Tell me your MOST embarrassing date...

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
21

Senior year in college I was a regular at a Steak n Shake a couple blocks from where I lived. I was almost always there at or past 2am, because it was the only place open (besides Denny’s, but I avoided that place, especially at night.) Anyway, I always paid with a credit card. I always paid for everything with a credit card then, I never had cash.

So one night I’m on a first date with this girl from my economics class. We had studied together a few times but this was the first time we went out. We went to a midnight screening of Princess Bride at the Union, and afterwards we decided to go to the aforementioned Steak n Shake for a bite. After the meal I whipped out the old credit card to pay, and was informed that they didn’t take credit cards and never had. I begged to differ, pointing out that I had been there not two or three days before and had paid with a credit card, and in fact used a credit card there probably 20 times a month. The SnS employee continued to insist that they did not take credit cards. My date didn’t have the means to pay either, so I had to leave her there and jog to an ATM to get the cash to pay the bill. After paying the bill I insisted that she accompany me to my place so that I could show her my credit card statements proving that I had indeed paid with a credit card at that Steak n Shake many times.

22

What a roundabout way to get someone to go home with you! :wink:

23

No kidding. Whatever happened to showing her your etchings?

I once asked out this girl that I was in a band with. I asked her to the drive-in movies on the other side of town. Before we got there, I pulled into a filling station. “Five of regular”, I said. Apparently, this was interpreted as “Fill 'er up.” I had to borrow money from my date, both for the gas and the movie.

24

Did I read this correctly? She really left a 5 and 7 year-old at home alone while she went out on a date?

25

Well, it is the cruelest month.

26

Maybe the 16 year-old was babysitting.

27

Are you whooshing me?
I didn’t see any mention of a 16 year-old.

28

Sorry…it was a joke…she never brought up kids during their chatting, then it was “oh, I need to put the 5 y.o. son to bed”, then during dinner “oh, it’s the the 7 y.o. daughter that I’m trying to get into ballet”… a logical, joke-y follow-up might be “oh, my 16 y.o.'s watching them”

29

:smack: , :smiley:

30

You mean Susan. :wink:

31

Call me Jughead, then. I’ll go deface a fedora.

32

I have two contenders: the one where I was most embarrassed, and the one that was probably the oddest, and worst.

Most embarrassed:

My junior year of college, I got the hots for this freshman sorority girl “A” in our dorm. So, after talking to her quite a bit, I got her to agree to go on a sort of triple-date with a male & a female friend, and another couple I knew. It was raining when we left, which isn’t rare in College Station, but considering it had been raining for about 2 weeks straight, things were set for flooding.

We agree to give the guy friend a ride, because his car was way out in BFE, and he didn’t want to walk a mile in the rain. So we set off, and shortly afterward the rain goes from steady light rain to tropical storm type rain. About halfway there, the streets start flooding pretty seriously. Which is bad, but I was driving a full-sized Suburban, so I had about 9-10 inches of wiggle room before I’d stall out.

All was well, until we decided to turn around, and I started having to bump the big giant plastic trash cans that had floated into the street out of the way.

Then the capper… my suburban was pretty old (like 20 years old), and it started leaking right above the rear-view mirror, right onto “A”. My heart sinks, and I sort of let out a nervous laugh, at which point, she gets really angry. I was miserable and needless to say, that was the last date or really even time I talked with her.
Most odd/worst:

Many years later, I meet this girl at a happy hour with my friends, and even manage to out-compete a buddy of mine, and get her number and a promise for a date.

We talked on the phone a few times- everything was going well, so we decide we’ll have dinner, see the fireworks and have a few beers.

So we get to dinner, and we get to talking, and it turns out she’s kind of a bible-thumper. Now, I’m not an atheist or anything, but I’m not a dogmatic sort at all. So we start discussing things, and all’s well, until I take a Devil’s advocate position that really shook her and made her think. She got kind of agitated, and proclaims that she can’t really date me- we’re not spiritually compatible. So it was awkward for a while, and we walk back to my car. I decide then that I’ll be damned if I’m dragging her to her house and missing the fireworks because she’s suffering excess religiosity, so I made her watch the fireworks, whereupon, we sort of make up and ended the evening on good terms. That was weird.

33

2000 or 2001. I was 26 or 27. I was single, again, and the Indigo Girls were scheduled to play in Atlanta, where I was living at the time. I bought two tickets in an attempt to manipulate myself into having the confidence to ask some nice girl on a date. I got the phone number of a friend of a friend who I’d met out dancing at Hoedowns (the most FABULOUS gay country bar EVAR). She was only in the states for a few more weeks before flying to Japan to teach English. I asked. She accepted and offered to drive, which was handy as my only transportation at the time was my bicycle.

About 3 in the afternoon of the concert, at work, I started feeling queasy. When she picked me up at work, I asked if we could stop at a drug store to get some Pepto Bismal to settle my stomach. It took about 45 minutes to drive to the venue and park. As we were walking to the gate, I started puking pink off the side of the road. I stubbornly insisted that I’d be fine and that we couldn’t miss the show. We had cheap “lawn” seats at the back, and ended up sitting near an ex of mine and a few of our mutual friends. I spent all of the opening act either in the bathroom or walking back and forth from bathroom to the blanket we were all sitting on. After about 4 Indigo Girls songs spent laying on my back sucking on ice cubes, everyone convinced me to let her take me home. I finally caved, and spewed pink out her passenger window and down the side of her car at least 4 times on the drive home.

So yeah…that sucked.

34

She sounds like a bitch. If that had happened to me, I would have been laughing my ass off, not getting angry.

35

How was that embarrassing for you? She gets angry because it rains a lot and she gets wet? Was it somehow your fault? Could she have been more shallow?

36

Yeah, we joked about that at the time. She had actually been to my place before to study. Luckily, nothing happened. I didn’t think it was lucky at the time, but it ended up being one of the biggest dodged bullets of my dating career. Turns out she was completely psycho, as I happened to find out by total random chance, running into her roommate and getting the full story on her. I was actually hoping to pull the roommate switch, but, as Jerry found out, that is completely impossible. A year later she went completely off the deep end and had to leave college, and I was so glad I was not involved with her, as she left a pretty significant wake of destruction behind.

37

“I think it’s called a menage a trois…?”

38

I’ve told this story before, but it always gets me points in the Disastrous Date column.

I met up for lunch with a guy off a romance site. Email communications had been just fine. He came across as something of a teddy bear, and he had good spelling and punctuation. I had to work at 1 p.m., so I suggested lunch at 11 at California Pizza Kitchen.

When we met, I explained that I’d missed breakfast, and I was starving, so was it okay if I ordered an appetizer? He was fine with that. I ordered hummus, as it’s pulled me back from the brink of starvation many a time. We get to talking, and he starts ranting about work.

Okay, I’m good with a little ranting. We all have our “I hate my job” rants, but seriously, guys, it’s no better than ranting about your ex. After a while, it just leaves the other person with a bad taste in their mouth. While he’s ranting - his boss hates him and tries to undermine everything he does, he’s the only one who knows how to run the place, everyone’s jealous of him because he’s such an industry stud - the hummus arrives.

“Hey,” he says, perking up. “That looks like white pooh!”

Now, I have a stomach of iron. I grew up with a mom who told surgery stories over spaghetti with meat sauce. Very, very little bothers me, but for some reason, this just about kills my appetite. Yet, I know the perils of phouka with low blood sugar, so I make myself eat.

He continues his rant. I try to steer it to other subjects. News. Weather. Movies. Music. God help me, sports. He shows no interest in any of these topics. Finally, I hit on writing, as it’s a hobby of my own that he’d remarked upon in our email.

“Yeah,” says he. “I wrote this great screenplay once. Really good. Then, someone stole it out of my backpack, and they ended up selling it to a major studio, which made a blockbuster movie out of it. I never had the heart to write again. That was back in eighth grade.”

. . . . . . oooooooookay.

I excuse myself to the bathroom just as our pizza arrived. Once there, to the amusement of the other ladies, I start frantically dialing people. Best friend? Not answering. Housemate? Busy at work. Brother? He answers his phone.

“Phoukabro! God, you have got to help me. I’m stuck on the most horrible date, and I have to escape. Will you call me back in five minutes and pretend you’re my boss. Tell me I have to get into work immediately? There’s been some disaster, someone’s out sick, something!”

"Ah . . . gee . . . I don’t know, phouka . . . "

“Dude, I will bake you cookies!”

“Oh, okay. Five minutes? Sure.”

I returned to the table and snuck my phone back into my purse. It was a very, very looooooong five minutes, listening to my date talk about all the plots he’d foiled, the men who wanted to be him, and the women who wanted to be with him, and finally, my brother called me.

“YES! ahem This is phouka, yes?”

"Yeah . . . phouka . . . it’s your boss . . . . need you to come into work . . . . terrible accident . . . . dead puppies . . . . the carnage . . . . the humanity . . . . "

“Really? That’s awful. Well, okay, I guess I can cut things short.” Waving down the waiter, who’d been giving me increasing intense looks of pity, “Can you box this up? Okay, give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be in.”

I clicked off the phone and looked up at my date, who was slightly puzzled that he’d been interrupted.

“Uh, so . . . that was my boss, and it turns out that one of my coworkers called in sick and hereallyneedsmetocomeinRIGHTNOW. Gotta go, BYE!”

I’m fairly sure I left a cloud of debris, I took off so fast. And, for the record, I baked phoukabro two dozen chocolate chip cookies.

39

I can’t believe the other bathroom ladies didn’t offer to call. Seriously, that’s almost as required of sisterhood as giving somebody in need a tampon.

40

Well, you said he was a teddy bear–I guess it takes one to know one.