This story is really unbelievable. Footnotes by yours-truly. Email yours to fiftyfirstjdates@gmail.com! If you do, I will give you a million smiles.
This past March I started talking to a guy on Jdate that had written me a very nice email and was interested in going out. His email was very genuine and he seemed somewhat normal which was definitely a step up from some of the other guys I had dated and most of all his dream was NOT to be a funeral director and own his own lot of funeral homes. (Yes, that was the last guy on JDate I spoke to. No I never met up with him.) (1)
Let’s call the current guy Norman. So after a week of talking back and forth this Norman asked me if I’d like to go out to lunch on Sunday and said he’d call me on Saturday to confirm. He said he didn’t know the city all that well and that he’d be game for anything. He had mentioned on one of our calls that he was currently unemployed so I thought that I’d pick a restaurant that wasn’t expensive but would have alcohol should I feel the need that that would be the only way to get through the date.
Norman called early Saturday evening to confirm our plans for the next day and I told him that Otto (the very moderately priced Mario Batali pizza restaurant) was a good spot to meet.
Sunday morning I woke up to a phone message from Norman. Norman said that he didn’t think he’d be hungry for pizza but did I want to go for coffee instead? Well I didn’t really, but I texted him and said coffee was fine and where did he want to meet. “How about Jamba Juice at Port Authority?” (2)
Did the Jamba Juice at Port Authority even have a place to sit? Aren’t they all food court style kiosks? Where did he want to sit and talk? At a terminal with all the people heading down to Atlantic City or Philly? (3)
I called Norman and nicely said that Port Authority is not really on my agenda this afternoon as I told a friend of mine who lives in Union Square that I’d stop by on my way home from Otto. So can we please pick a place down there? After a little hesitation Norman caved and said ok. So I suggested City Bakery.
I get to City Bakery to meet Norman, finally, and after an aggravating morning trying to salvage what was going to be of this date. He did look like his picture but of course a lot shorter than he wrote on the profile. (obvz.)
After getting our food we bring it up to get weighed. My lunch was $7.00 which included my lemonade. His was about $12.00. I did the credit card reach as all of us girls usually do and he said, “Oh don’t worry I have it.” Which I assumed he would, especially after how embarrassed he probably felt after the morning conversations.
After his food got weighed he said to me, “Hey, do you think we could split?” Chivalry really is dead. (4)
Even the girl at the register was looking at me feeling sad and sorry. I think I telepathically told her, “If you want I’ll take your job today and you can go on this date this afternoon. ” She telepathically told me, “Hell No.” So not only did I wind up paying for my food and what was basically an upscale cafeteria I also lost money on the deal because his lunch was more expensive.
I don’t think I remember a word of the conversation because my mind was spinning and my arm was dying to reach for the Blackberry to tell everyone I knew about what was going on. Although I did remember him telling me that he goes on cruises alone. (5)
When I got home Sunday night I started to feel a little sorry for myself that I had wasted an entire day with this jerk. He could have come up with a plan that would have been nice and free. A museum? A walk in the park?
At least I had this great story to tell at parties, weddings, bar mitzvahs and to random people on the street.
Not so fast. Norman called on Monday night saying he’d like to go out again to which I responded. “Actually I think I’m going to treat myself this week and take myself over to Grand Central station and eat at Junior’s Restaurant without you.” (6)
(1) Didn’t Angelina Jolie want to be a mortician? This is a sexy profession, if you’re Angelina Jolie, I guess. But if you’re a guy named Ben and have a predilection for, well, funeral homes, I can’t even really make a joke about this so I’m going to stop. Everything I’m coming up with is just morbid and awful and I’m grasping at straws and instead I’m just going to continue eating the icing off of the Redskins cupcakes I made for this weekend (they spelled out GO REDSKIN and the S was off to the side) that I didn’t even get to show off because I am sick. Womp.
(2) Nothing says romance like tourists and toilets that are dirtier than Port-o-potties. Seriously, I’d rather go at a Port-o-potty during Preakness with stupid bros running on top of them (I think this might be a genuine sport now) than go to the bathroom at a train or bus station. But really, let the sparks fly over Sbarro, B.O., and people wearing I Love New York shirts because they’re DEFINITELY great proof you are a native New Yorker. And I mean they just prove the opposite of it. But I do love those shirts, in the privacy of my own home, while I pick my nose and wonder how much eye makeup remover the Kardashians must collectively use daily. A lot I bet. They must go to Costco for that.
(3) Did Norman even consider I might not like smoothies? That I might actually prefer slushees? There’s something about the banana-strawberry mixture that makes me gag. Oh, maybe it’s that we’re cattycorner to the bathrooms at Port Authority.
(4) Actually, I think it died with your previous JDater who wanted to own a funeral home. Ooh ooh I got the joke in.
(5) Yep, he’s that guy on the Lido deck scamming on the undergrads during the Hawaiian themed day. And he BYO’d a Hawaiian shirt in his suitcase, just in case. He’s also holding a coconut bra in the hopes of finding a lady to sit next to him and drink smoothies all day.
(6) This joke: win. This date: lose.
The moral of the story if you’re ever on a cruise with Norman, ask for a double in your Pina Colada. And run.
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