WORST DATE IN AMERICA FINALIST: Haute Cuisine, Hellish Date
I had been seeing a friend of a friend for two months. Things were going OK though it was not serious. After spending one Saturday together, we made plans for dinner that evening. I was fine with a casual place but he wanted to go to Bouley – one of the fanciest restaurants in Manhattan.
As we sat waiting for our appetizers, my date had several drinks. His demeanor immediately changed – he started shouting at me (“Why don’t you care about me, even a little bit!”), his words slurred, he started nodding off, and waking to shout at the waiters and sommelier. Bouley is a pretty intimate restaurant, so by that point everyone was staring at us.
When the appetizers and the first bottle of wine he ordered arrived, he shoveled the food into his mouth and chugged the wine so fast it dripped down his chin. Every time he moved around, he hit the table and sent glasses flying. He then got up to go to the bathroom, almost falling onto another table. After that, he got himself tangled in the curtains separating the main dining room from the restrooms, and starts swatting at them like there are mosquitoes on them. I got up and shoved him through the curtains and into the bathroom, ignoring his requests for a “quickie.”
The waiter came over and I apologized profusely, saying that obviously my date was drunk and I didn’t know what to do. The waiter was very understanding and said it was best to go through dinner as planned to not cause a bigger scene. The main courses arrived and my date proceeded to smear food all over his face and down his shirt, staring at me blankly as he was too drunk to speak. I got up to go to the restroom where I burst into tears. I was so humiliated. Then, a waitress walked in and nervously told me that my date had been “escorted outside.”
As I walked out of the restaurant, I was presented with a $700 dinner bill – he had used my card to pay for the meal. My date and I then got in the cab (I left my things at his apartment – I wanted to get them and never see him again), where he alternated between trying to open the door and feel me up.
Back at his apartment I started packing my things, when I heard a loud crash in the bathroom. Somehow, he had fallen into his bathtub, ripping the shower curtain off the rod and wrapping himself in it. I took one look and left. As I waited for the elevator, he ran out from his apartment with his pants around his ankles, yelling my name, and fell flat on his face. I ignored him and stepped into the elevator.
Out of his apartment building, I called Bouley to apologize. The sommelier’s response? “You seem like a cool girl…you should stop dating such losers.”
