I’ve only been on one blind date. I firmly believe (especially after this incident) that one should know who they’re dating before, uh, dating them.
(Now, I’ll preface the rest of the tale by saying that I have a fairly common name that just happens to sound like ANOTHER very common name, especially when the person saying it is standing in a noisy environment.)
So anyway. A friend of mine set me up with a girl he knew from his class in college – “You’ll love her, she’s HOT, she’s smart, she wears glasses, dude!” – and off I went to the bar we were supposed to meet at. As instructed, I’m wearing a blue shirt.
When I arrive, I discover the first problem: my buddy has apparently done NO recon. It’s Band Night at the bar, the place is packed, and you can’t hear ANYthing over the music. Ah well. It took a while to get through the line at the door, but I finally squeeze through and begin looking for my date. She’s supposed to be waiting by the bar, and will be wearing a black dress.
Um, yeah. Band Night. Bar-slash-dance club. Black dress? EVERYONE’s wearing a variation on a black dress. sigh And the bar area is more packed than the rest of the joint.
After a few minutes looking for someone wearing the Blind Date look, I decide she must not be there yet and ease up to the bar (push, shove, etc) to get a drink. I’m leaning there sipping it when a HOT, intelligent-looking, girl with glasses – wearing a black skirt, which I figure is close enough – comes up to me and says, “You must be <mispronounced name>!”
Um, hell yeah? I mentally chalk up a favor to my pal, who obviously wasn’t lying about her positive points. We decide (after much shout-whispering into each other’s ears) to head next door and have some coffee and talk a bit before doing anything else with the rest of the night.
Her name, I found out, was Nicole. I correct her mispronunciation of my name, which we laugh about. We’re sitting there, chatting, it’s going pretty well (in my opinion, anyway – but then, I take it as a good sign when the girl doesn’t run screaming, so YMMV). We decide to catch a movie – the theater is in the mall across the street, which is convenient – and she asks me to wait outside for her, she’s just got to go back to the club for a minute to let her roommate know where she’s going. Okay, works for me.
I’m standing there, trying to stifle the S.E.G. on my face (wouldn’t do to seem TOO eager, now), when a HOT, intelligent-looking, girl with glasses who is most definitely not Nicole comes up to me wearing a black dress and a slightly pissy expression. “Are you <my name>?” she asks.
“Um, yes. Do I know you?” Ah, witty repartee, that’s me.
“You were supposed to meet me inside!” she says. I get that ‘uh-oh’ sinking feeling in my gut. I’m a smart guy, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Nicole’s blind date partner must’ve had that cursed name that sounds so much like mine. Ah, frack.
And of course, just like in the movies, this is when Nicole arrives. That sinking feeling just got worse. I mentally vow to kill my buddy at the next available opportunity.
“Who’s she?” Nicole says, eyeing Ms. Black Dress with suspicion.
“Who is SHE?” says Ms. Black Dress, glaring at me.
Thinking fast, I come up with the only thing I can think of that will salvage the situation. I look at Nicole and say, “Oh, she’s who I was supposed to be here with.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my brain instantly locked up. Oh. My. God. I did NOT just say that, right? Correct yourself, fool! Quickly!
“I mean… um… ah… s-s-she --”
During my mental breakdown (doh!), the girls came to the natural conclusion that I was a would-be playah asshole who had tried to have two dates at once (or something along those lines, I assume), and both stormed off. I don’t panic in physical crisis situations… it seems I have a REAL FREAKIN’ PROBLEM with panic in social crisis situations. I stood there for, in retrospect, roughly forever, gaping like a fish and unable to utter anything more than monosyllables: “But… but… but…”
After I recovered, I tried to find Nicole in the club to explain, apologize, and throw myself upon the mercy of the court, but I couldn’t have found my own mother in there that night.
Sofa: 0, The Dragon of Blind Dates: 1.
(I never got Nicole’s number, dammit, and Ms. Black Dress was Not Interested after that night, according to my pal. Who I did not kill, but I sure felt like it.)
