I think I’ve mentioned a first date in which the fellow chose to reveal that he was, not a sovereignist, not a separatist, those are just everyday people, but a le-Québec-aux-Québécois, tout-le-monde-pas-pure-laine-tricotée-serrée-dehors, down-with-immigration, I-have-a-Patriotes-flag-in-my-bedroom indépendantiste. What made it incomprehensible was that he was German! As in an immigrant to Quebec! I was like, ‘This is not actually a point of view you can hold!’
The date didn’t go well.
matt, he was related to:
the parents of my Sunday school student who, being from the other end of Spain, had given their child a name they thought Basque, sent her to Basque-only school (something which in my home town is done only by “imported” separatists), and were well-known as informants for ETA;
the boyfriend who ranted to me, his gf from Spain, about “immigrants coming to steal our jobs,” one week after I was present at his US-citizenship swearing-in;
several guys (mostly Cuban-American, one Dominican who didn’t have US citizenship yet) whose first-and-last dates with me included similar rants in Spanish;
my Idiot Aunt, whose rants about immigrants not learning Catalan fast enough or about immigrants taking jobs above minimum wage or about immigrants existing can be shut up quite nicely by reminding her that her 2nd lastname is Italian and the 3rd one from Lorraine…
Some people just want to be more Roman than the Romans.
Poor Chrissy! She thought you had asked her out!
This is a case when laughing at the pain of somebody else doesn’t make you an asshole.
I lost my eyebrows once by way of some freak accident on LSD (not an accident per se but you know how acid is) so I know how bad it sucks but still…it was funny.
Ah, the poor thing - seventeen and “disfigured” for a few weeks. Horrible at any age but particularly when you’re an adolescent. My only excuse is I was seventeen myself and hadn’t fully learned to empathise.
Bad first date story that wasn’t my date, but I was on it.
College, sophomore year, Friday or Saturday night, partying in the dorm suite, I was drunk. An attractive, sober, female acquaintance, “Jane”, said “Rocky Horror” and “date” as she was preparing to leave the party. I replied “I’D LOVE TO!!! LET’S GO!!!” and went with her. She drove, we stopped to pick up another guy, “John”. I thought that was a little odd, taking another guy on our date, but I knew him too and he was a good guy so what the heck. We got to the movie, I’m holding her hand, all smiley goofy at her, I did audience participation with drunken gusto. Yep, I invited myself along on their date.
Jane was wonderfully sweet and nurturing, a year or three older than me, was a dorm RA, and eventually took on the role of den mother to our pack of misfits. John was also a great guy, a few years older, he knew I was just drunk and stupid (and that Jane was clear about who she was on the date with), so he laughed it off. As far as I know, they’re still married. And I went on their first date.
My own bad date story involves LSD - so humiliating I cringe just thinking about it even after more than 20 years. 
I’ll type it up later, maybe.
MORAL OBLIGATION ALERT
You now have one of those rare opportunities. They don’t come around often but when they do, one must heed their righteous call. You have the opportunity to do something truly and completely good.
It may hurt. It may even be so humiliating that you cringe just thinking about it. But consider… Bad First Date Story + LSD = Nothing but fun for the whole family.
Please. Do the right thing.
If its a LDS one I am gonna be pissed.
On the other hand if its a Scientology one…
Well, as the inspiration for this thread I feel I should contribute a bit more. I don’t think any other date I’ve been on was as embarrassing as the burgers-n-salad debacle, but there were some pretty weird ones. They’re lengthy, stay with me here:
So, our date rolls around. I bought her a gift, told her I was really excited about going out with her, admitted my little crush. She blushed but didn’t say anything. We get to the restaurant, begin eating and…nothing. Every single one of her utterances was either “oh,” “ok,” or “hmmm.” She didn’t say a single word or complete sentence the entire night. I start to think, “Oh man, I am the biggest idiot in the world. She didn’t really like me…she was just curious. Fuck! I want this night to end as soon as possible.” Check paid, she catches a taxi home and I curse myself for being so stupid and prepare to live down the humiliation of still having to see this girl every day. Thinking that that potential relationship was going to go nowhere and that she probably didn’t like me anyway, I never asked her out again. Our date from Hell was never mentioned again, either.
Later on, after I met and married Mrs. kidneyfailure, that co-worker didn’t come to my wedding, never said congratulations, and once asked me if I regretted marrying my wife. MKF also once said to me, “I saw (co-worker) on the street today. We walked right passed each other, even made eye contact, but she didn’t say hi or anything. What’s her problem?”
2)Not really a “date,” but:
there used to be a bar I frequented every week. I’d swing in and get a beer and just kinda hang out doing some peoplewatching on a Friday or Saturday night. Off to one side was a group of girls, about 10 or 11 of them, all chatting along happily and one girl sitting there looking miserable. She was obviously part of the group but didn’t seem to be enjoying herself. My courage tempered by not a few beers, I got up and sat right down beside her. We got to talking and she told me that her friends dragged her out, she didn’t really like places like this, she was bored, etc. We talked a bit more until her group decided they wanted to move on to another bar.
This girl was cute, but I’d just come out of a bad relationship and was just looking for someone to talk with at the bar for a while. Thus, I didn’t bother with asking for her number. I just said, “Nice talking to you” and made my way back to my seat. She asked me if I wanted to join them and, well, if there’s an invitation then why the hell not?
We get to the other bar and no less than five of the girls in that group started crying over old boyfriends. The girl I was with was rolling her eyes and talking about how embarrassed she was. Finally I just grabbed her hand and said we should get the hell out of there. It was early in the morning and I took her to this small monument for something or other that is kind of tucked away on a side street that people don’t notice anymore. We sat there and talked for a really long time. At dawn I got tired and said I was gonna head home. Turned out her place was near mine, so we walked home together.
We arrive at my place and she asks if she can come up for a while. Uh, ok, no problem, I guess. While going up the stairs I assure her that I’m a nice guy and promise I wont make any moves on her and I just want to talk. She says, “great.” I’m making coffee and she starts stroking my arm and says, “You can sleep with me if you want.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to use protection if you don’t want to…”
“WHAT???”
I was totally shocked. I said, “We only met, like, four hours ago. Don’t you want to…you know…go on a date or get to know each other first?”
She looked totally confused. “You’re not gay, are you?” she asked.
“Uh, no…”
“Oh, sorry. You just had a different reaction than most guys.” (!!!)
She left a few minutes later. Never saw her again…which is probably for the best.
Mine was with a friend of a friend. I’d met Joe once, and mentioned to our mutual friend Jim that I thought he was cute. About 12 seconds after Jim and I ended our call, Joe called me. Not exactly subtle, but flattering, so I agreed to go to a party with him that weekend. Here are the things that went wrong:
Joe showed up with two friends in tow. One insisted that everyone call him V (I never learned his actual name) and the other was Jim’s brother Jerry. We knew and intensely disliked each other.
We got to the party, which was fine. It was a birthday party that a friend of Joe’s was hosting for his best friend. It was at her house, where she lived with her horrible little pug dog, Roscoe. Within seconds of walking in the door, Roscoe jumped up and tore my tights with his claws. I was pissed, but every other woman in the place had gotten the “Roscoe treatment,” so I laughed it off.
Joe’s friend had a little presentation to give in honor of the birthday girl, so we all trooped upstairs to watch his slide show and hear him give his toast. They had apparently grown up together, because he had tons of photos of the two of them, from childhood on. As the slide show progressed, it became obvious that the stunning good looks she was in possession of were purchased rather than inborn. The guy summed up his presentation with, “And now you all know what an ugly little hedgehog Kim used to be.” Kim flew into a rage and kicked us all out of her house.
We went back to Joe’s car with the presenter in tow. We found V passed out in the back of Joe’s car, with a large puddle of vomit just outside the car door. Joe took one look and added his own to the mix.
The presenter (I can’t remember his name–sorry) insisted that we all go back to his apartment. I didn’t really want to, but I wasn’t ready to go home yet either, so I thought, why not. On the way, the presenter, who is gay, started telling V about all the stuff he did to him while he was passed out. Jerry and Joe were confirming the story and V started freaking out and clinging to me, begging me to tell him it wasn’t true. I was the party pooper and told him his ass was still pristine.
We got back to the presenter’s apartment and he and the guys started reminiscing. He was a few years older than they were, and he’d known them since they were in high school. He wanted to hear all the details of how they lost their virginities, their current sexual activities and what their fetishes were. Then he wanted me to join the conversation. When he started asking pointed questions of the guys about orgies and videos, I decided it was time to break up the fun.
Joe politely walked me to my door at the end of the date, and dragged back to his car, knowing that he had blown it. I felt a little sorry for him, but I was relieved that he never called me.
This isn’t a patch on the rest of the stories in the thread, but it is the worst first date I’ve been on. Back in high school, there was a girl, Denise, I thought was quite cute, but she’d had a boyfriend the entire time I’d known her, so I never considered her as a romantic prospect. But anyway, they broke up. At our school the Valentine’s Day dance was Sadie Hawkins, and I was pleasantly surprised when she asked me. At the dance itself we had a great time. It’s the type of situation I can really flub, but I was on that night – she laughed at all my jokes, we danced, we talked about stuff and got to know each other. Just a lot of fun.
Afterward, a number of folks decided to get together at a friend’s house. They were all people I was friendly with, but more Denise’s circle than mine. Had this been our third date, I would have suggested we bag it to go make out in the park and, had we had three dates as much fun as that one, she probably would have been on board. (This is a strategy I had employed to outstanding success at the previous fall’s Homecoming dance, but that girl and I had already been dating a couple weeks before the event. With Denise, it would have been much too soon.) But as that wasn’t an option, and I wanted very much for the so-far successful evening to continue, off to the party we went.
It turned out that the hostess of this soiree, unbeknownst to me, was the younger sister of a friend who had graduated a couple years prior and who was home from college that weekend. So we spent a few minutes in the kitchen catching up while the rest of them put on The Princess Bride. When I returned to the living room, imagine my surprise to see Denise cuddled up on the floor with some guy from another school – our friend Lisa’s date – as they quoted the movie’s dialogue to each other. Lisa and I spent the next hour sitting together on the couch, watching these two canoodle, pretending to be cool, and seething with resentment. After the movie finished, I ignored Denise and the guy exchanging phone numbers before I took her home and was presented with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
In hindsight I suppose Denise might have gotten the wrong idea if she saw me talking to my friend, a very beautiful college girl in whom I was not at all interested even if I’d had a chance, which I didn’t. Or maybe she never saw me chatting with Kelly because Lisa introduced her date and Denise went all Davy Jones. But even 20 years later, it ruined that fucking movie for me.
–Cliffy
Coworker. We agree to meet at 6:00 at her place. So I show up at 5:50, she said she’ll only be a minute. OK, no problem. But she looked completely dressed when I got there and is still spending A TON of time in the bathroom. I mean, she spent about 20 minutes in there or walking between her room and the bathroom.
So I figure shit, whatever. It was sort of a “non-date unless it ended up going well” in the first place. But God damn, WTF is she doing in there? AND WHAT IS THAT FUCKING CLICKING SOUND?!?! She putting things in her hair?
No. BUTANE LIGHTER. After she FINALLY gets out, I tell her now I have to go, turn on the faucet for noise then find her crack pipe hidden below her sink. There had been rumors at work she was mixed up in bad stuff, but nobody had proof. Well, not rumors anymore.
Yeah, I finished the date. Every second was spent thinking, “I can’t believe you made me wait 20 minutes while you got strung out in the bathroom.” Declined the offer to come in to “watch TV” and we never attempted it again.
Other one wasn’t quite as bad, just chronic lateness. We were going to watch Man on Fire and I had us getting there plenty early. I didn’t have a car in college, so she offered to pick me up and was 20 minutes late. Then we were another 10 minutes late because she wanted to stop on the way to the movie theater. Then we were another 15 minutes late because HER FRIEND that was supposed to meet us there was late. Then for the rest of the night I can’t get a word in edgewise they were yaking so much. Like I wasn’t even there.
Even worse–she followed him all the way from Indonesia just for a chance to maybe get close to him. She finally gets him to notice her and ask her out, and then it turns out he didn’t.
Okay, so that probably isn’t it. But it’s the first thing that popped into my mind.
As for the thread: I had one dance date where I tried to kiss a girl and poked her eye out, but nothing like the rest of y’all. It was just as well–it turned out she had multiple personality disorder, thought she was a vampire, and, well some more unsavory stuff best left unsaid.
It probably isn’t nearly as much fun to hear as it was embarrasing to live through - but here it is.
I have a wealthy aunt who lives in the same city as my parents. One year, when I was a teenage drug dabbler, she had to go out of town for a few weeks. She did not want to leave her (huge, nice) house empty when she was away, so she hired me to house-sit. I should explain that my aunt was a formidable woman and not a person you would want to cross or take liberties with. We were never close and, for reasons explained below, my house-sitting did not make us closer.
Well, I certainly knew better than to hold a huge party in the place, but being out from under paternal observation was too much temptation for this boy - I was determined to use the opportunity for my advantage!
There was this girl in my high school I was very, very hot for - she was a real beauty and also liked to dabble in the drugs. She seemed to like me well enough and so I invited her to “hang out and get high” with me at my new, temporary place - hoping of course for some romantic action, something I did not hide from her.
Well, she is willing enough and shows up - and while I had thought of doing a bit of pot smoking, she had other ideas. Seems that she was determined to trip, having an empty house to do it in. I had tripped before and I was a trifle unhappy with this plan - I had different plans after all - but I went along with it.
Well, we took the acid and tripped something powerful; I was having a great time, and so was she. After a few hours of heavy tripping in the living room, she wanted to explore the place, and off we went - still tripping heavily.
We were having a grand time going through one ostentatious room after another, when finally we ended up in my aunt’s bedroom. I had not actually been in there before - I’d been specifically instructed not to go in that room. The bed was a massive 4-poster with a canopy. She was delighted with this, and basically flung herself on the bed, started bouncing around on it.
This made me nervous - the bed was elaborately made with all sorts of fancy bed covers, surrounded by expensive nick-nacks, and with some expensive lingerie neatly folded on a little stand, and I had been explicitly told not to go in this room. I started to get paranoid about messing the room up. I tried to tell her that perhaps we should move on, but this is were things started to go wrong.
Seems she really took a fancy to the room. More, she was getting increasingly amourous. LSD certainly does not make me horny (though some claim it does for them), but it seems that was the direction her trip was taking her. She tried to get me to join her on the bed. I simply could not - I wanted nothing more than to leave the room at this point, and to get her out of it. Then, she told me to turn around. I did. I heard rusling sounds and she told me to turn back. I nearly died - she had taken off all her clothes and put on my aunt’s lingerie, and was reclining in a vampish pose on the bed.
Thing was, without the damn drug I’d have been delighted, joined her on that bed and damn the consequences. But with the drug, I was now completely consumed with concern over the fact I wasn’t supposed to mess with my aunt’s stuff. Moreover, the fact that she was wearing my aunt’s underclothes and lying in my aunt’s bed completely put me off - the whole situation was just too much wierdness for my LSD addled brain to handle. As best I could, I tried to convince her to put the lingerie back where she had found it and leave the room - this ended badly. She was convinced I just didn’t like her sexually and was rejecting her, and nothing I could say convinced her otherwise which (while tripping) led to a bad scene all around.
Upshot was that she returned to her clothes massively upset and humiliated (there were tears all over the lingerie), departed in a huff, and studiously avoided me thereafter. Worse, in spite of all my care in putting things back the way they were supposed to be and cleaning everything, my aunt noticed that someone (perhaps I) had apparently been wearing her lingerie, which led to her regarding me with less than affection for years.
With what appendage did you poke her eye out?
Wow. Not sure what to say here. “I’m sorry for your loss” comes to mind but doesn’t seem to cover all the bases.
Nevertheless, you shared your experience and I appreciate that.
The whole acid and sex thing never clicked for me either. The closest I ever came to a sexual experience whilst on the drug was one time when I studied my penis with the most intense scrutiny for over 40 minutes.
I never thought of Goldilocks and the Three Bears in quite the same way again. 
Some people swear by it. After this, I’m more likely to swear at it. 
I’m going to vote this one for the win. It was cringe-worthy on so many levels.
And THAT kids, is how I met your mother. /Saget
My worst first date(s) happened in the same week. As a prolific user of phone dating when it was popular (early-mid 90’s) I made two dates in the same week. The first young lady wanted me to pick her up at home (which was far from my home) I looked up restaurants in her area, picked one, made reservations bought a small but nice floral arrangement and went to the address she’d given me. Mind you, this was in a bustling city neighborhood so there was little parking to be had.
I parked down the block and walked to her home. There, on the front porch of what looked like the Clampett residence pre-Texas Tea, was my date du jour. A charming mix of NASCAR fan (before it was cool, mind you) and competitive eater, with a dash of unwashed madness in her eyes, while sporting her kool-aid stained rainbow brite t-shirt that was straining at the seams. I walked up the sidewalk to where she sat on the porch, announced myself and in reply she bellowed “MAMA, MY BOYFRIEND’S HEAH, COME AND GET STINKY* AND JO-JO*” which were her equally fat and filthy children, I think (*names have been changed).
At that point, I decided to call the date a wash (HA!), pulled my work pager off of my belt and said “Hey, I just got called into work, big fire, I’ll call you” The urgency had given the perfect cover to run away, which I did as if I were the one on fire.
The second date was the one I hoped would go the best. A charming lass was she, we talked for hours on hours and got along famously on the phone until we’d both cleared time for an in-person date. We ended up eating at a denny’s, going to a movie and at her suggestion, getting a 6-pack and room (as we couldn’t go back to either ones’ places for various reasons). We did and things progressed as one would assume they would in that situation until…
While in the throes of typical male-female foreplay I discovered shockingly that she was, in fact, a virgin. I also found that I HANDily, if you get my meaning, changed that, which left her a blubbering, sobbing mess and thus ended the night and the possiblity of a relationship.