L.A. Affairs: A Tinder date with a whining out-of-towner left her cup half empty
It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and I stood on a street off Ventura Boulevard staring down at a dirty cup of red wine and then back up at the cute 31-year-old longhaired surfer-wannabe named Casey who had just handed me the dirty cup, wondering why I had agreed to go on a date that involved nothing other than wine and walking.
We’d met on Tinder, which I was relatively new to. He was my second Tinder date and one of my first matches as I was just getting back into dating after a long hiatus. He had driven 40 miles from a town I had never heard of. Since I live in the Valley, any guy farther east than Silver Lake might as well be in another state, but his numerous compliments and declarations about being excited to meet me persuaded me to meet him. I hadn’t really taken the time to get to know him before we met, though, which I was quickly discovering was my mistake.
I stared at the cup, deciding whether to drink it or hand it back and say goodbye. Taking his drive into account, I decided I should stick it out and try to have a good time. I asked for a paper towel and did my best to wipe down the cup. Then I mostly pretended to sip it.
We began our actual date activity — walking. As I tried to get to know him, asking him what he does for work, where he’s from and all of the basic get-to-know-you questions, he began rifling through his pockets, then pulled out a tiny bag of powder.
My eyes widened, “What is that? Is that Molly?”
He nodded, “Yeah ... you wanna take it?”
I shook my head no and tried to change the subject, wondering how much time I would have to spend with him before it would be OK to end our date.
He put the Molly back in his pocket, and we kept walking and talking. He prattled on about his life, then announced for no reason in particular that he makes $4,000 a month, partly because he gets an unemployment check and has a job that pays cash under the table. I had no idea what made this guy think sharing that with me would be a good idea.
Finally, when we had circled back to where we’d started, I stopped at the corner. “OK, I’m tired of walking. We have to do something else.”
I made some suggestions:
“Food?”
No.
“Drinks?”
No.
“A show?”
No.
I spotted an ice cream shop with outdoor seating across the intersection, and as soon as the light changed I was on the move. I sat down on a hot metal chair and he rambled endlessly about one bad date, about the law of attraction and about how in tune with the universe he was. I kept expecting him to ask me something about myself, but that never happened. So, two hours into this date, I made a suggestion: “Maybe we should call it a day and ... head back to our cars.”
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This he did not like.
“I drove an hour and a half to get here!” he protested. He seemed to think that should entitle him to an entire evening together.
“Well, we’re not doing anything,” I shot back.
The next several minutes were a test of my will as he continued to engage me in a repetitive debate about why we should hang out.
Finally, I held out my hands to encompass the space we were in, as if to say, “Well, here I am. We’re hanging out.” But I said nothing and waited for him to try to initiate a conversation. He stared blankly at me, so I just shrugged. He slumped in his chair, pouting, and began scrolling through his phone.
After a minute or so of watching him, I spoke up: “You’re saying you want to hang out, but now you’re just on your phone.”
“I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to do tonight,” he said contemptuously.
“OK, well if you’re not going to say anything, then I think we should head back to our cars.” I was trying so hard to be polite.
I began to walk. Finally, he came along, arguing the whole time. For a guy who professed to believe in the law of attraction, he spent a lot of time focusing on what upset him.
Finally, in exhaustion, I said, “You should just accept how I feel instead of complaining.” With that, his demeanor completely shifted; it was as if all his preaching about the law of attraction suddenly dawned on him. He became polite and told me he was leaving. I handed him his cups, and we walked our separate ways. I was free!
Lesson learned: Don’t meet up with guys who live far from L.A. without getting to know them first.
Taylor is a writer in Los Angeles.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the current dating scene in and around Los Angeles. If you have comments or a true story to tell, email us at home@latimes.com. We pay $300 a column.
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