As a rather mediocre looking guy you'd think I'd be more open to the idea of going on blind dates, after all, its statically more likely to work in my favor. Assuming, of course, a higher likelihood of disappointing my date rather than being disappointed myself can be construed as 'to my favor'. Unfortunately, the very trait which has conferred me this advantage has also cursed me with debilitating anxiety every time I come within 30 yards of any human female, restraining orders notwithstanding. Therefore, being put in a situation where the other party hasn't had a chance to judge beforehand that they'll at least be able to tolerate me over the course of an evening is so nerve racking I actually secretly prefer to be the disappointed party instead.
Spoiler: the only happy ending to this story is me going home to wank afterwards
Neither situation is ideal of course. You're signing up to a process where you're basically guaranteed to either have your expectations let down, or let down the expectations of someone else. Depending on the extent to which you're up yourself, you may have a slight preference one way or the other, but it's still going to be a lucky dip between two pools of shit of varying depth. I don't know why anyone would put themselves through this ordeal.
With these very positive thoughts bolstering my confidence, I went on a blind date for the first time ever last week. A mutual friend had set us up to meet at this casual restaurant for lunch. After waiting at the table for a few minutes staring longingly at any attractive woman who entered, even more so than usual, a stunningly gorgeous young lady in a classy black dress walked in and introduced herself as my date. She was surprisingly young, not in a Chris Hansen telling me to take a seat sort of way, but young compared to me. She was maybe 25, although it's difficult to tell with Asian women. It's not racist when I say it because some of my best blind dates were Asian. And I didn't know if young people ever go on blind dates anymore, unless they swipe right on a tinder profile of someone in a burqa. Ok, I don't have an excuse for that one.
You know your self esteem isn't high when you're not so much threatened by the competition as by your date herself. Either that, or I have deeply repressed homosexual tendencies of which I'm unaware. The moment I saw her, I knew I wasn't the disappointed party and that disappointed me. Still, she hid it well and after exchanging some pleasantries we quickly sat down to order.
Eternal nemesis to all first dates: the awkward silence
We were at a Chinese restaurant. That wasn't an accident, I purposely chose it; not so much because I prefer Chinese food, but I find that their waiters are less likely to interact with you. I figured trying to convince a woman I'd never met before that I wasn't a deranged serial killer was going to take all of my Jedi powers, and I wouldn't have enough social skills left over to answer brain busters like 'are you pleased with the scallops, sir?'
I'm no good at small talk so I decided to escalate the conversation with what I thought at the time would have been a lighthearted icebreaker. In retrospect, I'd refer to the line as 'strike one'. It went like this: 'You know, I didn't bring a condom because Rob usually sets me up with girls with matching STDs.' She paused and looked at me for a second like she wasn't sure if she'd heard me properly. We went back to talking about the weather.
The conversation drifted awkwardly along shit's creek until it got to her education before taking another plummet down a waterfall of diarrhoea. I asked her what did she study, to which she answered with a hint of pride in her voice 'Dentistry at Monash,' which was the second most prestigious university in the city. Without even thinking, I replied 'Oh? So what was your first preference?'. I honestly didn't even realize I had said something dismissively offensive until I saw her smile fade. I think writing too many of these sorts of articles had caused me to transition from small talk mode to douche-bag mode without myself even noticing.
'Ahem, so how's being a dentist?' She didn't answer. Shit, I could really use a waiter to ask about the fucking scallops right about now.
Yep, where can I sign up for 'How to be less of a dickhead' lessons?
We sat in silence for the next 10 minutes or so. Amazing how quickly you can eat your food when you're not held back by distractions like having a conversation with your date. Of course I finished my food, after all, I was going to pay for it. Or so I thought. When the bill came around, I was, how do I put it, a little short on fiat. I don't have a credit card and, as it turns out, at Little Jade Palace Steem isn't worth the hair between your ass. I was only $4 short and offered to pay for most of it, but she just swiped her VISA and declined my offer.
So that was the final strike. Yeah, three fucking guesses as to what base I ended up getting to with her.
Make me feel better, what was the worst date you've ever been on? Let me know in the comments below.
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