May 24th, 2004: The Worst Date of All Time, Part One

Continued from here. Every time I tell this story, it comes up in the same way:

CHUCK: Pat, tell Rachel the story about the worst date ever!
RACHEL: Oh, I've got a "worst date ever" story too!
CHUCK: You better tell yours first or you're gonna feel pretty fucking stupid when he finishes his.
RACHEL: OK, so first off, he picks me up and he's wearing plaid pants. Can you believe it? Plaid pants!
ME: (bellowing Wizard of Oz-style) SILENCE! For I truly went on..."The Worst Date Of All Time."

I finished my first day of orientation for the NBC Page Program. My pockets were full of important papers and forms I couldn't wait to fill out and return to make the job official. My heart was full of Spring, my boxers were full of possibility. My dream job, a date with a real live woman...yessir, everything was comin' up Walsh!

I was to meet Jessica at 30 Rock's "Rink Bar," the ridiculously overpriced tavern they put up in the summer months when the ice skating rink shuts down. When I got to the bar I noticed Jessica was talking to a guy. When she noticed me noticing this, she ran over to me. "Hey, what's up!" I said with a smile and opened my arms for a hello hug. She did not return the hug and seemed extremely serious and nervous.

JESSICA: Um. So look, this is really weird. You're gonna hate me.
ME: What is it?
JESSICA: My boyfriend's here, he wants to meet you.

Cue record player screeching to a stop. Eight months of hanging out, there had been no mention of a boyfriend.

ME: Your...what? Who?
JESSICA: My boyfriend. He's all jealous I think, and he just wants to say hello. Don't be mad.
ME: Don't be mad? I'm not going on a date with you if you have a boyfriend.
JESSICA: No! Stop it! I want to go! I really really want to go.
ME: Well here, take the tickets and go with him.
JESSICA: I want to go with you!
ME: This is bullshit, Jessica.
JESSICA: Don't be a jerk!
ME: Me?!

And then he turned to face me. The boyfriend. A big, gelled, fratty douche who, at FIVE PM was so drunk he could barely walk. He was throwing back beers with two equally douchetacular buddies, and all three of them were pointing at me and laughing. Douche began to stumble his way over to me.

ME: I'm gonna get going.
JESSICA: What? No! Just meet him real quick and then we'll go!

Douche approached and slapped a hand on my shoulder. His voice was raspy, his breath smelled of Heineken and asshole.

DOUCHE: So you're taking my girl out, huh?!
ME: We were going to go to a concert, yeah.
DOUCHE: Sounds like a date.
ME: Nope.
DOUCHE: Sounds like a fucking date, dude! I don't know! You tell me!

I didn't respond.                                                                                                                        

DOUCHE: Jessica tells me you're hilarious.

I didn't respond. He moved closer. 

DOUCHE: You don't seem that funny.

I didn't respond. His mouth was up against my ear now.

DOUCHE: Say something funny!

I gently pushed him away from me and smiled.

DOUCHE: Yeah, you're fuckin' hilarious. Have fun with her, dude.

Douche stumbled back to his friends, who had watched this exchange and welcomed him like a hero. I pulled Jessica aside.

ME: Look, seriously, take the tickets. I'm not going.
JESSICA: Are you uncomfortable?
ME: Of course I'm uncomfortable!
JESSICA: Alright, we'll leave then. He's an asshole.
ME: He really is.

And we walked off. You're probably wondering why I went on the date. I really did like the girl for starters, but at this point it was more to spite Douche. She didn't even say goodbye to him. We just left, with the guys catcalling after us. Can you think of a more stressful and disappointing way to start a date?

Let me just assure you that the night will get progressively worse, eventually deteriorating into some sort of Kafkaesque nightmare.

We took the subway down to where the concert would be held. She wanted to go to this fancy-style restaurant, which made me very nervous about the state of my financial affairs. Immediately, the waiter approached and asked if we'd like some wine.

JESSICA: Sure!
WAITER: Excellent. And bottle or glass?
ME: Two glasses is fine.
WAITER: A bottle is the better deal, especially if you're going to drink a lot.
JESSICA: Let's just get wasted!
ME: OK, we'll take a bottle.

I wasn't asked what kind of wine I wanted, but I could tell when it arrived that it was a bit more pricey than the "Night Train" I was used to drinking. As Jessica drank she got more and more open about how much she hated her boyfriend, what a dick he was, how depressed she was about her whole situation.

ME: So I've known you for months, I had no idea you had a boyfriend. When did you guys start going out?
JESSICA: Three years ago.
ME: Oh. And you're on the outs, or --
JESSICA: We live together.
ME: Ah.
JESSICA: We don't even have sex anymore.
ME: Oh.
JESSICA: I like you, Pat!
ME: Great. I like you too.
JESSICA: No, you don't. Do you really? Like, really?
ME: Hey, pass that wine!

We drank some more, and ordered food. The check came, and as long as I live I'll never forget this total: $137.50. I had just started a new, remarkably low-paying job, and didn't have this kind of cash. In fact, I had taken $100 out of the bank that morning in hopes that it would cover me for both the date and through the coming week to payday. This check hit me like a thunderbolt, especially considering I had already blown $50 on the concert tickets, and especially especially considering I was now not technically on a date at all, but a friendly outing with a girl in a relationship. I eyed Jessica harshly, praying she would at least make the reach for the check. Just give me the reach!

Obviously, this is a Dutch treat situation, no? She made no such attempt. Since I had asked her out, and I am (at least to a girl's face) a gentleman, I bit the bullet and paid the check. I knew I didn't have enough in my bank account, so I had to put it on my credit card. (This may have been the first incident leading to my now legendary debt). I started to get up from the table. "Stay there!" she yelled at me, a bit louder than necessary. The wine was taking hold.

She walked around the table and sat down right next to me, the kind of thing you see sometimes in public and hate. She began kissing my neck and playing with my hair. It was all very awkward. I checked my watch. I told her we should probably get over to the show.

When we got to the box office, I noticed that Violent Femmes tickets had just gone on sale. The Femmes are one of my favorite bands, I had never seen them live, and didn't know if I'd get another chance. I checked my wallet. I figured I'd be able to find someone to go with me, so I sucked it up, made the purchase with the hundred cash, and stuck the tickets in my back pocket. In my side pocket I placed the change -- $60.

The opening band had already started, and she was standing behind me, her arms around my waist, burying her face in my back. It would have made me uncomfortable if it wasn't so damn hot. I began to realize I simply didn't care about her boyfriend. He had been an asshole to me, and since I wasn't even initiating the physical activity, I felt no guilt. By the time The Thrills (who did not live up to their name) hit the stage, she was pressed up against me from behind with her hands in my pockets. She was very handsy throughout the show, and between the music and the closeness and the hands, I was very turned on.

Then the show ended. Lights came up. I stuck my hands in my pockets and found them strangely light. Jessica was dancing back and forth all Juliette Lewis-like and didn't notice my demeanor had changed.

ME: Hey, when you had your hands in my pockets did you knock anything out?
JESSICA: When I took my hands out, I think some paper fell, but it just looked like junk.
ME: It wasn't. It most definitely wasn't junk. It was all really important papers for my new job. I need them. And money. I had like twenties in there. Did you knock it all out?
JESSICA: Maybe! Oh no!

She dropped to her hands and knees and began searching the floor for the documents and the cash, people stepping around her like she was insane.

Which she was.

Panicked, I checked the back pocket. The Femmes tickets -- Gone Daddy Gone.

After a half hour of searching, I went to the box office to see if anyone had turned my stuff in.

CLERK: Oh yeah, in New York City somebody turned in 60 bucks cash and concert tickets.
ME: Seriously?
CLERK: Of course not.

We went out into the night. The two of us standing on a street corner, Jessica sobbing and apologizing. Forms I needed to fill out and bring to my dream job the next day to show how responsible I could be -- vanished. So far, I had blown about $300 I didn't have on a date that wasn't even a date with a girl who had a boyfriend.

And the night was just beginning.

tags: story of my life  dating  relationships  new york  

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