The Boy Next Door
A year ago, I met this guy in the parking garage of my apartment complex. One day we pulled up at the exact same time and started chatting. He was your typical dreamboat: six-foot-four, good head of hair, great body and a nice smile. The next morning I came down to my car and there was a note stuck on the window that said, “It was nice meeting you yesterday. I think you’re really cute and would like to take you for a drink if you’re interested.”
That weekend we went out for drinks and I had a strong suspicion that something was off about him, but I was too blinded by his Ed Hardy sequins to think clearly, so I proceeded with the date. About 30 minutes in he starts to tell me that his father is in the KKK and that he thinks Mel Gibson’s views on the Jews is 100% accurate. So far all I had gotten to was my name and where I was from. How did we go from, “Do you have siblings?” to racial and religious hatred?
Needless to say, I was not ok with this. I told him in a polite yet sarcastic manner that since I was Asian and my best friend gay, it probably was not going to work out. I was so offended and put off by this point that I asked him why he would want to date me anyway and he responded with, “I figured since I moved to California, I should try to be open.” I got home, tore up the note, and threw it in the trash.
