WORST DATE IN AMERICA FINALIST: Grapey Guy
I met this guy, M., on Yahoo, and he seemed intelligent, good-looking, and normal. I sheepishly admit that the fact that he was a filthy rich art dealer also probably spun my 21-year-old head. We made plans for a second dinner date, and what ensued was probably the worst night of my life. I pulled up at his swanky multimillion-dollar redwood house in Del Mar and immediately saw the candles (I think they were tealights) lining his driveway. And we are talking a long-ass driveway! Remember, this was a second date.
As I pushed open the door left ajar (no one answered when I knocked), I was greeted by a trail of candles leading to a massive living room. I kid you not, this guy was posing in a leather armchair by the fireplace with a sculpted silver bowl full of grapes as though he had been practicing for hours (which, in retrospect, maybe he was!). He had a couple of glasses of rosé wine already poured – I know, I know, red-alert, right? But I wasn’t thinking, because I was already nervous from the candles.
I didn’t like the taste of alcohol, so I only had a very few sips. Then I noticed that I was getting sleepier and sleepier, and had a horrifying moment of clarity: this guy had slipped me some roofies. I truly panicked. Who knew what he had planned? When he took me on a “tour of the property,” I surreptitiously poured the wine out on the lawn so that he would think I had downed it.
M. kept finding excuses to keep me in the house—again, we had planned to go out to dinner for the date. He showed me his name-dropping collection of photos (he claimed to have briefly dated Michelle Pfeiffer), and even called his mom on the phone claiming that he needed to ask her where to take me for dinner. He then proceeded to call all his friends to ask them where we should go. He stalled, and stalled, and stalled…and in the end, told me about his “special skills.” And then he showed me. He gave me the silver bowl of grapes, and ran to the other end of his gigantic living room (about 50 feet away). He then instructed me to throw grapes at him “fast and hard,” I think his phrase was. It was like something out of a Barnum and Bailey circus sideshow…he actually CAUGHT the grapes in his mouth from that far away. It would have been hilarious to see him snapping and biting at the grapes like a dog if I hadn’t been so nauseous with fear.
After an hour of stalling, he went to the bathroom, and I ran out the front door, leaving my expensive heels behind. Lesson learned, ladies: beware rich men bearing grapes. To this day, this story is legend in my social circle…we call him Grape Man.
