Worst Date Ever!

I recently read something about the worst date you have ever been on. So figured I’d write my own little story. I mean the story I just read included vomit, menstrual blood, drugs, and only lasted a couple of hours. My story doesn’t so much to do with the person I was on the date with, but a series of unfortunate events that led to this 12 hour debacle.

One day while walking down the street I ran into an old friend from what seemed like another lifetime. I mean I hadn’t seen this girl since she was 15. We had a quick drink and really hit it off. She told me that her gay cousin was having a birthday party in Chelsea the following week and asked if I’d like to come along. I figured me and gays was like peas and carrots, and this could be a great time to show what a good guy I am. I was really looking forward to this. My lady friend had matured very nicely. If I hadn’t already known her, she probably wouldn’t have given me the time of day. Thursday night came around and I cleaned myself up the best I could. She swung by in her car and we drove up to Chelsea.

This was back before there was much of anything was along 10th Ave. The party was at a really small bar around 23rd St. As soon as I walked in I knew I was going to be ok. It didn’t take long before I was laughing and joking with this girl’s aunt and cousin. They loved me, and were amused by what I had to say. Hell, I’m not even amused by what I have to say. Everyone was really nice and we were having a great time. Being that most of my dates before and after this could be best described as awkward. I was shocked how smooth I was acting with this beautiful girl on my arm. The party started to wind down pretty early and my lady friend whispered into my ear, let’s go back to your place. I figured I’ve been dealt enough shit hands in my life that I deserved this. She handed me her car keys and off to my place we went.

Or so I thought. Walking down the street with a shit eating grin on my face, we turned onto 25th St where she had parked. I looked around and didn’t see the car. She thought maybe she parked it on another street. I knew we had parked there but was hoping I was wrong. The hotdog vendor next to us confirmed my worst fear. He asked if we were looking for the Honda. As I nodded yes, he said that the car had just been towed. FUCK!?!?!?!?! This prompted my lady friend to freak out, since it was her parents car. Taking it all in stride, I kept my cool and started to assess the situation. I called information and found the number to the tow lot. Luckily it was within walking distance. They told me it would take some time for the car to be processed and to call back in an hour. Now it was time for some damage control.

I assured the young lady that we would get the car out and everything was going to be ok. I suggested we walk up toward the impound lot that was at an old pier on the west side highway. I knew an old roadhouse type bar along the way that we could wait in. What cures fear better than booze? Obviously, I couldn’t think of anything, so I went with the sure bet. Always go with what you know, because the bar worked like a charm. It was empty and the bartender was sympathetic to our cause. I’ve never seen such a little girl swig such a large amount of whiskey. After a little bit the mood lightened up, and I found out the car had been processed. I closed out our tab and we walked hand in hand along the scenic Hudson River to the impound pier. I was going to salvage this night if it killed me or anyone in my path.

As with all public works in NYC, I knew this was going to be a long wait. Things were starting to look up though. The now inebriated girl was getting very close to me. Next thing you know we were making out in the office of the impound lot. Classy, I know. Sometimes you got to put on a show for all the miserable people in a impound lot office at 2am. Just when I began to think about how keeping my cool had paid off, she pulled away from me and made a run for the door leading to the pier. Under the cold stares of about a dozen people in that little office, I made my way outside. Not surprisingly, I found her hanging over the railing releasing the contents of her stomach into the Hudson River. I rubbed her back and told her everything was going to be all right. She responds, “I hate alcohol!” Not really knowing what to say, I joked that she shouldn’t blame my old friend alcohol for this. I wasn’t really prepared for the answer she returned. I backed away slowly when she screamed about abuse she had suffered her freshman year of college while drunk that had led her to leave school. I sat down on the steps while she finished up. After all that has happened tonight, this is where it starts to get heavy.

Luckily our number got called shortly after this incident and I coughed up the $350 that it cost to get the car out of the fucking lot. At this point I just wanted out of there, and out of this night. Little did I know, the end was no where in sight. As I drove her car down to my apartment, she sobered up a bit and apologized for everything that happened. I assured her I understood, and she said she couldn’t wait to just crash for a couple of hours with me. See, she had to get up extra early to get back home and help take care of her handicapped brother. I found a legal spot right outside my place and we headed up the five floors to my apartment. At this point it was about 4:30am, and I was so worn out that I barely know what was going on. I opened the door to my place and turn into my room. As I turn on the light and she walks into, I see my roommate passed out on the corner of my bed. He’s wearing a kimono that is wide open and the gay porn site asspig.com is displayed on my computer. I quickly cover him up while backhanding him simultaneously. I’m like get the fuck out of my room! To my shock he’s like fuck no. Not wanting to make a big scene by dragging a 6-6 naked man through the apartment, I just said lets crash in his bed. He chimes in, “Oh you don’t want to do that, there’s blood, shit, and lube all over that.” Disgusted, my lady friend walks out to the living room and curls up on the couch. I assure her that I will wake her when she needs to get going.

I see the bottle of gin I had brought home from Amsterdam, and just start drinking right from the bottle. As the suns starts to come up, I flip on the morning news and go over the night in my head. Around this time my roommate finally rises from his slumber and joins us in the living room. The little lady pops an eye open and somehow they strike up a conversation. Next thing you know they are engaged in a heated debate about sex and religion. As I started the get deeper in to the gin, I finally started to lose my cool. When it was her time to go, I wanted to kill both of them. I held it together for a couple more minutes and walked her to the car and kissed her goodbye. I figured with her owing me $350, there wasn’t much chance I’d see her again. At that point I didn’t really care. I got back up to my apartment and my roommate had gone to sleep in his room thankfully. I slammed the last of the bottle screamed at the top of my lungs and passed out on the floor.

That was one hell of a night. It was true I didn’t see her again for a number of years. I don’t know if she had ever intended on paying me back. I don’t know her well enough to judge her morals. A year later I was working with someone and it turned out they were friends with my date from that night. I jokingly told the story to them. I didn’t really give a fuck about the money anymore, but low and behold a couple of weeks later my work buddy handed me an envelope with my money in it. As I said, it really wasn’t a question of the person I was on the date with, but the circumstances that led to the events of that summer evening.