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September 28, 2009 | by  | in Opinion |
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Blind date

Her:

“Thank God you’re not a 40-year-old disfigured bald guy”

Yep, those indeed were one of my opening lines. It probably wasn’t the best thing to say to a complete stranger, but sometimes my mouth reacts before my brain gets to process any information. I was lucky that my date seemed to have a good sense of humour.

Harry* was great. He had the whole messy brown hair, skinny jeans, pointy shoe thing going on for him (totally my type).

Our date started in the Garden Club. I starved myself basically all day after hearing about our huge bar tab—too bad we only used it on a couple of pizzas and a handful of drinks. I’m a cheap drunk so after a couple glasses of wine my mouth was racing at like a bajillion miles and hour. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

We covered all the initial bases like “what do you major in?”, “Where are you from”, blah blah blah. It wasn’t till a few glasses of wine later we dove into the taboo subject of exes.

The subject of previous relationships at a blind date is like uttering the name Voldemort, a total no-go area. I know this as before the blind date, I was nervous enough to read About.com’s article on blind dating, and they were right. It’s a total kill-joy.

As the night wore on, I met some fantastic gay guys while Harry* made his get away to the bathroom. I welcomed them to leftover pizza and some of our bar tab, but they were more interested in the fact that I guessed the name of their favourite Slipknot song (long story).

I think Harry was initially worried that this blind date was a practical joke, as the whole date was hosted at a gay bar—however that didn’t stop him from being kissed on the cheek by two guys though.

Our second and final stop was the Library. If you haven’t been there before you need to go. It’s this cute little cocktail bar hidden inside the naturopath building on Courtenay Place. A friend of mine manages the place so he gave us a two-for-one cocktail deal. I had already had too much to drink and ordered an apple juice (which I swear my friend had spiked).

When the conversation started wearing thin we left and went on our separate ways. Yup, that’s right kids. The date didn’t stretch into a breakfast one. What can I say? I’m a prude.

Him:


[Editor’s note: Because the person who was supposed to be writing this totally failed to string together a couple of hundred words—even though
Salient and the Terrace Bar shouted him dinner and drinks—the editor has commissioned a male who has man-dated “Harry” in the past to write this piece.]

As I haven’t been on a date in some time, I have to admit to a certain trepidation as I was waiting for my blind date to turn up at the Terrace Bar. Unfortunately, my trepidation was proven justified when my date turned up 25 minutes late, smelling of stale weed and cheap gin.

I was willing to overlook this though, and we soon got to making small talk. Although he had a pretty bad stutter and kept mumbling to himself, he was a music and movie aficionado. At first it was fun arguing with him about who the best child actor in The Goonies was, but my good humour soon turned to horror as he began to yell and bang on the table with his glass. We started getting looks from the other diners, and I had to calm him down by agreeing to whatever he said. I felt my self-respect begin to wither.

By this point I was about ready to go home, but just then our entrees arrived so I thought I’d wait it out. We shared a bowl of chips and made some relaxed small talk (I tried to avoid topics that he might start ranting about) for a few minutes until he got this weird look on his face and rushed to the bathroom.

For the next half an hour I sat at the table uncomfortably, ignoring stares from the other diners and having to turn away the waiter every time he approached to ask if I was ready to order. I felt as though I had to prove something or perhaps just try to pretend that I hadn’t even noticed my dates conspicuous absence. Eventually I thought, fuck it. I ordered a steak.

He wandered back a few minutes after I’d ordered, a small vomit stain upon his wrinkled suit jacket and a glazed look upon his brow. He’d obviously been having a blaze in the toilets. When I mentioned I’d already ordered, he flew into an immediate rage, throwing a glass of water on me before storming away without paying.

I was left by myself, trying not to cry in a restaurant filled with people. A minute later a waiter brought my steak over. I ate a couple of bites, then went and paid for the entrée and meal, then left. I’m never going on a blind date again. Fuck you, Salient. Where do you find these people?

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About the Author ()

Salient is a magazine. Salient is a website. Salient is an institution founded in 1938 to cater to the whim and fancy of students of Victoria University. We are partly funded by VUWSA and partly by gold bullion that was discovered under a pile of old Salients from the 40's. Salient welcomes your participation in debate on all the issues that we present to you, and if you're a student of Victoria University then you're more than welcome to drop in and have tea and scones with the contributors of this little rag in our little hideaway that overlooks Wellington.

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