I should have known the date would go sour when my date couldn’t follow the easiest of directions to my house. I also should have known when I had to walk three blocks to find the idiot, lost because he couldn’t find my block on the street. I was young and hadn’t been on many dates, but I knew a bad one from a good one – and THIS was the worst.
Let me back up. I’d been talking to J.C. online for a while. A good while. We took it slow. We chatted, then we exchanged text messages and phone conversations. He was funny, we had a lot in common, and he was quick and witty with the comebacks when I got sarcastic. After about a month or so, I offered that we casually meet up “for pizza or something,” which he accepted. I was excited to finally meet him. We’d meet up at my favorite small pizza place, which was not only inexpensive but also equidistant from our respective homes. And even though I’d had a boyfriend before, I was still unsure of who exactly paid when two men went on a date.
The night we were supposed to meet up, J.C. decided that since his favorite TV show was on this particular night, he’d rather order a pizza and go back to his place in time to catch his show. I agreed and he asked me to call the closest Pizza Hut, order the pizza, he’d pick it up and then me. Seemed simple enough, right?
Coincidentally, J.C. lived in the same apartment community as one of my closest friends, and I was very familiar with how to get to and from his place. Because of that, I know it takes EXACTLY three turns onto three blocks to get from his door to mine. Somehow, J.C. wound up several blocks away from my house and calling me in a panic because he was “lost.” I have no idea how he got lost per my direction but I kindly walked the few blocks to his double-parked car and got in. He was startled and seemed to have an attitude like it was my fault he couldn’t follow my directions. What he didn’t have was a pizza! He told me that he was running late and thought it’d be best to pick me up, then the pizza, and then to proceed to his place to eat.
We pulled up to Pizza Hut to pick up the pizza, and he parks but doesn’t get out. He didn’t even undo his seatbelt. After a brief staring match, J.C. informs me that “his legs are tired and he doesn’t feel like getting out.” Thus, he asked me to go in and pick up the pizza – AND pay for the pizza. The pizza he wanted. The pizza that was ordered under his name and that he was supposed to pick up! Obviously, this was not going well. I had half a mind to get my pizza and walk right past his car and keep going about my business; but instead, I called a friend to inform him I was safe but this date was not going well so far. He advised me to not take my pizza and run, but to stick it out and maybe things would turn out better. Luckily, I got a free order of Buffalo wings with my large pizza purchase so maybe things were looking up. I was only slightly more annoyed when I got into the car and JC informed me that he didn’t eat Buffalo wings. I simply said, “Good. You didn’t pay for them.”
In addition to this date not going well and J.C. essentially tricking me into ordering and paying for a pizza and going back to his place, I realized he was NOT as cute as his online photos were. In fact, he wasn’t cute at all! His glasses made him look rather than educated and sexy. His teeth were huge and so was his forehead once he took off his hat. And he was a lot skinnier in person. Nevertheless, I figured I’d ride out this disaster at least until after I was done eating. We chatted and ate and I noticed the same sarcastic quips that we exchanged over the phone were just annoying in person. I realized even though he talked in urban slang and wore fitted hats and smoked weed, J.C. was actually a suburban raised negro snob playing the role of a “conscious,” educated black man! I was turned off by his elitist attitude and even more so by the fact that “American Idol” was the show that he just couldn’t leave the house to miss. “American Idol!” His giddy, girly reactions to some of his favorite contestants made me want to literally mug the shit out of him.
Midway through the show, J.C. decided it was time to smoke. Now, I have no problem with a person’s right to spark up, but having prepared for a night out, I was dressed pretty nicely and these were not clothes I wanted to reek of weed smoke. J.C. kindly gave me a sweatshirt of his to wear and proceeded to roll, and smoke a whole blunt while I read a book. I sat there annoyed beyond belief that I was literally watching this asshole smoke and watch cheesy ass “American Idol!”
After smoking, he wanted to cuddle and kiss and… more. This was the real reason he’d invited me over! He tried to kiss me and it was awkward and horrible and his eyes shrunk like little beans once his glasses were off. I could not! I quickly told him I was ready to go home. I was done. He actually huffed and puffed while I waited at the door. Once in the car he added that he didn’t like having company because once he’s at home, he doesn’t like to have to leave out to take anyone home. I told him that maybe he shouldn’t invite people over his house then. He let me out and pulled off before I even reached my door. I shook my head and thanked God that I had at least taken my leftover pizza and Buffalo wings. After all, I had paid for them.