introductions aside, I received the longest unwarranted embrace ever. Hugs are fine. But as a first greeting anything prolonging four seconds is downright weird. About 10 seconds later, after unlocking from my blind date’s death grip, I noticed the junk-packed vehicle. I tried not to judge, but after hearing several alarms ring and glass shatter in the overcrowded backseat, I was freaked out. This ride was a TLC Hoarder’s Special on wheels. I began panic texting all of my friends, but I was assured this evening would be bearable.
I did my best to keep conversation going, but my date was absolutely rude and avoidant. He pretended not to hear what I was saying, belted out songs that weren’t playing on the radio or talked around questions. The catchphrase, “Awhh yeah, a playa’s gotta dunk,” seemed to finish his sentences. He also asked me if I mind being called “Bom-Chicka-Booty-Drop.”
At that point, I was positive I was on some hidden camera disaster date show, but with my luck, this was real.
As we entered, that man I now call “Playa’s-Gotta-Dunk” took me by the hand and started beatboxing a theme song for us at Lost Dog Café. He announced to everyone that it was a special night for us and we should get “free dranks on duh HOUSE.” To maintain sanity, I doggedly avoided eye contact with any Lost Dog patrons and convinced myself that he was severely intoxicated. He proceeded to order for me and asked me if he could get the waitress’ number.
With no patience left, I abandoned ship. I notified him that an emergency had come up with a friend and I had to go.
Changing up your usual romantic approach can be chaotic, so expect the unexpected. Basic manners and polite behavior will go a long way with first impressions in a dating environment. If your wingmen have set you on a disaster date, remember that you have the last call and don’t need to lead anyone on.