...from hell.
I was chatting with a mate of mine who's recently single about dates we'd been on, and it reminded me of a horror encounter I had a few years ago. So I thought I'd share.
DJ'ing in a bar in Paddington a few years back, this rather attractive girl that had been making eye contact and doing a little flirting throughout the course of the night finally comes up at the end of the evening and asks if she can call me sometime.
She initially came across as a rather nice girl, so I gave her my number and we agreed to meet for a coffee somewhere.
Anyway, she calls me the next morning (some may say this is a little too eager, but I'm not that judgemental), and we arranged that she would pick me up at 5pm at my place in Surry Hills and go to a cafe at Fox Studios the following night.
The next day, she arrives at my place half an hour late with no explanation or apology, but I don't bother saying anything as I had no other plans so technically it hasn't really inconvenienced me that much. Also, I didn't really want to start the date off on a bad note.
So anyway, I'm now sitting in her car. She guns the motor of this poor little Holden Astra like a rally driver with ADD, and we leave the kerb doing about 90kph. Shooting out of a side road into Crown St. without so much as a sideways glance, we proceed to weave in and out of traffic like a couple of extras in a Dukes of Hazzard episode.
At this point, I'm seriously starting to wonder whether she chose a sunroof over the more luxurious (and obviously pointless), options such as 'brakes' when she bought the vehicle.
After proceeding to almost tear a hole in the very fabric of space and time, we screech into Fox Studios (I was half expecting her to slide sideways into a parking space, but disappointingly it didn't happen).
The whole ride there, all I could think of was that old line from 'Shitscared' off the Late Show on ABC..
"Were you scared Rob?"
"I'm not wearing the brown underpants for nothing Tommy".
So I finally make it to the cafe/bar alive, and order a coffee. The waiter then asks madam what she would like.
"A toblerone", she replies.
For those that haven't had one of these particular conconctions before, they're a heady mixture of Frangelico, Baileys, Kahlua and cream.
Oh, and they're also $15 a pop.
During the next 90 minutes of her berating me about how 'high maintenance she is' (yes, she actually told me that), how she 'doesn't sleep with guys until she's known them for at least six months', that she's 'looking for someone that "ticks all the boxes"', she proceeds to drink six of these cocktails, whilst yours truly has two lattes.
In hindsight I probably should have consumed some form of hard liquor to stop my hands from shaking, but nevertheless..
As we were sitting on a couch in front of the open fire, the conversation eventually degenerated into me staring into the flames pondering possible escape routes while she waffled on about her perfect man, her nail art and various other riveting topics.
Eventually my ears start to bleed, so I decide to tell her I have to work that night so we might need to get going.
So now the bill arrives, and it's close to $100.
She's now sitting there staring at her nails (with half-glazed eyes), at this point, obviously expecting me to pay, so I do the chivalrous thing and put a ten dollar note on the bill tray, tell her I'm going to the bathroom and I'll see her outside.
In the bathroom, I call my best mate to come and get me as there's no way I'm getting a lift home from this (now extremely inebriated), lunatic. Before I know it, I start telling him about the whole horror scenario, and after he's stopped laughing hysterically, I realise I've been on the phone for about 20 minutes.
I walk out of the bathroom after this extended delay to find my 'date' (and I do use the term loosely), now asleep on the couch in front of the fire.
Being the gentleman that I am, I hurriedly retrieve a post-it note from one of the bar staff, scribble "THANKS FOR THE COFFEE", and gently place it on her forehead, before hightailing it to my friend's waiting car.
All fun and games.
Posted on 3:29 AM by thenewbeige and filed under | 0 Comments »
DJ'ing in a bar in Paddington a few years back, this rather attractive girl that had been making eye contact and doing a little flirting throughout the course of the night finally comes up at the end of the evening and asks if she can call me sometime.
She initially came across as a rather nice girl, so I gave her my number and we agreed to meet for a coffee somewhere.
Anyway, she calls me the next morning (some may say this is a little too eager, but I'm not that judgemental), and we arranged that she would pick me up at 5pm at my place in Surry Hills and go to a cafe at Fox Studios the following night.
The next day, she arrives at my place half an hour late with no explanation or apology, but I don't bother saying anything as I had no other plans so technically it hasn't really inconvenienced me that much. Also, I didn't really want to start the date off on a bad note.
So anyway, I'm now sitting in her car. She guns the motor of this poor little Holden Astra like a rally driver with ADD, and we leave the kerb doing about 90kph. Shooting out of a side road into Crown St. without so much as a sideways glance, we proceed to weave in and out of traffic like a couple of extras in a Dukes of Hazzard episode.
At this point, I'm seriously starting to wonder whether she chose a sunroof over the more luxurious (and obviously pointless), options such as 'brakes' when she bought the vehicle.
After proceeding to almost tear a hole in the very fabric of space and time, we screech into Fox Studios (I was half expecting her to slide sideways into a parking space, but disappointingly it didn't happen).
The whole ride there, all I could think of was that old line from 'Shitscared' off the Late Show on ABC..
"Were you scared Rob?"
"I'm not wearing the brown underpants for nothing Tommy".
So I finally make it to the cafe/bar alive, and order a coffee. The waiter then asks madam what she would like.
"A toblerone", she replies.
For those that haven't had one of these particular conconctions before, they're a heady mixture of Frangelico, Baileys, Kahlua and cream.
Oh, and they're also $15 a pop.
During the next 90 minutes of her berating me about how 'high maintenance she is' (yes, she actually told me that), how she 'doesn't sleep with guys until she's known them for at least six months', that she's 'looking for someone that "ticks all the boxes"', she proceeds to drink six of these cocktails, whilst yours truly has two lattes.
In hindsight I probably should have consumed some form of hard liquor to stop my hands from shaking, but nevertheless..
As we were sitting on a couch in front of the open fire, the conversation eventually degenerated into me staring into the flames pondering possible escape routes while she waffled on about her perfect man, her nail art and various other riveting topics.
Eventually my ears start to bleed, so I decide to tell her I have to work that night so we might need to get going.
So now the bill arrives, and it's close to $100.
She's now sitting there staring at her nails (with half-glazed eyes), at this point, obviously expecting me to pay, so I do the chivalrous thing and put a ten dollar note on the bill tray, tell her I'm going to the bathroom and I'll see her outside.
In the bathroom, I call my best mate to come and get me as there's no way I'm getting a lift home from this (now extremely inebriated), lunatic. Before I know it, I start telling him about the whole horror scenario, and after he's stopped laughing hysterically, I realise I've been on the phone for about 20 minutes.
I walk out of the bathroom after this extended delay to find my 'date' (and I do use the term loosely), now asleep on the couch in front of the fire.
Being the gentleman that I am, I hurriedly retrieve a post-it note from one of the bar staff, scribble "THANKS FOR THE COFFEE", and gently place it on her forehead, before hightailing it to my friend's waiting car.
All fun and games.
![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Posts
