The conversation could’ve been confused for a vow of silence as we sat, sipping the dregs of coffee, and waiting for the other to put paid to this misery disguised as a date. I make the first move, I stand up, head to the till, and settle the bill. He sees me do it but offers no money for his share. I say nothing but roll my eyes pointedly. Inside the rage swells having paid for a full breakfast, a cake and two lattes for him and I only ordered a cappuccino.
If it wasn’t enough of a clue that the bill was paid, I start putting on my jacket and tidying away items into my bag. He takes the hint and starts to put on his faded hoodie to cover his holey t-shirt, and no, he isn’t a hipster, and his clothing choice wasn’t a fashion statement.
I open the door and step outside. It’s raining. I’m grateful for the rain as it cuts the already awkward conversation short. I didn’t want to wait to see if he wanted to meet again. I was desperate to run away before he could even attempt the kiss. I gesture to the rain, shrug my shoulders, mouth the words thank you and dash to the car under an umbrella.
They say a photo says a thousand words. I wish it had. Catfished is the only word I can use to describe the man who I just met. I blame filters, good lighting and any other wizardry. His photo was him. It was a recent one. However, it portrayed a certain lifestyle and style in general that he did not have. I wasn’t looking for a rich guy to take care of me, I am doing fine by myself. I was looking for someone like me: has a job, house, car, likes a holiday but is just missing that someone. He was nothing like me.
He turned up to the date in a Ford Mondeo which was almost vintage now, and I think it used to be green. He explained it was his dad’s. I’m not money orientated but I was curious to hear why a 42-year-old man had to borrow a car. Dates which began with a guy telling me he couldn’t drive or didn’t have a car always ended badly. By this point it was more like a personality trait than a skill.
As we waited in the queue outside the café, I learned that he didn’t have a car because he didn’t have a job. He didn’t have a job because he didn’t want to “feed the corporate machine”. KILL ME NOW! We continued to talk and I couldn’t help but notice minor details. I had dressed up, put on make up and sprayed some perfume. This guy rocked up like he’d rolled out of bed or wandered off a peace camp. He had black joggers on and old, black Adidas Gazelles which slapped as he walked when the sole met the shoe again. He wore a black Regatta waterproof coat that was five sizes too big for him and I could see the hoodie peeking out the top of the jacket. He was nervous, he was biting his nails. I wish he hadn’t, it just alerted me to the fact that I could use the dirt under them to fill my planter.
I wanted to run. I was questioning if it was too late. My mind was racing, trying to think of what the correct etiquette was in this situation. But I ran out of time, the young waitress who was purposefully dressed as a hipster invited us to come in and take a seat at our table. She gave us our menu, took our drink order, and left.
I stare at the menu, too afraid to look up. The bright lighting in this café would force me to face this guy I can’t believe I agreed to meet. My overwhelming sense to be kind shames me for my thoughts. I smile and ask him what he would like from the menu. He tells me that everything in this hipster joint is overly priced and asked why I wanted to come here. I tell him because I like the surrounding and the food is great. I defend the price by telling him the portions are massive.
I put my hand under the table, pretend to be consulting the menu and press my watch face to see the time. Oh sweet lord! It’s only been 15 minutes and we’ve still got cake and coffee to go. I know this is going nowhere romantically, so decide to suck it up and learn more about this guy.
Before I have the chance, the waitress comes to take our order. I order a cappuccino. My jaw drops when I hear him order half the menu before handing the menu back to the waitress. “Hungry?” I say which is met only by a wry smile.
He looks at me but makes no effort to strike up a conversation. I feel like I’m the one on an interview when it’s him that needs the job. Here is a guy who is jobless, carless, and has the arrogance to sit and stare at me with a look that says “charm me”. In some ways I am impressed by his over confidence, but I can’t say it doesn’t bemuse me at the same time. I have made such an effort to present my best self and ready with a list of reasons and attributes why I’d make the perfect partner (isn’t that normal on a date). Here is this guy who has made zero effort to present himself and making no attempt to make a good impression. Instead, he is waiting for me to pitch myself to him. What is wrong with this picture?
I came here today just looking for a guy who wanted to get to know each other, maybe have a laugh and was able to buy himself a coffee. Instead I’m sitting with Oscar the Grouch who begins lecturing me on capitalism and how my choice of eatery feeds right into it. I smile, nod and occasionally reiterate that the portion size impacts on the price not capitalism. He is somewhat intelligent it seems, studied and passed medicine at university which accounts for the aloof attitude. I wanted to ask why he didn't become a practising doctor but was too scared to in case it incited more anti-capitalist rhetoric.
He may have taken a while to warm up to chatting but when he started there was no off button. I am almost ready to pull off my shoe and stuff it in his mouth, but the waitress places his piles of food in front of him. I can’t help but think of starving children all over the world versus his gluttony, ironic huh?, for man who has just lectured me on capitalism for the last 20 minutes.
The food stopped him talking. We ate in silence as I imagine scenarios which could end this nightmare. I wished for a fire to begin in the kitchen so we would have to evacuate. I prayed my friend would call to say she was stuck in her bath and needed help. Nothing. That stuff only happens when you’re having fun.
When he finished and started to tackle the crumbs of cake and last slurps of coffee, I knew this was time for the out which bring us to where our tale began.
When I reached the car, I quickly collapsed the umbrella and jumped in the car. My whole body relaxed as I felt as free as Belle absconding the embrace of Gaston! The hell was over. All that awkwardness. I could just relax. He sent a text: “ I don’t find you attractive, you don’t have a great job and you’re too capitalist for my tastes. So I don’t think we should meet again”.
Jeez! Well thanks for clearing that up, matey. I’m sorry I gave you the impression I was pining for you and a next date. I thought my general disposition of indifference would have impressed upon you my complete disinterest. “Not too bright- socially inept” will be added to the list of reasons I don’t want to ever see you again. It will be a mental note. I’m not shitty enough to send a message like you.
This type of guy is not uncommon. The guy who is so self-assured but brings very little to the table. There are many of these confidence rich, cash poor guys who are on the dating scene. It baffles me that they try to make women feel bad about themselves when really the women have so much more to offer. So…NEXT!
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