I had recently separated from my husband. I was a little nervous about being single again, but ready to take a shot at dating. I was hanging out with some friends on the Riverwalk and thought how cool it was that we got this really cute flirty waiter. He asked for my number and we set up a date.
We went out and were having a pretty good time and I thought he was very gentlemanly, always going to the bar to get our drinks, “so I wouldn’t have to wait.” He told me he was an ex-Green Beret and currently a student, not making much money, which is why he didn’t have a car and why I’d had to pick him up. All evening I’d noticed the bartenders kept looking at us, and as we were leaving my date said he was going to the restroom. I was waiting by the bar and one of the bartenders walked over and told me that my date had been ordering virgin drinks all night and that I should “watch out for him.”
That made me nervous and I asked my date about it. He said the truth was he’d had to stop drinking because he was an alcoholic and had actually lost his license, and that maybe I’d heard about him on the news? He’d been on a wild car chase with the police, hovering helicopters, the whole nine yards, and then totaled his car and ended up in the hospital. He was laughing the whole time he told the story like it was one of the highlights of his life. I was more than ready to go at that point and took him back to his apartment. He asked me to come up and I really didn’t want to, but didn’t know how to say no. I thought I’d just go up for a bit to be polite and then I’d leave.
When we walked in he excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he came out he was completely naked except for his old Green Beret hat, black socks and a rifle. He then started doing rifle drills and pushups, all the while singing little military ditties. With a huge hard-on. I just wanted to get the hell out of there! Then he told me he has to pee but doesn’t know how he’ll manage with a hard-on and asked if I would help him. I said, “Well, I’ll try…” But when he turned his back I ran out!
He ran after me, nude and yelling my name, which caused some of his neighbors to come out to see what was going on. When I got home, he’d left me several messages saying that I had no business going out with anyone as I “clearly wasn’t ready for civilian life.” I never did talk to him again and it took a while before I even wanted to go on another date.
I had gone out with this guy a few times before and he seemed really cool. He had a decent job, spoke three languages and dressed well. One night we went out to a dive bar to meet up with a couple of my friends. Things were going well until a bachlorette party came into the bar. I should note that up to this point, we were the only people at the bar. It was early, like 6 p.m.or so. So now there was our little group and the bach party at the bar. Within a few minutes, the ladies were taking shots and getting crazy. The bride decided to climb on top of her table, take off her shirt and bra and dance. It was pretty weird. But it got weirder… My date got up and went over to the bachlorette party table and was started talking to the topless bride-to-be. After a few mintues, they went into the bathroom. And had sex. Two days before her wedding. While I was on a date with him. After they did it, he just came back to our table, sat down, said “yea, I fucked her” and acted like nothing unusual had just happened. Needless to say, my friends and I were not impressed and I didn’t see him again after that night.
February 25th,2010
WTF?
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16 Comments
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.
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.”
I was chatting with this guy online and found him intelligent and charming, so I accepted his offer for a date. He asked me to meet him at this really nice but kinda pricey French café. When I arrived in my car, I slowed down to look for parking and heard someone calling my name. A guy I didn’t recognize ran up to my car in the middle of traffic and introducced himself as my date. He looked nothing like his online photo, which must have been a decade old. He was bald with big glasses, a giant belly, and he had a huge, poofy, greying beard. It’s a young, Jewish Santa, I thought. He jumped into my car and told me to drive up the street to House of Pies, one of the worst diners in Los Angeles. I asked him if he was kidding. He was not.
We sat down and he ordered a spaghetti dinner. “You’ll have to tell me if I get sauce in my beard,” he said. I still couldn’t tell if he was kidding, but when his food arrived he proceeded to shovel it into his mouth like it was his last meal, splashing sauce everywhere. He kept grinning and telling me how awesome I was, but it seemed like he was making fun of me. Then he asked me for a ride home. I was curious, so when he asked me if I wanted to check out his comics collection I followed him inside. As soon as he closed the door, he pushed me up against his pool table and started making out with me. He was breathing heavily and his enormous beard kept getting in my mouth and sticking to my lips. It wasn’t long before he started wheezing uncontrollably. “Do you want some water?” I asked. “Wait, wait, hold on a second,” he said, out of breath. He whipped an asthma inhaler out of his pocket and took a few hits off it.
When his breathing returned to normal, he took his dick out of his pants and proudly placed it in my hand, as if he was giving me a present. It seemed tiny underneath his big, round, white belly. I didn’t have time to protest because he immediately came all over me. He then thanked me, plopped down on the couch and fell asleep. Bewildered, I washed my hands and then showed myself the door, wondering if this crazy date had all really just happened.
He was gorgeous. I adored him for years. We actually dated when we were back in high school, but things didn’t work out because we were so young. So you could imagine my glee when I ran into him at a college party some odd years later. He asked me out to a movie and I was thrilled. I thought this is my moment. He seemed equally as enthused to go out with me. So we scheduled for the following Saturday evening. Even though we were only going to an $8 movie, I wanted to look my best. I wanted his tongue to be wagging on the floor. So, the day of our date I went shopping for a new outfit and spent the day in the salon getting not only my hair, but my makeup done as well. My heart was pounding as the clock ticked closer to 7 pm. I didn’t hear the doorbell ring but all of a sudden my dad was shouting from downstairs that my date was here (I still lived at home with my parents since I was in college).
When I flew down the stairs, he just had this blank look on his face. He didn’t even tell me I looked nice and I had spent a fortune getting ready for him. The car ride to the theater was silent. He purchased my ticket and didn’t ask me if I wanted anything to eat or drink. He did not hold my hand or even utter one word. He looked liked he was pained to be on the date with me. I felt as if I lost my mojo. Was he drunk when he asked me out? He seemed completely sober. I was beyond perplexed. The car ride back was just as mute. He didn’t even walk me to my door. I felt awful!
When I walked through my front door I saw my parents in the living room downstairs waiting for me and laughing. They asked how the date went. I said it was awful and that he was like a mime. My dad said that he knew why. Here’s the story: What I didn’t know is that I didn’t hear the bell ring when my date arrived because it didn’t ring. It turns out that my parents met for dinner at a restaurant earlier in the evening and took two cars. My dad arrived home earlier than my mom. His stomach was upset from what he ate so he immediately ran to the downstairs bathroom (which is directly next to the front door). He was “using the facilities ” when he heard a car pull up and footsteps coming towards the door. He assumed it was my mother and stood up from the toilet wearing no pants and opened the door with his ding-a-ling hanging out and the bathroom door opened and stinking and said, “Hold on I’m taking a shit!” My date looked at my father in disbelief. This definitely explained his behavior for the night and I could then rest easy knowing that I hadn’t lost my mojo after all.
College in the 80s was more a series of hookups than relationships so when I was asked out by BP after a class, in the daylight, totally sober, on a real date, I was thrilled and flattered. He admitted that he had been watching me for close to a year and had wanted to ask me out but every time he worked up the nerve his ex-girlfriend would reappear and they would get back together. After three months of dating without her reappearance, I was pretty confident that she was gone for good.
I felt we were ready to get really serious with each other as Valentine’s Day approached. We made plans to meet at the local hot spot with other couple friends when he got off work. I went a little early with the girls dressed to kill with my hair just the way he liked it, the perfume he loved, ready to be in love on Valentine’s Day for the first time ever. I saw his truck pull into the parking lot and got myself ready for some lip smacking.
He walked in with….insert drum roll here…..with the ex-girlfriend on his arm. She had shown up at the game he was reffing and she decided that they should get back together. What a great guy to “tell” me in public, in front of all our friends, at a place I loved, on Valentine’s Day, that I was dumped! I now wear a black armband on Valentine’s Day every year.
I had been lesbian-identified for most of my adult life. After a lot of soul searching and exploration, I decided that not all biological males suck. When I moved to San Francisco, it seemed like it would be easier to date men, even though it’s the gay mecca. Men are more promiscuous than women and I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship at that moment. I started looking through the Craigslist personals and found an ad that was well written and really funny. I decided to respond and set up a date with S. We met at a bar near my house. He was okay looking, overweight and not really my type, but he was really funny.
We went on a few more dates after that and had fun. Unfortunately, if he had more than one drink then he couldn’t get it up. It had been a while since I had been with a man so I thought that’s how it was for men in their 30s. The last time I saw him, he had come over to my apartment for breakfast and sex- no booze! After we had sex, he proceeded to tell me he was polyamorous and had primary and secondary girlfriends. In so many words, he was trying to tell me that he didn’t have time to see me. I asked him why he had placed the Craigslist ad then. He said, “I’m trying to write personal ads that are guaranteed to get responses from women in order to sell them to other men.”
Two years ago on Valentine’s Day, I wanted to do something extraordinarily special for my girlfriend. For the past couple of months I was really messing up, even when I didn’t intend to. It was like the big guy upstairs wanted to mess with me because he was bored. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do. I had a lot of different ideas and suggestions, but all of them seemed expected. I mean a girl can recieve so many flowers and chocolate. People say ,”You can’t go wrong with jewelry,” and my reply to those people is, “Oh yes, you definitely can,” especially if you have a natural talent of picking horrible gifts that you think are awesome. My friends always tell me that a blind person can choose a better gift than I could. So after days and days of thinking, I decided to re-create a scene from a drama show she liked to watch. Basically I needed to make a huge heart out of candles, somewhere special where me met, get her in the middle and tell her how much I loved her. It was completely cheesy and totally not me so I knew she would never expect it. She always said that she wanted to be romanced just like they do in the movies. I guessed this was my chance to make-up for all my incompetence from the previous months.
I had everything planned out. The event would be setup at the park near the trees and shrubs where we had our first date. I went online bought some candles, pre-ordered flowers and got all of our friends to help out. Two weeks had passed since I placed all my orders. It was the day before Valentine’s Day and I still hadn’t received the flowers or the candles. I called up the stores and they told me there was a mix-up and that my stuff would be delivered on the morning of Valentine’s Day. Being the gullible idiot that I am, I decided not to worry and went out drinking. The next day I woke up at 4pm and the group was meeting at 6pm to pull off the romantic gesture. I was still drunk and the candles and flowers were nowhere to be seen. I was now in Shitsville and was mayor of the city. I called up her friends and told them the situation and they said they would stall her as much as possible. With no time to spare, I sprayed a bottle of cologne on my clothes(from the night before) grabbed the car keys and floored it to the 99 Cent store. My drunk intuition told me I would be able to buy candles at bulk at the dollar store and for once in my life, I got lucky. Not only did I find candles, but a floral shop next to it with decent bouquets left. I took all the candles on the shelf and bolted. I got to the park and set up everything with 10 minutes to spare.
Shortly thereafter, the group arrived, and things were going according to plan. After a few drinks, I decided it was time for the suprise. I blindfolded my girlfriend while a buddy of mine lit the candles. While walking towards the lit-up heart her blindfold came off. I thought it was no biggie seeing the suprise on her face and continued to walk towards the heart. Suddenly, I felt a wave of nausea and it happened. I threw up on her. The puke cause her to stumble on the candles, which caused them to be tipped over and light the ground on fire. My romantic evening had become a flaming entrapment for my girlfriend. In the end the fire was put out, my girlfriend was unharmed except by being covered in my cocktail of beer and hot wings from the previous night, her new boots were ruined and I was taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Unfortunately we are no longer together. I can’t imagine why?
We received some phenomenally crazy, funny and out-there weird submissions in our Search for the Very Worst Date in America contest. Picking just one was a tough, tough task. Amongst the tales drunken madness, bizarre behavior and good old lies, this one stood out for us as especially bad. Congratulations to our winner for the best Worst!
Do you agree with your winning choice? Yes? No? You can tell us and choose who would have been your winner. We will be posting submissions that made our top ten list in the coming two weeks. All you have to do is vote for the story you think is the Very Worst Date in America (for now at least) by rating the story when it appears. The highest rated story will receive a secret bonus prize. We will announce the second prize winner on March 1, 2010. We look forward to your votes and comments. Thanks to all who submitted!
THE WINNING ENTRY
His name was T. He lived in Southern California, but was in my town for a month. We met at a club. He said he was ex-military, an engineer, working on flood maps and river restoration. Picture a good-looking, muscular, articulate guy with a job that implied love of the environment. A perfect package it seemed to me. He was with other similar military-looking guys. My friends pronounced him “hot.” We danced for hours and talked over the loud music of the club.
Before I left, he asked for my number, and said he’d call the next day. We made plans to meet for drinks at his hotel bar, then were going to grab dinner at a nearby restaurant. When I arrived, he was wearing dark wash jeans that fit him very well, nice shoes and a tight white T-shirt, like an undershirt. He said he had not had the time to iron his shirt, and he had to go back upstairs to his room to do so. I thought it odd, but he seemed genuine. Before he headed up, he introduced me to his friends and left me in the bar with them. These were not the same friends from the club, and they were not at all like him. While T was one of those clean-cut military gentlemen who said “yes ma’am, no ma’am,” these guys seemed sketchy in their saggy pants, gold chains, sideways hats. I was a little surprised but I was polite and made small talk. T was gone for a really long time.
One of his friends started hitting on me, but became distracted when we heard shots from the direction of the parking lot. Sirens followed. I decided that I had had enough. I was a little afraid to go outside, but figured I was safer outside with the police than I was inside with his creepy friends. As I exited the building, I saw T, handcuffed and being loaded into a police car. He was still wearing the white undershirt. Although I was about 10 feet away I don’t think he saw me, and I snuck by quickly. He obviously had not gone upstairs to iron his shirt, but had instead gone outside and got into (what I later saw on the news) was a gang-related shooting. His friends sounded like a bunch of 13-year-olds, saying things like “BOOM!” and were high-fiving each other and jumping around. I speed-walked to my car, with the sound of one of his friends calling after me. I did not turn around. T never called me again, and I do not know what happened to him. Perhaps he used his one phone call for his lawyer?
