Story Sent in by Joshua:
Online, Patricia told me that her childhood nickname was "the hurricane" because she apparently was a terror to her parents, older sister, and everyone with whom she came into contact. She told me, "My sister still has scars from the bite marks I gave her."
Not exactly comforting to hear before a first date, but Patricia was older now, and it seemed, at least online, as though she had mellowed out a bit.
I took her out for lunch at a nice place in the city. We were on an outdoor patio. The surrounding tables were almost all occupied, many of which with families.
The trouble really began when we were served our waters. They had lemon wedges in them. Patricia said to the waitress, "I didn't want lemon in my water. I want a slice of watermelon!"
The waitress said, "You want a watermelon slice in your water?"
Patricia said, "Did I stutter?"
If I had been the waitress, I would've given Patricia a piece of my mind, but instead, the waitress took it in stride and said, "I'll see what I can do," then took Patricia's water away.
Patricia then told me, after the waitress had gone, "Don't you dare drink your water. You wait for me to get mine."
I replied, "You could've been a bit nicer to the waitress. Putting lemons into water probably wasn't her idea."
"Her own stupid fault for assuming that everyone wants a lemon in their water. Have you ever tasted a lemon? They're bitter as anything."
Amazingly, the waitress reappeared with a water with a thin slice of watermelon within it. Patricia took it without a thank-you, then pulled out the watermelon slice and ate it. "I love wet watermelon," she told me, "It just tastes better than when it's dry."
We were able to order our meals without incident, and conversation went well until our meals arrived. After the waitress had left, I noticed Patricia staring at her salad. I asked her what was wrong.
She said, "This isn't what I ordered."
"The chicken Caesar?"
I studied her meal closely. It was as chicken-Caesar-salad-ish as any chicken Caesar salad could ever be. I asked her, "You ordered the chicken Caesar, right?"
Without a word, she stood up, took the salad in hand, then turned around and placed it onto a nearby, occupied table. A family sat there, a mother, father, and little boy. They looked at her and she said, "You can have my salad. It sucks balls."
She sat back down at the table with me, and the father stood, grabbed her salad, and put it right back on our table, in front of Patricia. He said, "We're all set, and don't you talk to me that way in front of my son."
"Hey," I said to Patricia, after the father had returned to his table. I was desperate to distract her away from doing anything else. "We should order a dessert, here. Their berry tarts are great."
Patricia said, "No. They probably," she turned back to the family and finished, "suck balls."
The father stood and left the table, then headed inside the restaurant. Patricia asked me, "Where do you think he's going?"
I said, "If I were him, I'd be going to get the manager."
"Christ," Patricia said, then stood up, left the table, climbed over the waist-high metal rail that separated the patio from the sidewalk, and hurried away.
The father did indeed return with a manager. As Patricia was gone, I was left to explain and apologize for her behavior.
I wasn't sure if she had been expecting a second date from me, but she never had one. I can't imagine her ever having one, to be frank.
Story Sent in by Joshua: