My Worst First Date

I have been told time and time again about “bad first dates” and everyone has their own experience. Well, I’m going to share mine and hopefully, someone will find it enjoyable.

The tale starts on a cold Vancouver Friday night. All my friends have their own plans so, I open Hinge. Hinge said, “We think You and Boy should meet, you would be a great match”, which had me feeling pretty optimistic. I understand the algorithm may be bullshit, but it also may not be so I’m willing to try anything.

I have been messaging Boy for the past week and Boy and I are getting along just dandy. Being the go-get-her-feminist that I am, I make the first move and message Boy, “Hey, do you want to go out tonight?”. And Boy responds, “Yeah for sure, where do you want to go?”. We decide on a bar and I get ready to go.

Hair done, makeup done, outfit on, and I’m on the bus heading to this date. Boy then texts me saying, “Hey, just so you know I’m not looking for anything serious, so I don’t want you to fall in love with me tonight.” And I thought he was just trying to make light of a situation that could be uncomfortable to talk about, so I text back and say “Haha, dw. Sounds good to me”. Looking back, I’m convinced that Boy thought I was going to fall in love with him. I didn’t.

So, I get to the bar and show up my classic 5-10 minutes late and he is already there. The bar is super busy which I don’t mind, but I’m finding it really difficult to find Boy. I’m kind of making an idiot of myself lapping the bar but I don’t see him. Until I do. I don’t want to say I got catfished, because that would not be entirely true. But you know the difference between the Big Mac in McDonald’s advertisements vs. the actual Big Mac? We had a Big Mac situation going on. However, it’s what on the inside that counts, and we’ve all had rough days. My optimism is maintained.

So, we start chatting. Ladies and gentlemen, I may as well have sat there and talked to myself.  
Me: “How is school?”
Boy: “Good.”
Me: “Where do you work?”
Boy: “I don’t”
Me: “Where are you from?”
Boy: “Outside Vancouver”.

And it just went on and on like this. I felt like a shitty detective trying to figure out if he had a personality or if he murdered it and hid it under a bridge somewhere.

And while I’m interrogating, in walks a complication. You know those people you meet and think, “Holy shit are people allowed to be this attractive?”. Well I once knew a guy like that through work, and we flirted a little, but things fell off because it was right before I was going home to Toronto. So anyway, in walks this smoke show of a man while I sit across from my sad Big Mac and now not only am I single-handedly holding up this conversation, but dear God am I distracted.

Now, because I’m a classy girl, I have ordered a glass of wine. I’m sipping away at my wine, talking about how good it tastes, when this boy asks me his first question:

“Do you like wine?”

Well good fucking job Sherlock, it was very insightful of you to pick up on the subtle clues I had dropped, but at least it was a conversation-starter, so I ran with it. We start talking about wine. My mom collects wine, my aunt and uncle collect wine, my sister is really into wine, so I guess that’s how I got into wine? I offer him a sip (oh, the world before covid) and I ask him if there’s an alcohol that he likes. And he says vodka. Not my first choice, but let’s dig deeper.

“How did you get into drinking vodka?”
“I don’t know, it was just always around.”
“Do you have a favourite brand?”
“I tried Belvedere once.”
“Oh cool!”
“Yeah, I got bottle service when I went to a strip club.”

Okay. I’m not sure where to go from here so I take a big ol’ pause, which he takes as a sign to open the flood gates. I must be a great fucking detective because I found the personality and it was not hidden under a bridge, but inside a strip club. Boy cannot stop talking about strip clubs despite my efforts to change the subject. And everyone has their quirks, I get that, but a passion for strip clubs isn’t really a “first date quirk”.

After about 20 minutes (which felt like 3 hours), I’ve moved the conversation along. And we’re talking about family. I’ve gotten nearly everything out of him that I’m going to get, so we’re now talking about mine. He asks me if both my parents are white, which they are. And he asks me where they’re, from, and I say Canada. He puts his drink down and says, “Oh, I didn’t know you were white trash.”

Again, big ol’ pause and I say, “No, I’m not.” So, he says, “Both your parents are from Canada, aren’t you white trash?”. It’s been six months and I’m still unsure what the correlation between Canadian and white trash is.

Just in time to save the day, my sister texts me. I had let her know I was going on a date and she sent me what we call our “911 check-in”, which is basically a check in to see if you need an out on a shitty date. And I have never used my 911 before, but good Lord was I thankful for that text. So, my sister calls me, and I tell her “Oh my God, that’s awful I’ll be right there.”

I tell Boy that something really bad (and super vague) happened to my sister at work and I need to go see her. So, we grab the bills and head out. As we’re leaving the topic shifts to music. He asks me what I write about and I say, lots of stuff, but it’s mainly about my life. And the conversation goes on:

Boy: “What about if something sad happens?”
Me: “Yeah, I use music as an outlet for stress, so definitely.”
Boy: “What if something fucked up happens?”
Me: “Pardon?”
Boy: “Like, what if something really fucked up happens to you, would you write about it?”
Me: “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t know if I would share that song.”
Boy: “Cool….so, what’s the most fucked up thing that’s every happened to you?”

And OH, LOOK we’re at my bus stop. I leave with an awkward handshake/hug combo that still makes me want to vomit when I think about it. While I’m on the bus I get a notification on Hinge (fuck you, Hinge). And it says: Did you meet with Boy in person and how did it go? So, I told Hinge that it was miserable and then Hinge asks me if I want to un-match and I say, “fuck yeah, you fucking piece of crap”, or whatever white trash says.

Not 15 minutes later I get a very angry message from Boy saying:

“Wow, so you think you’re better than me? Already unmatched?” And there is just so much to unpack and I’m a little buzzed and not really ready to deal with this shit. I send, “Sorry I don’t think this is going to work”. And I get this decently long message about how he was the one didn’t even want a fucking relationship and girls are over dramatic and fuck me and I never heard from or saw Boy ever again.
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So, that is my worst first date. If you have me topped, which I’m sure some of you do, I am 200% willing to hear a good-bad story. Send them my way and if not, hopefully this made you laugh.
 
From me, with love, to you,
-Victoria