H
We’ll call this one “H.”
I met him at a bar in Brooklyn, where he was easily the tallest, best looking, non-hipster option around. I guessed he was about 28. I forgave him for wearing sweatpants to a bar on a Friday, and gave him my number. He texted me a few days later. We decided to meet up for drinks. Very standard procedure.
I had two work parties to attend before our date, so when my boss’s driver dropped me off at A Voce, I wasn’t exactly sober. H walked in, looking as gorgeous as ever. He even put on real pants and paid for the wine, so I assumed the date would go well.
Then he started talking.
“So, I know you’re 22…and I just want to tell you now that I’m probably a lot older than you think I am,” he said.
Okay…what does a lot older than I think you are mean? You’re 30? You’re 35? Is this how all dates in this city start?
“I was married before, for six years to a Spanish woman, but we’ve been divorced for a few years now,” H continued.
Awesome. A divorcee. Just what I was hoping to find at a drunken karaoke party.
“We didn’t have any kids or anything, and now I speak Spanish.”
There’s always an upside, I guess.
“Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that right away,” he said.
Well…that’s good? But please shut up, all of this sharing is freaking me out. Plus, how old are you that you had time to be married for six years? And if you’re that old, why the hell are you out with me?
Our conversation steered back towards normal subjects for a little while- work (he works for Focus Features), school (he graduated from college at some point in the ‘90s) and ‘80s music (he was alive and listening before it was vintage).
These awkward, age-revealing conversation topics made me uneasy, so I led the conversation to something I know well: Football.
I’m a huge Patriots fan. So I told him. Then, the following conversation took place:
“Cool. So if you like Boston sports teams, I know this one bar in the city that is full of Boston fans, we should go sometime…”
“Yeah? That sounds awesome. Everyone around here is a Giants fan, I can’t handle it.”
“Or, we could get tickets and go up to New England for a weekend soon to see a game!”
No. Sorry. We can’t. Why? Because I don’t know you. Planning to go watch sports at a bar in the city we both live in is about as committed as I’m willing to get on a first date. We’re not going away for a weekend. Absolutely not.
Me: “Or that. Wow, it’s 10:45.”
H: “Do you want another glass of wine?”
Me: “No, I’ve got to go. I have work really early in the morning.”
H: “Really? I thought you said you had a 9 to 5 office job.”
Me: “Oh…well I have to go in early tomorrow to get work done.”
H: “Oh that sucks, how early?”
Me: “Oh you know…like 7. So, yeah, I have to go.”
H: “Okay, I’ll walk with you to the subway.”
Me: “Actually I’m taking a cab. My boss and his driver dropped me off, and he said rather than take the subway home at night I should just take a taxi and expense it to the company.”
H: “Oh, okay. I’ll get you a cab then.”
Me: “No worries, I’ve got it.”
I hailed a cab, he gave me a kiss on the cheek and I went home. Though I don’t think I ever remembered to expense that ride to the company…
After a few ignored text messages, he got the hint. I guess that’s the good thing about dating an older man.
The Pilot
“Wow, I’ve never seen a stud that big in a girl’s face.”
That was his line. He used it on my friend and then turned to me.
“Hi, I’m [the pilot].”
“Hi.”
As I was drunk, I don’t remember every detail of our conversation, so here are the highlights:
He told me that a friend who was texted me (it was 2 a.m.), had a thing for me. I told him, no, that friend has a girlfriend.
He told me that he’s a pilot for Cathay Pacific and lives in Hong Kong on a boat named after his mother. Then handed me a sparkling (no, I’m not kidding) business card to prove it.
He bought me a drink at the bar and handed it to me.
Pilot: “So…I think we should get married.”
Me: “No. We shouldn’t.”
Pilot: “Well. Do you think we could spend New Year’s Eve together then? I want you to be the one I kiss at midnight.”
Me: “No, I have plans already.”
Pilot: “Well, just so you know, one day we’ll get married. I can tell.”
Me: “No, we won’t.”
My friend tried to rescue me. For some reason, I insisted on continuing my conversation with this pilot about how I was not going to marry him. His friend, also a pilot, was holding my jacket for me and kept telling me I was “so cute.” Their third friend, again a pilot, was yelling at pilot #2 to shut up, as he thought he was ruining pilot #1’s chances.
So naturally, I got into a cab with them and headed in the opposite direction of my apartment.
Pilot: “We’re going to get married, just you wait.”
Me: “No, we’re not.”
Pilot: “We’re getting married.”
Me: “You didn’t buy me a ring, you can’t propose.”
Looking back, this was a terrible thing to say. The pilot took a ring off his finger and put on it mine, and then announced that we were married. I threatened that the ring didn’t fit so I was going to lose it and handed it back to him.
After we finally got out of the cab I told him I was going home, he couldn’t come, and got into a taxi.
The Guy on the Escalator
I had just gotten off the subway at the wrong stop and was planning on exiting Penn Station and taking a cab to my booty call on 53rd St.
The guy in front of me on the escalator turned around and asked me what was wrong.
Me: “Nothing at all.”
Him: “Oh. Your arms are crossed. What are you doing tonight.”
Me: “I’m on my way to a friends.”
Him: “Just going out now?”
Me: “No, I was just out with one friend, and now I’m going to see another.”
Him: “Oh. Like a party! Can I come?”
Me: “No.”
At this point we are off the escalator, walking towards the exit.
Him: “Well, can I get your number then so we can party later?”
Me: “No.”
No comments:
Post a Comment