I have a part time job at this restaurant where blonde 40-something women with fat lips and fake titties come in to spend their husbands’ money and talk about the new face cream they bought yesterday. The place gets clients like The Governator, Jamie Lee Curtis, and that skinny girl that was in Knocked Up and Funny People. Most of the time my plastered-on smile rewards me with good tips, but not much else.
One Saturday morning I made small talk with an older, scruffy guy who called the restaurant ten minutes after he left to get my phone number. After a few weeks of playful texting, he asked to take me out. A short ride in his brand new Audi left me a bit concerned, and by the time we got to the sushi restaurant on Abbott Kinney, I didn’t know how many glasses of wine it would take to make his brash nature tolerable. The second he got out of the car he started smoking a cigarette and blowing it in my face, not on purpose of course. As I learn the rules of dating, I also learn what I just cannot fucking handle at all, and cigarette smokers are number one on my no-no list. Great.
The hostess didn’t really want to seat us at a table without a reservation, but Mr. Pompous Asshole insisted we sit at a large table in the back. As soon as the menus were placed in front of us, he took the drink list down and put it at the end of the table. The hostess took it away, thinking we didn’t want drinks at all. Maybe he had a plan for what we were drinking? That’s romantic. Oops no, spoke too soon. He’s having scotch on the rocks. I’m having a LARGE glass of Cabernet please. Maybe two glasses. Also a glass of Pinot Grigio. Thank you very much.
Our conversation was lame and forced, but he kept laughing and talking with his hands and asking if pieces of my face were really there. ‘Are those your real eyelashes?? They’re incredible!’ and ‘You have really great lips,’ and ‘Why don’t you part your hair on this side?’ Yes, he actually touched my hair from across the table, insisting he was ‘an amazing hair dresser.’ I thought he worked in real estate.
And so we started to get drunk and he started making racist comments and spilling his bottled sparkling water all over me.
When the server asked if we’d like any dessert and ‘you can take half to go if you want,’ he brushed her off saying, ‘I don’t take things to go.’ Jeez. We finally finished, he paid the bill, and we went to get the car from the valet. ‘Oh, I don’t have any cash,’ he says. ‘Do you have five bucks?’
Umm, NO, I don’t have five bucks, and I wouldn’t give it to you even if I did because who parks valet knowing they don’t have any money to pay for it??? And we could have parked at the meter across the street for free but you are clearly too lazy to walk that far. So he paid for the valet in quarters. Five dollars worth of quarters. No tip of course.
Is this really what the dating scene has in store for me? Will I start to develop an alcohol problem as a result? At least times like these make for good stories. I will continue to date sleezy old racists if for no other reason than to have funny stories for you!