The 19th Century Called. It Misses You.

Submitted by Allie:

I attended a very small liberal arts school where the dating pool was very, very limited. At the time, I had only ever been in relationships with guys I had met through school so I felt weird about meeting people in bars and going online seemed like a good alternative to what I perceived as my only other option.

Within a week of creating my profile, I received a very articulate and interesting message from Ben, a Ph.D. student at a much larger, neighboring university. We messaged back and forth for several weeks until I finally felt comfortable enough to meet.

He didn't have a car, so I agreed to drive the 20 minutes to his school instead of asking him to take the train to meet me. He was somewhat of an environmental activist and he seemed put off that I wasn't going to use public transportation to get to our date.  I explained that I needed to pick a friend up at the airport later and therefore, preferred to drive. That seemed to settle the matter... or so I thought.

I met him about two blocks away from the cafe where we had decided to go. When he first approached me, I mistook him for a homeless person. He wore a hoodie that was quite literally falling apart and jeans that looked as though they had been washed in a mud bath. He hadn't necessarily been dishonest about his appearance... just his cleanliness, I suppose.

He briefly said hello and then walked into the cafe ahead of me and pushed the heavy swinging door so hard that it hit me on the knee as I approached it.  I don't have any expectations about doors being held open for me, but getting nailed by a door because someone doesn't even have the courtesy to extend the handle to you is another matter entirely.

I sat down at the table he had selected where he promptly told me that I "wasn't very athletic." I glared at him and pointed out that I was wearing heels which made it difficult to keep up to which he replied, "Oh, so you enjoy being part of the sexual second class?"

I was beyond annoyed at this point but before I could retort, a waitress came by to take our order. He ordered a quiche and a sugary coffee drink. I decided to stick with black coffee and get out as quickly as possible.

As soon as the waitress left, he launched into a technical analysis of an experiment on which he was working. I listened as intently as I could, but became a bit despondent around the half hour mark. At that point he had allowed me all of ten words in the conversation. Even worse, he was sporting a giant whipped cream mustache for his entire speech. As the whipped cream wobbled around on his upper lip all I could think was, "Asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole."

He finally stopped his rambling long enough to inform me that I was "a worse listener than his grad students" and "not very smart."

I replied, "I was under the impression that this was a date, not a lecture," put down some cash on the table for my coffee and got up to leave. My chair was back up against the wall and his was out toward the restaurant so as I began to walk away he put his leg out to block me.

He said, "I'm not finished talking.  You're being rude."

I said, "We have nothing in common.  I want to leave, and I need to use the bathroom."

He became more aggressive and I sat back down out of fear. He then began talking about me... more specifically, everything that was wrong with me. He started out by saying that my skin was darker than he had expected it to be and said that he thought that tanning was disgusting. I explained that my skin tone wasn't the result of tanning but of my mother being American Indian. He rolled his eyes and chuckled at this.

Then he began to dig into his quiche... without a fork. He picked out the eggy part in the middle and managed to get it all over the front of his shirt, in his hair and on the table in the process.

I flagged down the waitress for the check and thew some cash on the table which he shoved back at me insisting that he would pay. He handed the waitress his card.  By now I had to pee so badly that I felt like I was about to burst. I again tried to excuse myself to the restroom and he again became aggressive and blocked me with his foot.

A few minutes later, the waitress returned with his credit card which had (surprise!) been declined. I handed her a twenty and plotted my escape. He got up and insisted on walking me back to my car. I declined and told him that I was going to the restroom and that afterward I would walk to my car alone. He grabbed my wrist and attempted to drag me out of the restaurant.

The hostess intervened and told him that she would call the police if he didn't leave immediately. He smirked and then left.

I ended up staying at the restaurant for a bit longer to make sure that he wasn't lurking outside. Our waitress offered to drive me to my car to ensure that he wouldn't follow me on foot and I accepted.

Later that evening while I was out with friends I received a text from him letting me know that I wasn't his type and that I shouldn't call him.

This happened three years ago. I've checked the dating site again recently and he's still on it! Beware. He's still out there!