Another day, another bumble match. This guy was around 6’5, former basketball player and in his 40’s. We talk and eventually decide to meet up for a date at Top Golf. Fun, different, I’m into it. As I am getting ready, he calls and says, “Let’s not do Top Golf, let’s go to Cowboys Red River and go country dancing. I have some friends going… You can come by the Clubhouse by where I live, and then we can all go country dancing.” First of all, a Top Golf outfit is very different than a Red River outfit. Eye roll. Back into the closet.
He refers to this “Clubhouse” by his apartment where him and some friends are going to grill out and then we will go to Red River. I’m imagining an area by a pool with a cabana of some sort, a grill or 2, and some patio seating.
Normally I would never go to someone’s place on a first date because well, I don’t want to get murdered. This sets off my women’s intuition, so I call my brother who happens to be in town that weekend. I send him the address where I’m going and just say, have your phone just in case I need you to rescue me. (Also Looking Back At It.. if this is your gut feeling, you probably shouldn’t go on the date.)
I show up. Pause. I need to sip my wine in order to tell the rest of this story.
He meets me on the street and walks me to his apartment. They are all outdoor apartments, like motel style, not hotel style. The “clubhouse” he refers to is the area in between him and his neighbor’s house that they affectionately refer to as the Clubhouse because they like to play there together. There’s no actual clubhouse. There’s no cabana. There’s no pool.
We go into his apartment, which for a 40-year-old is really lacking in furniture and decorations. He asks if I want something to drink. I think, well I’m not staying here long, but sure. I say water is fine. He then picks up a Yeti cup from the sink, pours something out of it, gives it a good little swirl rinse and then fills it with ice and water and hands it to me.
I wish this was the worst part of the date, but it’s not. I’ll keep going.
Still thirsty, we go to his friend’s apartment, you know, the other end of the Clubhouse, where 6 dudes are grilling out. We sit outside on the patio. He looks around and says, “I’ll go get some snacks.”
He comes back with a wooden cutting board and the following items on it: a block of Parmesan cheese, a jar of salsa and a sleeve of Ritz crackers. He sits it down, proudly, as some sort of wack ass charcuterie board. I can’t even make this up at this point. He looks at me and says, “You want some?” I politely decline. He then says, “I’ll make you one.”
Hands it to me
Luckily his friend finishes grilling and everyone gets up to get a plate so I throw the cracker stack in the bushes. We go inside, he grabs me a plate and puts a piece of grilled chicken on it and hands it to me. And that’s it.
*Pause* I know what you are thinking. Why didn’t you just get up and leave. This is crazy. And the answer is I don’t know. I don’t like awkward situations and I’m not really good at lying and at this point I probably wanted to see how this was going to end.
We go back to our camping chairs on the front porch and I just kind of sit there with my plate on my lap looking around. Sooooo no silverware? No, ok cool. I literally take my index finger and thumb and rip apart pieces of the chicken. I mostly drop pieces for the dog and separate pieces on my plate so it looks like I ate it. At this point, I’m done. I have no more to see here. This circus has been fun, but it’s time to bail.
I quietly text my brother, “This is a disaster, call and get me out of this.”
He immediately calls. I, on the porch with his friends say, “Oh this is my brother, I should answer this.” I get up, but stand within their listening distance. My brother earned his Academy Award that night. He acted like I had him on speaker. Here’s how that went:
Bro: “Lindsay, my truck was towed. I need you to come get me.”
Me: Loudly and very dramatic “WHAT! YOU WERE TOWED? AND YOU NEED ME TO COME GET YOU RIGHT NOW? WHAT HAPPENED?”
Bro: “I parked on the street by your apartment and I guess it was no parking and they towed me.”
Right here my brother could have said his ABC’s and no one would have known but he stuck to the story.
Me: Again loudly and more dramatic “OH MY GOSH. WELL STAY THERE, I’LL COME GET YOU RIGHT NOW!”
I tell homeboy that I need to go get my brother and wont be able to go to country dancing. He politely walks to my car and says, “Well if you get finished, let me know and you can meet us there.” Yep, I sure will… (never talk to you again.)
I go to the bar where my brother really is, do a tequila shot, and tell my brother and his friend the story.
His reaction: Damn Ritz crackers?! He cant even get the nice crackers?