Where to begin… It’s been about two years since my divorce with my ex partner. I started to date again. There were a handful of good dates, though this post isn’t about those, rather that one bad date that lasted almost 24 hours.
Several months ago, I made the conscious decision to try a new dating app some of my friends were using called, Hinge. The app is supposed to be the dating app to get rid of dating apps.
One weekend, I matched with someone I had liked weeks ago, we’ll call him Arnold. He seemed sauve from his photos and somewhat intelligent from his prompts. We instantly started messaging back and forth in the app. In less than 24 hours, we exchanged numbers and began to text one another.
As an extrovert and type A planner, my calendar is usually booked weeks, months, and potentially years in advance. Today was Sunday. I was booked every evening besides that evening, which was also only the second day of talking to him. I made a rash decision to see if he’d want to come over for dinner on such short notice. To my surprise, he was available. I took a long lunch and rushed to the store to stock up my wine rack and ingredients for a home cooked meal. Home dates are my ideal first date because I have control over atmosphere, budget, and when the date ends… or so I thought.
He arrived at my apartment before dinner was ready so I poured some wine for the both of us while I cooked. We begin conversing about the apartment and generic topics. He did mention a bit about his doctoral thesis, which had to do with history. By the time dinner was ready we finished the first bottle of wine.
While we consumed our meal, we talked more and opened another bottle of wine. The conversation was on par with what I imagined in a genuine connection. By the time my housemate got home, an hour later, we had finished another bottle.I how much we were consuming because I was enjoying the time, also I was quite tipsy. We opened a third bottle of wine, but I decided to sip lightly. He did not. It was less than an hour later and the bottle was empty. Arnold asked if I had any more wine to drink. Still on that same glass, I half jokingly commented, “wow you are drinking me out of house and home.” We chuckled and I offered to make him a cocktail because the rest of my wines were reserved for special occasions. He took up the offer.
We eventually moved to the bedroom to watch a movie. He insisted that we should have a nightcap. I refused because I was already tired and would probably fall asleep. Instead I countered that he could have one and I could have a weed gummy to help me sleep. He agreed. Somewhere in my altered mind, I agreed to refill his nightcap not once, not twice, but three times! I was astounded by how much this guy could drink. But as foretold, the weed gummy was starting to do its work and I quickly fell asleep.
I awoke to the sound of glass breaking on the bed frame. He was intoxicated. Arnold prefaced that he had tried to pour another glass with the alcohol I left on the bedside table. That was my mistake. I was too tired to argue and put the alcohol away. I fell back asleep to us cuddling.
Two hours later I woke up in a groggy haze of my housemate in my bed saying, “your friend is in my bed.” I quickly came to and tried to resolve the issue. How drunk must he have been to confuse one of two possible doors in our two bedroom apartment? I shook his shoulders to try to wake him, it took some time but I got there. I was embarrassed of the situation and would have a stern talking to him in the morning.
The next morning, Arnold partly woke up as I uncuffed myself from his clutch. I offered some coffee in the hopes it would start his day. That didn’t work. Bogged in work, I moved into the living room to do work. At some point Arnold emerges from my room and grabs a cup of coffee.
I asked him to make us breakfast. As he began to cook he asked, “Do you have something to drink as the hair of the dog?”
I offered a hard seltzer, he took it. Within 15 minutes he asked for another. I question his motive, if he continued to drink alcohol is that really the hair of the dog?
Once food was made, eaten, and dishes put away. I took some time to outline all the things he did last night. He apologized and I accepted his points. I iterated that he owed my housemate an apology and his behavior was terrible. He got flustered and tried to skirt around the issue. He eventually agreed to own up to his mistakes with my housemate, but my housemate wanted nothing to do with him.
Every time I thought there was a subtle way to end this date it kept on going. So instead of trying to end it, I embraced it. I knew this was a bad date, but I wanted to test how bad it could really get. At minimum I would be gifted with a story I could use in a novel one day. Arnold ended up sleeping in my bed, while I worked during the day and until we went out to a local gay bar for a round of pool that afternoon.
Even though I had just taught him how to play pool, he won the first round and was so in awe with the results, he started to gloat.
“It’s not always about winning,” I said.
“Yes it is,” he replied.
“Um actually not for me. I play in a gay softball league for three reasions: fun, exercise, and socializing,” I proudly exclaimed.
Three more rounds of cocktails and four more games of pool, we both were ready for a break. We stepped out to the back patio to talk. He was an east coast transplant and mentioned how much he loved San Francisco. Unfortunately with the cost of living, he felt as thought he could never own property in the Bay Area. In my attempt to relate to him I tell him that my parents joke that I won’t own property till after they pass.
He did not take my analogy well. Instead he told me that I was more “affluent” than him because my parents’ owned property in the Bay Area and one day I would inherit it. I was taken back by this. As a 3rd gen Asian-American, who was this White guy to tell me that I had more going for me in my upbringing over him.
I responded with, “That might be the case. But if there were two versions of me, one Asian and one White one, with all the same credentials, who would have more opportunities? The White guy.”
The conversation derailed into his thoughts about who he thought was the most under-represented population in the poor bracket of Americans: Middle of America White people. I should have been more uncomfortable with the comment, but he went further into it.
“If a Black man fails it’s due to systemic racism. If a White man fails, it’s due to moral failure,” he said.
Arnold went further to question why White people were being under-represented or acknowledged in this demographic. I bluntly said, “Maybe it’s because they have enslaved or done some harm to the minority populations in America.”
You think the date would have ended there. It did not. I was hungry and he didn’t seem like he would finish his argument any time soon. So we go get dinner at a taco place down the street, Nicks Crispy Tacos. At this point, I was over the company and more interested in the food. After our food arrived, we dug in. Somewhere in between the beers, tacos, and the conversation I lost it.
The straw broke and I was ready to go home. We were encroaching on the 24 hour mark and Arnold’s alcohol limit. We left the restaurant and began to walk towards my place. I had full intentions of sleeping alone tonight. A block into the walk he asked, “Can I sleep over again tonight?” At this point I called him an Uber because he was not taking no for an answer.
This experience was a learning point in so many ways. Maybe don’t allow your date to drink you out of house and home, maybe kick out your date if they end up in your housemate’s bed, maybe don’t let someone tell you who you are. But most never dim your light (or wardrobe) to satisfy someone else’s insecurities.
As always, stay safe, stay healthy, and as always, like, share, and subscribe to our blog for new insights into happiness, heartbreak, and everything else that comes with our exploration of polyamory.
-Your Friendly Poly Guy 2
