The Count Of The Car Dealership
Over dinner one night, my roommates introduced me to C. His enthusiastic response was “Yo”, and then to ignore me for half the meal. Okay, who cares, right? As I’m talked to a friend of a friend, he suddenly interrupted and began to verbally spar with me, contradicting everything I said and criticizing everything from the way I talk (“stuck up and too proper”) to my opinions (“wacky”) to my attitude (“uppity”). I did not know this guy whatsoever, so I was very taken aback by having someone be so rude, especially in a social group.
I left and didn’t give him another thought until my roommate came to me telling me how “amazing” he said I was and how he just couldn’t get me out of his head. He claimed his behavior was “extreme nervousness” and it wasn’t “the real him”, and if I’d give him a chance he would prove that he was a “true Southern gentleman.”
Stupidly, I agreed.
On the day of our date, he decided to impress me, and showed up to my modest…and we’re talking Dallas ghetto modest…apartment/dorm in a Viper. Yes, a Viper. RED. I admit I was very impressed by the car, until he said, “Oh, yeah, my dad owns a dealership and I just take whatever I want. So when we need something with more backseat room, I’ll bring it.” So much for southern gentleman. He drove me around town like I was a new tourist, even though I’d lived there for three years, and every time we passed a nice restaurant or a hotel, he said, “I could take us there. I’ll take you there.” We drove around and around passed a lot of very nice places, me dressed for the “fabulous night” he told me to expect. He mentioned dinner, dancing, drinks so I expected a real date.
I noticed that his poor behavior began to return almost immediately, not just in his sleazy insinuations, but in his criticism. My dress should have been tighter, I should be wearing more makeup, I should lighten my hair, etc. I was about to tell him to take me back home when he pulled up to the restaurant he’d chosen for us: Ruby Tuesday’s. Yes, out of all the fine dining he’d talked about, and even not-so-fine dining that’s still unique to Dallas, he chose Ruby Tuesday’s.
I was shocked at his choice after the way he’d talked, and after he’d pointed out every fancy place to eat, drink, and stay. When we sat down, I asked him (in the most non-confrontational voice possible) “I thought we were going out for a nice night…did something change your mind?” He instantly blew up, screaming that I was a gold digger, shallow, and after him because his “dad owns a dealership.” I told him that his behavior had been completely inappropriate, rude, and childish the entire time I’d known him, and that he was the one who spoke about “the best night of your life” and “spoiling” me.
He told me, as though there was nothing to it, “If you’d dressed to show me that maybe there was something in it for me, then maybe there’d be something in it for you. Next time show me more.”
“More what?” I asked.
“More of this!” he said, and reached over and laid his hands right across my chest.
I finally had had enough. I told him to take me home, food or no food, and that I didn’t want to speak with him ever again.
“But I want a Monte Cristo sandwich,” he whined.
“I’m not going to sit here with you any longer, because I don’t think I should have to put up with being treated like a hooker,” I said.
“Well, I’m not leaving till I get my Monte Cristo, so if you want to be a bitch, why don’t you just leave,” he yelled at me, and threw the keys across the table. He looked around at the other customers like he was somehow impressing them, but his expression went from smug to scared when I scooped up my purse and his keys in one swift motion, and headed out the door.
While I was walking out, he yelled across the room, “It’s stick, stupid. Women don’t drive stick.”
Seriously? SERIOUSLY? I wouldn’t have believed someone could be so sexist and so old fashioned, especially not someone my age.
The look on his face when I pulled out of the parking lot made that entire night worth it. As did driving through the city and parking the most expensive car I’ll ever drive in front of my dorm. The only thing better was when his dad who “owned a dealership” brought him to pick up the car, screaming at him the whole time.
