The Date From Hell
I met this dude online and we talked for like a month before he finally asked me out. I had to drive an hour and a half away from my home to meet him and of course I got lost. I finally arrived at one of those movie theatre/restaurant jobs, you know? Well, you’re supposed to get there 45 minutes early to make sure you have a good seat and order your food. Well I was there. Alone. I sat in that parking lot for 50 freaking minutes. He periodically sent me texts saying, his “neighbors dog got mud on me” and he had to change and that he was “lost” or “just a few exits away.” Right as I was getting too fed up to stay he pulled in. Since it was too late to see the movie and I was too pissed off to discuss what we were doing, he said we should go to a nearby sushi place that was one of his favorites.
I was an idiot and followed him in my car. He pulled over into a pawn shop to tell me that he was lost and we had to go a different way. This guy had supposedly lived in that town for two years and he couldn’t find his favorite sushi place? He finally found it and it was a dump. I got out of the car to meet him and lo and behold, he was at least three inches shorter than he claimed to be. He also was quite a chunky guy with small soft hands. The sushi chef waved at my date, who was bragging that his family comes here all the time. We sat down at our table and the chef sent over something “special” for us to try because my date was “such a valued customer.” Not 15 minutes later I realized I had food poisoning. I mean, I got the shits. Bad. So there I was in some sushi dump having to go number two. The entire time I was just trying to not crap myself, he was endlessly talking. Not much eating was going on at our table, what with me barely staying in my seat and running to the bathroom and him not shutting up.
When it seemed like the evening of hell was almost over and I’d already told him that we would not be going elsewhere for drinks, he stood up to pay the bill and the piece de resistance was revealed. He had popped a chub. In the restaurant. That douche hadn’t complimented me once that whole night or apologized for being late and yet he was sporting a woody. Did I want to see him again? Hell no. Driving home that night I had to stop twice in order to use the bathroom at gas stations. You know what pissed me off the most? I bought new underwear for this date and I ruined them thanks to that shitty sushi. Eighteen dollars down the toilet (literally).



