Dear Mr. I Can't Find an ATM,
You live in San Francisco. You know that I do not live in San Francisco, and being the nice gentleman you are, you promised to buy me a drink because I drove down to meet up with you. How sweet. Thank you for letting me suggest the time that we meet up, so that it fits into my schedule. Your text that afternoon requesting we meet an hour later (from 4pm to 5pm) because your 'having a slow day' was charming. And I should have seen the neon sign.
Although I do not live in San Francisco, and you live in the same neighborhood as where I am staying that night, you had absolutely no ideas about where we should meet up. Do you not have a favorite spot? Is it so hard to suggest a watering hole? A 40 in the park? And so here we are. In a windowless dive bar, because it's all I know.
The dim lighting helps relax me, though. We order. You only have enough cash for your drink, but you check their ATM, and it's broken. That's okay, I've got mine. You talk about being a musician, and you kind of sound like a prick sometimes and don't seem amused that I also am a musician. Sorry I'm not currently in a band, my bad. You bring up burning man because it's in my profile. You want to go, but only if you can get a comp ticket for being a musician. Wow. You must be a really good musician. Or you're just a prick who shouldn't go to burning man. I try to explain that the price is pretty inexpensive for the experience, especially compared to any other 'festival.' You don't get it. But in between these moments of annoyance, we seem to be having a good time. I am laughing and smiling a lot. You seem to be enjoying yourself.
Ding ding! Bartender appears. Yes, I would like another one. And you want one too. Give me a few minutes, you say. I'm just going to go look for an ATM. An eternity passes by. I'm trying not to drink my drink, but the whiskey wants me bad. You return sheepishly. You found an ATM, but your card didn't work. Sure, I'll get your drink.
I've now had enough to drink, so I mention that I'm a burlesque performer. From this moment on, your eyes can't stop resting on my breasts. nice. You say I should tell you when my next show is. It's time to go. I give you a hug. We seem happy. I'm convinced I'll hear from you again.
But I don't. I text you a few days later, to let you know I had a good time. I never hear from you again.
But I'm not sure why I wanted to hear back from you in the first place. Fuck you for offering to buy me a drink, and then awkwardly making me buy you a drink in YOUR town, in YOUR neighborhood. Fuck you for thinking you should only attend a participatory event (an even built by a creative community) if it's handed to you. Fuck you for having a slow day at 4 pm on a Saturday, after we'd planned this date a week in advance. And fuck okstupid for deeming us a 95% match.
Good luck with the music.
- k
If he had shown up anxious and nervous or late and out of breath, perhaps he hadn't had time to make $$ arrangements after he was in an unexpected car crash but still showed up so as not to be considered a flake it might remotely be an excuse. A kind person would cut that late broke person some slack, so I get how you purchased the first round. But he was having a slow saturday. WTF does that mean, really? It's no excuse for you paying for a second round.
ReplyDeleteHere's another thing to think about: simple consideration. You would think that first date jitters aside, a considerate person would have made sure he had money or a working credit card beforehand and if there were financial issues maybe reschedule the date for a better time or maybe even be creative thinking about things to do in his town that didn't cost YOU money.
Do you think you're worth less than simple consideration?
I am worth a whole night of whiskey ginger ales. And so much more.
ReplyDeletefor reals, lady!
ReplyDeleteIt's not like most bars in San Francisco take credit cards. Quite a few are cash only. Also, I am so over men who can't get out of bed before noon.
ReplyDelete