Just like my moods, my dating life has its ups and downs. One thing that’s fairly consistent is that just when I think I have seen and heard it all, the surprises keep coming.
I went on a ‘date’ (using this term loosely) this past weekend with a guy that I met a few nights earlier at a bar. Granted, we met at the end of the night so we really didn’t get to know each other, but I did recall that he was pretty cute. He actually picked up the phone to call me to make plans instead of the typical texting back and forth. We decided to meet for a late afternoon rendezvous. I felt pretty optimistic about the possibility of a great evening.
It was a beautiful day so we went to a hotel roof bar to enjoy some time outside. There was no hiding that we were attracted to each other and both pleasantly surprised that we looked even better in daylight. We smirked and chatted a bit while I sipped my delicious mojito and he sat back drinking his beer. The conversation was a bit forced but nevertheless, it flowed. I’m not really sure how many red flags I encountered within the first 30 minutes because, well, I had to stop counting.
I quickly learned that this 27 year old fella had been laid off from his bartending job a few days ago. I could tell that it was all still very raw for him. He was bitter and openly expressing his concern about not knowing how he was going to pay rent (I started to feel a little guilty about the $16 mojito that I just ordered). I gave him some words of encouragement and the conversation moved on (temporarily).
Schmo—let’s call him Schmo, well, because he was one—went on to fill me in about how he grew up in Michigan until he was about 17 years old, after which he was kicked out of his parent’s house. Then he headed south to attend university. He went on to attend 5 different colleges, in 4 different states. Schmo didn’t manage to graduate from any of them, but he says he learned a lot. This Schmo also didn’t like to stay in one place for too long (maybe the law was following him?). Actually, he did mention an arrest when he was 16, for breaking and entering…I won’t get into it. Next up is his family situation...Schmo doesn’t have a relationship with his parents—at all. “I might send my mom an email tomorrow to wish her a happy mother’s day,” are his exact words. What a doll. I decide not to judge and to give this Schmo a proper chance, he’s cute and I haven’t been on a date in a while.
We leave the fabulous roof bar to find something "cheaper" where we can watch the game. As we pass a nearby pub we see a sign for happy hour, he’s sold. Schmo asks the bartender about the specials. $10 bud light pitchers—he looks and asks me if that’s ok. Sure why not, I got this one, I say. “Ok” he (a little too) gladly says. I’m irritated but whatever, I’m a sport. Schmo starts chatting up the bartenders, I could tell he was not just being friendly, Schmo had an agenda, this Schmo wanted a job. A few minutes later one of the bartenders takes a break from behind the bar to enjoy his tobacco dip. Guess what?? Schmo likes dip, too. He even had his own tub with him—what a coincidence! Would I mind if he partook at the bar? Go for it. After about 20 mins of watching him spit into a cup, I ordered 2 shots of jack. I was already buzzed, what else was I going to do?
As I anticipated, a few minutes later, Schmo takes out a resume to hand to the bartender. It was a little awkward but I guess I admire his motivation, or at least I should. Mind if I take a look, I ask? Sure. The first line, his objective, says ‘seeking full time employment’. Here, take it back I don’t need to see it…2 more shots please!
3 pitchers and 3 shots later, we were making friends all over the bar. Somehow 7 hours had gone by with this Schmo but now it was time to make a decision. He had told me earlier that he had to stop by a birthday party down the street and invited me to join.
Who’s the friend, I innocently ask? Oh, just a female friend of mine. Cool, I say…contemplating if I want to keep the night going or head home. Well if you are going to come, then there is something I should tell you, he says. There is an uncomfortable pause. I’ve hooked up with the friend who’s birthday it is. Umm…ok I say. So then if I go, would that be weird for you…or for her, I ask? No, he says…I just wanted to let you know so that there aren’t any surprises. Umm ok, I repeat. There is another long pause as I mull it all over in my head. Like how long ago are we talking about here, I ask? Umm…I don’t know…like last night, he says.
I look at Schmo in what I imagine can only be described as sheer and utter disbelief—I was dumfounded. The scene went something like this....WHAT?!?! Are you SERIOUS?? Are you really trying to take me to a birthday party right now for a friend who you just had sex with LAST NIGHT?!?! WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THIS, ARE YOU AN IDIOT!?! Schmo tells me that he’s mad at himself for being "so honest". Yea well you should be, I say! I’ve met a lot of Schmo’s in my time but never one quite like this. Many, many expletives later I made him leave the bar and warned him to never call me again.
Moral of this story: Don’t mess with a Schmo, even an honest one.
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