My Very Worst Date was a string of two dates. Safe to say, I don’t learn my lesson easily.

The guy was someone I met online. He was very persistent in his attempt to get me to go on a date with him, despite my better judgement. Nothing about him matched any of the things that I was looking for in a partner and had written about openly on my profile. He had toured with the Grateful Dead for a few years and somehow thought the fact that I had dreads made us the ultimate match. Anyways, back to business.

Our first date was to a Grateful Dead hole in the wall bar about two hours north of where we lived. I’m not much of a drinker and was totally out of my element. I quickly learned that he was quite the drinker and felt right at home, even asking a random lady if we could “crash” at her place that night. Instead, he decided it was good judgment to take his open container with him in the truck and drive back home. Not the worst date ever, but I should have learned my lesson.

The second date was to a restaurant downtown that happened to be my favorite place to eat. We were sitting there and he was smirking at me. He then commented that I wasn’t anything special and that he wasn’t sure why he was there with me. I got up to use the restroom and compose myself and when I came back, he was gone. As in, I had no ride home, was five miles from my house, in new sandals that had worn a blister on my foot, and with a cell phone that was almost dead.

I called a friend and got a ride home only to receive a text from my date about half an hour later asking if he could give me a ride home. He proceeded to harass me for the next few weeks, even bringing over a bicycle one night that he had found at a garage sale.

He sent me a message on Facebook over a year and a half later, telling me that he had “finished himself off” to the image of me four times in one day. Safe to say, I blocked him.

Oh B.J., the delightful soul I met through a very toxic friend when I first moved to the city.  He was older, a successful philanthropist, a business owner, and quite handsome.  He took interest in my goals and dreams of moving to NYC and expressed interest in collaborating with me in search of “young and fresh talent.”  We arranged a meeting for just the two of us.  What started as a collaboration turned into a date, which is why this particular experience is one of My Very Worst Dates as of yet.

It started innocently enough; I showed up at his penthouse ready to discuss fashion and my design background.  I will spare you the boring details and fast forward to when things really got interesting.  After about two hours of discussing projects, he decided that he was hungry and wanted to visit one of his restaurants around the corner.  The elevator ride down started with a casual mention of his interest in having not only an assistant, but an assistant with benefits.  I’m not going to lie, I was VERY attracted to this man, and although I would never subject myself to being an anything with benefits, like most women, I actually thought once he got to know me he would see me as possibly more.  Gag- well aware ladies, well aware.

Now it wasn’t the dinner that was so interesting – it was the after dinner party of two that would have made most run for the hills, but not this girl.  We retreated to the lounge of the particular restaurant, and in the blink of an eye he had donned sweatbands in full force.  That’s right, not only a very colourful sweatband on his head, but matching wristbands as well.  I sat on the couch as my colleague-turned-date started gyrating, jumping, and pounding to the musical trance emanating from the speakers.

It was so weird. So what did I do? NATURALLY I followed him back to his home and experienced awkward moment number 3.

B.J. disappeared. I went to find him, and lo and behold, there he was.  The precious little angel was sitting Indian-style in his shower with crack pipe in hand.  Apparently it was his safe place. He expressed his gratitude with me being “cool” about his escape and extracurricular activities.  He then proceeded to put the crack pipe down (ridiculous, well aware) and passionately kiss me on the floor of the bathroom.

“What are you doing on the floor?!?” He abruptly yelled at me as he jumped up to his feet.

“Umm, I’m sorry, what?”

“I have to go meet my friends, come with me.”

Again, should have left by now but people fascinate me, damn curiosity.

We hopped in his Ferrari, sped up 6th Ave, and met up with his friends. I was introduced as his assistant, slapped on the ass, and told to have a good night.

The end – no really, the end, I finally found my voice and never saw him again.

I recently signed up for a popular dating site; I’d received stellar reviews from a few friends, heard all the horror stories, and decided that my loneliness way outweighed my fear of meeting an axe murderer. I wasn’t totally there to find a significant other; I was in a new city and lacked cash, so I was on the lookout for friends too.

Over the next few days, I met and became friendly with a guy named Danny. He had asked about my bisexual status, seemed funny and charming, and was very sweet to me. We had fantastic chemistry online and I agreed to meet him. The day started off great enough; I headed to the train station. It didn’t show up for nearly thirty minutes, and we were supposed to meet at one. Keep this in mind.

When the train finally arrived, we stopped halfway to downtown (this is normally a forty minute commute, and I still needed to catch an additional bus). I texted Danny to let him know what was up. He never replied back. I got lost and finally found the bus, meanwhile shooting off several panicked texts to ask him for directions. He didn’t reply until I found the bus on accident: “What cute texts.”

Gut sinking, I decided to see this out. When I arrived, I was left sitting alone for half an hour before he arrived and said, “Man, doesn’t it suck when people are late?”

I apologized again, a little put off, and asked, “Didn’t you get my texts?”
“Yes.”

That was it. He said he had an awesome park nearby where we could sit and visit. I agreed, and we ended up walking for half an hour in circles before he finally led me to the park. A bit irritated and lost, we ended up sitting in the sun for three hours so he could “be a plant”. When I tried to suggest something else, he became aggressive, and since I wasn’t sure how to shake him to ask someone in the area for directions back to the bus stop, I sort of played along.

The kicker was when he pulled a children’s book of dragon poems from his backpack and read each one to me, pausing after each for five minutes to ask if I believed in dragons. Eventually, he led me to another park with the promise of food, though I was far from hungry- I was attempting to find the bus stop. He chattered about computer games the entire time; I mentioned a friend who had had an addiction and he grew dead silent before muttering, “You’re just an interferer.”

We finally found the place he’d mentioned. He talked about dragons again for a long time before asking, “What do you do?”
“Um, not much. I’m taking a break from school. I’ve been making wire wrapped jewelry to sell while I look for work.”
He gave me a look like I’d stabbed him and demanded, “Why would you do that? It’s so stupid!”
“I’ve had buyers.”
“They’re stupid, too, and I bet they’re always late!”

Thankfully, a friend called at that point and I made an excuse to head home. He led me on a goose chase for another half hour, in the sun, until I threatened to call the cops. I’m now sitting in bed with the worst sunburn I’ve ever suffered from with three new messages from him saying he forgives me for being late and the dragons do too, and he will read to me again sometime.

Yeah. I’m not seeing him again.

I was talking to this guy who was an avid shooter, and as a date we were going to go to an indoor shooting range. To make it more “datelike” we decided to have dinner at this really great restaurant. We had a really nice dinner, but his must not have agreed with him. When we were leaving the restaurant we were talking and he promptly ripped a huge juicy fart. I don’t mind farts, but this was like the Atom Bomb of butt bombs. And instead of apologizing for it, he laughed and pushed out another one. Seriously?

I shrugged it off and ignored it, and  we got in the truck and started heading to the place where he got ammo. Suddenly he said “Oh nos (yes, oh nos, he said that) I need to take a crap!” At this time I was thinking, “No you need to take me home.” I was absolutely grossed out by that point.

So he pulled into a Casey’s General Store, hopped out, and went inside. No more than five minutes later he came out, opened the truck door and said “We need to run to Farm and Fleet, I need new jeans.” I just looked at him and he said “I got to the bathroom and when I went to undo my pants I pushed out a fart but it wasn’t a fart.” He shit his pants. So that grossed me out even more. Really, if you know you have to crap and you are THIS CLOSE to sitting on the john, why would you push out a fart!? Why wouldn’t you wait?! Here’s the nasty part.

He had crap ALL OVER the back of his jeans. Very obviously crap all over. War zone. He went into the store, picked out jeans, and instead of CHANGING into them and out of his crap covered pants, he BROWSED THE FRIGGING STORE! WITH CRAP ALL OVER HIM!

I was done after that.

I went to one of the larger Universities in Los Angeles and there were a few local bars in the area. I frequented one of them the most, as it had a decent bar set up with areas for my friends and I could dance. It was the place all your friends went to and you were always guaranteed to have a good time. Oh, and it had an amazing two dollar pint night/four dollar liter night.

I had broken up with a boyfriend that summer (by this time, maybe two months prior) and was on the prowl. My priority at this time was to just have fun and that night was going pretty well. Dancing and drinks later, this decent looking guy came up to me. He had said that he left the bar with his friends and saw me enter, only to wait in line and come back in to be able to talk to me. Flattering line, right? The guy was clearly drunk but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, because really what did I have to lose, and I gave him my phone number.

Normal Date #1: After he had called me, the first date we planned on was a hiking date in Runyan Canyon. I enjoy doing outdoorsy activities and was pleased I had met someone that had a common interest. All in all, the date ended well and I was hoping I would get a second.

Disaster Date #2: Let me start by saying that I am not a shallow person. Physical attraction is important to me, but coupled with that has to come other good attributes. This guy was cute, not a stud, but with the type of person he is… I wouldn’t be surprised if he dies alone. Or gets divorced a few times before he seeks some sort of therapy and heals his disgusting personality. Maybe you will agree with me…

We had a plan to go to Skybar on Sunset Boulevard. I dressed nicely and was pleased with the way he appeared; another plus as a man – he has to be a good dresser for appropriate situations. He drove a nice car, had a nice smile… how bad could it be, right?

Let me just side note for a second and say that no matter how nice you think the guy, always be prepared for the worst and take the necessary precautions. In this case, my roommate (I am going to call her Jamie) gave me her pepper spray. Thank God.

My date, let us call him Andy, opened my car door for me, engaged in good conversation on the way, and was overall doing pretty well as far as dating goes. Skybar was very nice. We sat down right away outside and got a nice view of the city. The area has these beds and lounging benches that have really nice upholstery on them. Sign number one my date may not be what I had thought: Andy sat Indian style with his feet on the nice, expensive fabric to face me. Everyone was looking. Not only was his positioning awkward, as this man was hunched over balancing on a bench, but it was just so rude! The waitress was not happy and asked him to not put his shoes on the bench, a request he flat out ignored. I looked past this and tried to enjoy myself.

The waitress came back with drink menus and handed one to each of us. I hadn’t even the chance to hold the menu more than a few seconds when Andy snatched it from my hand…

Andy: “I am going to order for you.”

Me: “Excuse me, but I would rather order for myself.”

Andy: “I said I am ordering for you.”

Note, I did not like the way he is talking to me and I have allergies to certain types of alcohol…

*Awkward silence. Waitress comes back*

Andy: “We will have… blah blah blah.”

The drinks came and mine was some purple martini looking thing (strike one, I dont like martinis. I am a jack and coke kind of girl). I took a sip and it didn’t taste half bad. I took another and started feeling an uncomfortable feeling I have had before. So I asked the waitress what was in my drink. She told me. I turned to Andy, saying “This is why I wanted to order my own drink. I am allergic to champagne.” Turned back to waitress and ordered a Jack and coke with a big glass of water. Andy was not even phased by what just happened and thought everything was cool.. it was not.

At this point, I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. I texted my roommates and best friend, who were at the local bar I described earlier, and told them I may need saving. They were on standby. My other friend happened to be in the area and I told her she may have to come get me. She was also on standby.

The date proceeded…

Andy had just quit smoking cigarettes. Being an outside bar, people were smoking outside – which prompted him to mention he had just quit smoking every time someone lit up. After hearing it for what seemed the 20th time, it was beginning to get old. At one point the conversation turned to the topic of pot.

Andy: “I just quit smoking. It is really hard to be around cigarettes. Have you ever smoked pot?”

Me: “Um…”

Andy: “You know what feels really good when you are high?”

Me:” What?”

Andy: “Sex.”…. The next part of this he said with a straight face and was dead serious. “We should go get high and have sex.”

Me: “Excuse me I need to go to the bathroom…”

I began to call and text my friends SOSes in hopes I would be rescued. Two of my girls are at the local bar still and suggested I just come home and hang out with them. Sounds like a plan, I thought. I walked back and mentioned it to Andy. He said that sounded all right and asked for the check. In the meantime, he felt compelled to keep inching closer to me, probably because he thought I was going to kiss him which was not at all going to happen. When it was obvious I was uncomfortable, Andy thought telling me a story would ease the tension. He picked the wrong story… (I will try my best to retell it as accurately as possible)

Andy: “Want to hear a funny story?”

Me: What else were we gonna do? “Sure. Let’s hear it.”

(By the way, he had just moved to LA from Miami… this will be important now and a little later.)

Andy: “My dad was gone one weekend from our apartment so I decided to have my best friend over and these two girls. Don’t worry I wasn’t hooking up with them or anything. We got really drunk and were in the jacuzzi and then decided it was time to move things inside. So I take one of the girls into my Dad’s room, don’t worry we weren’t hooking up or anything, and my Dad comes home and starts yelling at me. So my friend offered to drive her home and on the ride back she gave him a blow job. But the funny thing is she thought he was me so I was supposed to get the blow job!”

Me: *stunned expression* “WHAT?! You just told someone you are on a date with that story? What is wrong with you?!
”

Andy: “Nothing! It’s funny. All my friends thought it was funny.”

Me: “Please take me home. I would like to go home.”

I began texting my friends that I was coming home. I texted my other friend who is nearby that she needed to come get me. Unfortunately, the club she was at boxed her car in and she couldn’t leave. I decided to risk it and just have Andy take me home.

Standing at the Valet, waiting for his car to come, Andy decided to make a move on me. I was leaning against the glass walls of the hotel entrance when he approached me. I saw him go for the move and I tilted my head so he would get my cheek.

Maybe it was because I moved my head. Maybe it was because he thought it would be sexy. Maybe Andy is just plain old creepy. Instead of kissing my cheek, he licked me. He didn’t just graze my face with the tip of his tongue or anything. He licked my face like a puppy licks you when its happy to see you. The coy look he had on his face afterward made me assume he probably thought I would enjoy that. What was even worse was that I could hear people around me gasping. Who licks someone on a date? Andy, that’s who. I was mortified and just said again “take me home” as I bolted to his car.

On the ride home, I was silent. I think at this point he knew I was annoyed. Andy was new to LA so he was taking me home in an odd route. And then I got why… he was stopping at his house. Seeing that his roommates were home, and I really needed to pee, I told him I wanted to use his bathroom and then we were immeadiatly leaving. His room was empty except for a few jumbled things in a corner, which confused me. Then again, he had just moved here. I went into his bathroom and spent a long time in there because I called my friends at the bar, giving them a little recap and saying I’d be there soon. This gave Andy enough time to prepare his plan of attack…I think the fact I stepped into his house gave him some hope, but man, this guy was pathetic!

I opened the door and there was Andy. He had inflated his inflatable bed and was laying on it holding two glasses of wine with this “come hither” look. Typing this now, I am chuckling to myself. However, at the time, it was not funny. I just stared at him, walked out of his room and waited outside till he stopped his charades. Andy came outside, didn’t say anything, and we walked to the car.

The minute I got in the car, I grabbed Jamie’s pepper spray and put it by my side. The whole ride home, Andy thought he would try to kiss me everytime we hit a red light. I decided I was going to reject him every time. Fail Andy, Fail.

When we got back remotely close to the bar where my friends were, I took off out of the car at a red light and walked the rest of the way to get away from him. I entered the bar and don’t see him. My friends rejoiced that I was alive and asked me about all the details. Before I could start, Andy showed up. Not only did he not get any of my signals that I didn’t want to be around him, he followed me around like a puppy until my guy friends had to ask him to go away. Angry and hurt, Andy left the bar.

I am sure you think I was in the clear at this point in time. Nope. This date from hell would not give up without a last hurrah. About an hour went by and I was having fun with my friends. On my way home, I have to pass Inn N Out where Andy was waiting for me. As I walked in front of the patio area, he came out of nowhere and threw his Sprite at me, sending the soda all over my legs, and ran away. Just…started running to his car. At this point in time, I just started laughing. I mean, how could I not?

My Very Worst Date didn’t actually seem absolutely bad until after the fact – but it certainly didn’t go that well.  I met a guy at a bar in college and we really hit it off.  I gave him my number and he called me later that week asking me to dinner.

He informed me that though his real name was Justin, he actually preferred to be called “Lucky” since he was redheaded and Irish.  Also this was his “club” name that everyone else knew him by.    I thought it was a little silly for someone who was 24 years old but I shrugged it off.  He then proceeded to tell me about how much he loved techno and how the only thing he looked forward to all year was going to Burning Man.  He wasn’t in school and was working in catering.  He quickly rebounded this by stating that he had been doing bigger and better things elsewhere, but had returned to the small town because his mother was suffering from breast cancer.  He said he had to spend a lot of his time taking her to doctor’s appointments and helping her out around the house.  I thought it was admirable he had made such sacrifices for his family.

After dinner he suggested going to my place since he lived with his mom and didn’t have a car.  I reluctantly agreed and we popped in a movie.  He didn’t waste any time with his advances as he was obviously not interested in the movie.  He kissed me and did the much dreaded tongue to the back of my throat.  After that I knew for certain I did not have an interest in this guy.

As it got later and the movie ended, Lucky asked if he could spend the night.  I gave him the sideways glance and he told me he really didn’t want to try anything and that he had work early in the morning.  For whatever reason I agreed and we both awkwardly slept in the same bed.   Of course, he tried something from time to time, but strangely enough, this little orphan kitten I had taken in a few days prior kept him from making his move.  Every time he tried something the kitten would playfully jump on his head and simply not leave him alone.

The next morning I woke up to him calling his work to say that he wouldn’t be coming in because he felt unwell.  He then gave me the eye and I told him I thought it was time for him to leave.  He did so a little bitterly and neither one of us called the other again.

A few weeks later my friend met his younger brother at a bar and, having heard my stories, asked how his mother was doing.  He looked at her baffled, saying that she was fine and wondered why she had asked.  She told him she had heard she’d been diagnosed with cancer – and to our horror, he revealed their mother never had cancer.  Lucky had moved back home because he ran out of money and needed a place to stay.

My Very Worst Date took place when I was a junior in college, home in Philadelphia on winter break. I was on the rowing team at a private school and took only four classes a semester, but took winter and summer courses at my local college to transfer over. This particular winter break I took a course at the local campus for a state college. Each class was five hours long with a half hour break in the middle. During the break in my first class, while getting coffee, I met a foreign student from Belarus who was taking another class. He was well-dressed, tall and dark, with a Belarusian accent, and even though I wasn’t interested in dating at the time he was nice to talk to during breaks. We met up every day during our breaks and got coffee together.

On the seventh day of classes during break, he asked me out on a date. I explained that I wasn’t necessarily looking to date anyone, especially since I would be returning to my college in a month. He looked dejected, and told me that he was lonely living in the United States and didn’t have any friends here. Feeling bad, I agreed to go to dinner and a movie in the city with him. He didn’t have a car, so he asked that I pick him up the next evening at his apartment and gave me the address.

His apartment ended up being in a bad area of North Philadelphia, and knowing the area I felt incredibly unsafe waiting the forty minutes it took him to get ready. Even though this wasn’t a date, I had dressed nicely with dark jeans and a fitted top. He, on the other hand, over-dressed with a suit and tie; clearly there was a breach in customs as to what one should wear to dinner and the movies.

When he got into my car, a five-year-old Jeep, he immediately started running his hands over the console and seats, telling me that I must be rich to have afforded the car. While I drove towards a theater in the city, he continued to talk about money and how Americans don’t spend their money wisely. He pointed out my jewelry, my shoes, and my purse explaining that I wasted money that should have gone towards my family. I was never really one for material things, so I again brushed this off as cultural differences.

When we got to the movie theater parking lot, he told me that he didn’t want to see a movie or have dinner and instead wanted me to give him a driving tour of Philadelphia. I took him along Boathouse Row (one of my favorite places) and stopped to show him some of the statues along the Schuylkill River. When I turned off my car, he quickly leaned in and tried to kiss me. I stopped him, and he blatantly joked that he thought we were stopping to make out “like in the movies”. I’m not sure at this point why I continued to think that he simply didn’t know American customs, but I knew that I needed to cut the night short.

I drove him through downtown Philadelphia and down to South Street, where he asked to stop for coffee. While walking along South Street with our coffee he suddenly said that he was surprised that I had said no to dating him because in Belarus he had dated women much hotter than I was. I almost spit out my coffee as he continued to talk about how hot the women in Belarus were (“they are all models”) and how plain American women were in comparison. “You may be beautiful by American standards,” he said, “but you would not be able to find a husband in Belarus.” Clearly, I was ready to go home now.

We got to my car and I started the drive back to his apartment. Seeing a billboard for a housing development, he asked me about my parents’ house and how big it was.  He clucked his tongue when I told him, again saying that Americans were wasteful and that people in Belarus only need small apartments. Then came the biggest shock of the night: he asked me if I would be interested in getting married so that he could stay in the United States after he finished with school. I sped the entire way back to his place.

When I finally got to his apartment and stopped my car, he leaned over again to try to kiss me. I pushed him away, and he got out of my car, started walking away, then turned and tapped on my car window. I opened it, and he said, “I don’t really have a lot of furniture, but I do have an air mattress that we can sleep on if you want to come have sex.” Needless to say, I didn’t take him up on the offer and spent the rest of the winter break avoiding him. He continued to call my phone even after I returned to college until my friend answered and told him that I had died. Without missing a beat, he asked her out.

During my junior year of high school, I agreed to be my best friend’s wingwoman to another high school’s homecoming dance. Her almost-boyfriend had a cute friend who was going to be my date, so it seemed like it would be a great night.

But, of course, it was not meant to be a great night. The cute friend bailed three hours before the dance, and the only other friend Almost-Boyfriend could get to come on such short notice was J.

Now, I didn’t mind that J was scrawny and looked like Kip from Napoleon Dynamite except with Uncle Rico’s curl-under hair. I didn’t mind that he was a foot shorter than me (I kid you not). I was even willing to ignore his obvious shyness as we drove to dinner (at a Mexican place where I had contracted mononucleosis two months before).

J wasn’t eating his salad, and I tried to make conversation by asking him if was feeling all right. His answer (while staring down at the table): “I have food allergies… Do you have food allergies?”

I have no food allergies. We didn’t talk for the rest of dinner.

At the dance, I managed to avoid dancing with him, for the most part. But in the spirit of trying to get my best friend and Almost-Boyfriend together, I condescended to go for one slow dance with J. To him, this apparently meant taking my hands in his and swinging our arms in giant erratic circles, hitting other couples mercilessly in the process.

He asked me to be his girlfriend at the end of the night.

I’m still trying to figure out what planet he was from.

This isn’t actually MY Very Worst Date but I was dragged along on it.  My roommate (L) was set up on a blind date and asked me to go along because she was nervous.

B showed up at our apartment and I was appalled when he walked in.  He was wearing dirty, destroyed jeans (you just can’t call them ripped, fabric was flapping when he walked) and an equally dirty flannel shirt that was open to expose the formerly white t-shirt trying to contain his beer gut.  A few minutes later, we were in the kitchen talking.  I leaned over to pick something up and he slapped my behind.  Hard.  Then he told me I need to lose weight.  Gee, thanks, B.  Wow, you’re really turning out to be a prince of a guy.

B informed us that we were going to his place.  I was not comfortable with this because I really didn’t like him but L said it was fine.

We walked in the front door and were immediately assailed by the most foul odor ever.  It smelled as though someone had died in the next room.  B ushered us into the kitchen – and L and I stared in horror.  There were dirty dishes piled up on the table, in the sink, on the counters and even on the floor.  Black flies flitted around from plate to plate. “This is the kitchen,” said B.

He led us into the hallway and there we were slapped in the face with the smell emanating from three overflowing litter boxes.  L asked how many cats B has and he answered “Just one.”  Obviously whenever the litter box gets full, he just puts down a clean one.

B headed upstairs and stopped when he saw a tiny kitten playing with a few Styrofoam shapes.  B yelled at the cat and apologized profusely for the mess, gesturing to the shapes.  This is what he apologized for?  I couldn’t believe it.  I wanted to rescue the poor kitten and get out of there.

But no, the date continued.  B led us to his room which, as you can imagine, was just as clean as the rest of the house.  There were dirty clothes all over the floor and moldy plates piled up on his dresser.  The only place to sit was on the bed.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of B telling us how great of a catch he is. Finally, he drove us back to our apartment – where I immediately took a shower.

B called L a few days later and asked her out again.  L said no – then B asked if she thought I would be interested in going out with him.  L said she didn’t think so.  We never heard from him again.

I met Jack online when I was 20. He was 26, seemed nice, and wasn’t unattractive in his photo. We talked for about a month through IM and phone before deciding to meet for dinner.

I was a little put off when he asked me to drive since he didn’t have a license, but shrugged it off as something I’d ask about on our date.

When we got to the restaurant, he quickly ordered a mixed drink and a beer, pushing the mixed drink towards me as soon as it came. I told him I was underage and he just said, “It’s okay, baby, they don’t care.” Brushing off the annoying use of pet name, I refused the drink again.

He ended up ordering a pretty expensive meal, but since he told me he’d be paying, I didn’t mind. I ordered something cheaper despite his urging to get something equally expensive.

After we’d eaten, the waiter came by to see if everything was okay. Jack instantly said, “Yeah, I couldn’t eat it all, but I’ll smoke a bowl later and finish it.” Shocked, I sat mid-chew and the waiter awkwardly asked if we wanted the check. I’m not anti-drug, but it doesn’t seem the type of thing you advertise in the middle of a restaurant.

I couldn’t help but ask, “Why would you tell him that?”
“What? He doesn’t care. He probably smokes weed, too.”

Uncomfortably, I waited for the check. When it came, Jack picked it up, took out his wallet, then paused. “Oops. I guess I didn’t have my dad take out enough money.”
Confused, I asked, “Your dad?”
“Yeah, my dad controls my bank account. If I had a card, I’d just spend it all, ha ha!”

Not seeing the humor, I paid the check with my debit card and he gave me what cash he had to “pay me back.” At that point, I was just excited for the date to end.

When we got back to his house, I pulled into his driveway to let him out. As soon as I stopped, he leaned over to try and kiss me, but I pushed him off with a firm “No.”
He just smiled and said, “Come on, no kiss to end the night?”
“No,” I said, “Look, this isn’t going to work out.”
He pouted at me – literally stuck out his lip and pouted – and said, “Aww, you don’t want to come in and hang out a little more?”

Not seeing any other way to get him out of my car, I agreed, but hesitated by my door. As soon as he shut his door, I got back in, locked the doors, and drove off, extremely thankful to be out of his presence.

I woke up around 5 am to my phone ringing. It was Jack. I hit ignore, but he called again, and again, so I shut off my phone. When I got up later, I turned my phone on to find two voicemails. The first was Jack calling me a huge bitch for leading him on all night and not giving him his “deserved reward.” The second was also Jack apologizing for the first message and saying, “I guess I should turn off my phone when I do coke and drink a lot.” I changed my number.