Bad Date Stories

The Swede and the Tiny Lawyer

I was thinking today about two different bad dates I had, years ago when I thought internet dating was a great idea. I was in my mid thirties and in reasonably decent shape. I didn't look a great deal different than I did when I was 18:

SWEDISH DISH

One bad date was a guy I'll call Lars. I don't remember his name. He was a Swedish scientist, working temporarily for the CDC. I don't know what possessed me to meet him at one of the local malls for coffee. Oh, wait a minute, he was hunky. Yep, that was it. Now I remember.

We ended up walking all over this very upscale mall in search of a fondue pot. Lars missed authentic Swedish fondue. I remember he looked at about 20 different fondue pots, finding fault with each one.I thought to myself, for God's sake just pick one....

He found fault with me, too, informing me at the end of that weird evening that he wouldn't be calling me again.It felt like I'd failed a job interview.

And, he happened to mention, he was married. "We are separated, you see," he said, smiling.

"I don't date married men," I said, smiling back, trying to disguise my total disgust. I walked away without looking back.

What a jerk.

TINY ACTOR

Another internet date I had was with a lawyer. I don't know what I was thinking about. It was one of my first internet dates, and I was unprepared.

This guy, who I'll call Alex, was very good-looking and sexy. We had spoken on the phone. He knew a former boss of mine and was amazed I had put up with her for so many years, and we had a pleasant phone conversation.

I agreed to meet him at a family-type Mexican restaurant in Roswell, which is just outside Atlanta. Alex walked in, saw me standing alone in the foyer [is that what you call it in a restaurant? I don't know...] and quickly looked away, like oh no, not her. I walked up and introduced myself. The look of complete disappointment was unmistakeable.

I am no beauty, I'll admit, but I wasn't horribly fat. I also looked like the photo I'd posted on the dating site. I wasn't dishonest.

He was a tiny man. I would say he was 5'6, no more. I think he wore a hairpiece, too. He had no room to be so picky.

He told me he was taking acting classes. A lawyer who really wanted to act. Most trial lawyers have unrequited acting ambitions, I can tell you from long experience.

We ate dinner and chatted, but he was clearly not ever going to ask me out again.

What ticks me off about both these incidents of meeting these guys is that I knew from the first moment they saw me I didn't measure up to their requirements of what they wanted in a date. I am not tall, not strikingly beautiful, my teeth aren't perfect.  Whatever.

I should have just said "OK, well, clearly you aren't interested. I am going home." I should have aborted both missions.

I just always have this blind, misguided hope that dates will find out that I am intelligent and funny and have a great personality, and I can win them over.

It never happens, however. I asked a number of guy friends and they all told me pretty much the same thing, in regards to attraction, namely: if a guy sees you and doesn't instantly want to jump into bed, he will not ask you out. He will often not even want to talk to you.There is only about a 5% chance he will change his mind of that.

Of course, alcohol changes the perceptions somewhat, as we all know.

I always liked to date guys that were completely sober and thinking clearly. I never wanted to wake up next to some guy who looked at me and screamed in horror.

Of course, in thinking back on Mr. Fondue and the Tiny Actor, I hope they are in relationships with tall, gorgeous women, and suffering severe erectile dysfunction...

Sam the Scary

I frequented a couple of different dating websites about 10 years ago.I thought internet dating was the way to go. I just knew Mr. Right was out there, and we were just one JPEG away from finding each other.

On one website, I met a man who sounded interesting. He said he was in the security field, owned his own home, enjoyed movies, reading, etc. The photo showed a nice looking man with sandy hair and pretty eyes. After exchanging a few emails, I agreed to meet him for lunch near my office.

I'll refer to him here as "Sam" - for reasons that will become apparent in a moment.

I dressed for my lunch date with Sam very carefully, putting on makeup and fixing my hair in what I thought was an attractive way. [I always tried to look more Town & Country than Lady Gaga, if you know what I mean.]

I walked into the restaurant and took a seat in the waiting area. The door opened and a large cowboy hat with a tiny man underneath came charging through the door.

Yep, that was the guy.

I am 5'4, and I have always laughingly said I wanted a guy at least as tall as me. For most guys, that's not unreasonable. This little guy couldn't have been much over 5 feet tall. He had on elaborately decorated cowboy boots with a heel at least an inch high.

When he walked over to me, I was in a mild state of shock. Then he spoke, with a deep southern twang.

He was like something out of a cartoon. I almost giggled when he spoke.

As soon as we exchanged greetings, as we were walking to our table, I had the fleeting thought, "this will make a funny story one day. Not today, but hopefully one day..."

Except for the moustache, Yosemite Sam and my date were strikingly similar in looks...

I could probably have gotten over the height challenge and the twang, and even the silly outfit, but the personal history portion of our date scared the bejeezus out of me.

I can't remember what he said he did for a living. That detail is lost in my memory, but he probably worked from home. It didn't seem remarkable. Nope, it was his lifestyle that bothered me.

You see Sam owned his own home on top of a mountain.

He built his home completely by himself, teaching himself carpentry, electronics, and plumbing, etc. I admired that. But then, I heard a tale that sounded like the Unibomber...

There is only one road that leads to his home.

He described security measures that would've impressed the CIA.

He had designed and installed a series of cameras to survey every inch of his home and the outside areas.

He had automatic weapons, trained dogs, etc.

He only had to leave once a month or so to get supplies.

I remember asking him why he felt he had to take such elaborate precautions but I don't recall what he said. It was evasive, whatever it was. He didn't say something logical, like "I pissed off a Colombian drug cartel" or "I have photos of Michael Jackson without makeup."

He mentioned that he really didn't like his neighbors.He started telling me why, with a satanic gleam in his eye.

OK, well, that was enough for me. Hand me the check and a bottle of Maalox, thanks.

Before I left, I diplomatically mentioned that I was completely unwilling to entertain the idea of moving out of town, and a 90 minute commute just wouldn't work for me.

Sam hid his disappointment poorly.

Did I leave quickly? Let's just say I was glad I bought a car with a 6 cylinder engine instead of a 4 cylinder.