Never date a man who lies about his boroughs...

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Where is my chariot?!!

A Simple Bad Date

Several years ago, on a “girls’ weekend away” in Philadelphia, I met a guy in a bar, named Brad. As it turned out, he was also visiting Philly for the weekend, and lived in NYC. After several (dozen) drinks, we thought it was so funny to meet another New Yorker in a bar in Philly, that we decided we simply must have dinner in New York upon our return. Obviously already a recipe for disaster.

He called me that Sunday evening to determine a time/place for dinner on Monday. Apparently, he wasn’t as “from New York” as he had led me to believe – instead he lived on Long Island, and worked in Queens as a police officer. Suffice it to say, he didn’t know a single restaurant in the city, dumping it on my lap to figure out, with the instructions “anything but seafood.” Uncomfortable with picking our dinner location, I told him I couldn’t possibly pick – he should look into some options and call me back. About an hour later he did – we were meeting at 7 pm at Blue Water Grill. I didn’t know how to explain the irony of this choice to him – and I wasn’t sure he knew what irony was – so I said “great.”

He was dumb and ate steak – maybe even a bottle of Bud Light; I drank wine and ate seafood. We didn’t have much to discuss and his meathead Long Island accent was difficult to understand under the best of circumstances. Once we were outside, I quickly tried to take my leave, but he engaged me in a lengthy conversation about how I didn’t want to go have another drink. Then, he picked me up and carried me into a nearby bar. As always, one to make light of even bad situations, I ordered a drink – “only one” I told him.

In an unusual twist of events, I stuck to “only one” drink and said my goodbyes shortly. He was none too pleased to see me go, and even added some pleasantries about how he “deserved more” for coming into the city and taking me to dinner. Somehow, he just couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to take him home. He followed up later that evening with some charming text messages about what a bitch I was.

The most disturbing part was that since he knew my name, I was concerned he might use the NYC police database to stalk me or somehow have me arrested for bogus charges. Though I wouldn’t even recognize him (or remember his name) by now, that fear stays with me.