Date with a Dipshit

Since it's 2009 and I'm currently single, I thought I would share one of the many bad date stories I have in my vault. I try my best not to think of them, so I keep them in a very dark place in my mind, along with memories of high school and my first boyfriend.

Years ago,my roommate at the time worked at a bar/club called The Exchange, and he and his girlfriend were going over there to drink for free and party it up. It was a Saturday night. I was supposed to have gone out with my boyfriend and all his friends to some club downtown, but he ended up calling me around 5 and telling me to hit the bricks.

He said that I wasn't "the one for him", and I "didn't challenge him", and there was "nothing" I could possibly do to be the person that he needed. Ouch. Yeah, this break-up was awful. Everybody has that one break-up that almost kills them, and this one was mine.

I was devastated. Why I didn't stay home is beyond me. I guess I didn't want to be alone, and I didn't want to feel the intense pain because if anything I was in shock. I didn't feel the pain yet, and I wanted to prolong it as long as possible before I did. So, I went out with my roommate and his girlfriend. And I got completely obliterated.

I blacked out. I don't remember anything about the night or even the people I encountered. The next morning, I woke up with a killer hangover and my roommate telling me about some guy with whom he worked with at the club who wanted my number. Apparently, I had been dancing with him that night. Actually, I wasn't the one dancing because Colette had left her physical body, and somebody else had taken over at that point. She must've been a good dancer, whoever she was.

I call him, or he calls me, and we agree to meet up. He asks me to meet him at a local bar/pool hall called Boston Billiards, and when I show up, he's with his friend playing pool. I should've run, but I didn't. Who brings another dude on your date?!

Then, he tells me how we should go over to this club called Bill's Bar. It's a small place, and this particular night was Hip-Hop night. All three of us head over, and we have to pay money to get in, and I don't think he paid for me, but I do remember the ticket girl gave me a really nasty look as if I had just shit on her heels or something. I had no idea what her problem was. I was used to girls giving me dirty looks: I had cocktailed for a few years. You get used to the stink eyes after a while.

So, this guy, his friend and I go in, and my date is pretty much ignoring me. I'm standing there by myself with a drink I bought, and I'm trying my best not to feel really awkward and out of place, but it's pretty much impossible. The guy and his friend are talking to some people across the room, and I'm just there drinking my cocktail, hoping nobody notices me. I want to leave, but I don't.

When all of a sudden, the bitch on wheels ticket girl comes up to me and gets in my face and starts asking me a bunch of questions like how I know this guy and if I've had sex with him! Who does that?! I told her I didn't know him, and NO, I had not had sex with him, but she didn't believe me.

And she was drinking a beer, and she dumped it on me. So, I took my drink and dumped it on her. I felt like I was on The Jerry Springer Show. It was surreal. I am so not the "Bitch, I'll throw a drink in your face" type of gal. However, she left me no choice. You throw a drink on me, honey, you best be sure, I'm throwing a drink back.

Then, this maniac grabs the first bouncer she sees, and because she works there, I get thrown out. They physically remove me from the establishment, and it is super embarrassing, but I am so angry that I don't even care. I stand on the sidewalk for about 5 minutes, waiting to see if that dipshit would come out. But he didn't.

I take a cab home, soaked in beer and trying my best to hold back my tears. Around 2:30am, I get a phone call from Prince Charming, asking what happened to me and why I left. 2:30! The club was small. I'm sure he had seen everything, or at the very least heard about it.

I asked him why he would take me to a place where he was dating or had dated somebody, and he smugly replied: "Well, then there would be no place for me to go." Apparently, he was screwing or had screwed half the cocktail waitresses/bartenders/ticket girls at every bar/club in the city. He was a real catch.

About a year later, I ran into him and his "date" one night when I was waitressing at a bar near Fenway Park. I served them drinks, and the girl seemed really nice. I wanted to warn her what a douchemuffin the guy was, but I didn't. I figured I would let her figure that out by herself, like I had to do.

I hope for her sake he didn't take her anywhere later in the night where she would be physically assaulted with drinks by a crazed and jealous woman, but you never know.

If you have a bad date story, and you want to share: please e-mail me at coletteslovebytes@gmail.com

Break These Chains of Love

The other night, I met up with one of my good friends, a guy I've known for about 8 years now, for dinner. After dinner, as we were having a couple of drinks, my friend told me a hilarious story, and it was too funny not to share. He said one night after work (he's a waiter), he stopped by this hotel bar to have a couple of drinks before last call. He said that it was the only bar in the area that was open until 2am, and it was the last call spot for all the waiters/waitresses.
One mixed drink = $13
Hitting up a bar for a couple of drinks after a stressful shift = Priceless.

He sat down at the bar and started talking to a girl in her 20s who was there by herself, drinking Jameson straight and sketching in her notepad. She was the artsy type. They struck up a conversation and hit it off. They wanted to keep the party going. He told her that he had rum at his apartment, and she said that her friend had some weed at hers.

They made a couple of pit stops and then went back to her place to get really drunk and stoned with one of her friends. Around 4am, the girlfriend left and the two crazy kids started going at it. He said it was getting kinky and that she was pretty wild and adventurous. She introduced some metal handcuffs into the situation, and although he was hesitant to wear handcuffs, he agreed after she assured him that she had the key.

So, they did their thing, and then he asked her to get the key to the handcuffs. It was now 6 in the morning, and he had a lunch shift at the restaurant where he worked. He needed to get the handcuffs off, go home, take a shower, and go to work. However, there was a wrench in the plans: she couldn't find the KEY. She had no idea where it was. They tried busting the lock. They tried pulling them off, but nothing worked. This is when my friend started freaking the fuck out.

What do you do when you are in a set of handcuffs in some random one night stand's apartment and you have work in a few hours? He called a locksmith. A FUCKING LOCKSMITH! The guy came to the apartment and had to free him from a set of handcuffs. Can you imagine?! I mean, that must've made the guy's year because that is hilarious, and guaranteed, any time that locksmith gets drunk with a group of people, he tells that story. How could he not?!

My friend had to pay $100 to get his wrists freed from the metal cuffs. He had to call into the restaurant where he worked and told the manager that "he was in a bind", but the manager was pissed and wasn't going to let it slide, telling him he had to come in. So, what did my friend do? He told his manager that he was in a pair of handcuffs and wouldn't be out of them by opening. The guy was dumbfounded, as anybody would be in that situation.

In the end, my friend got written up for missing a shift, which makes me wonder if that little tidbit of information was put in his file: "Got handcuffed by some random chick and missed work." Yeah, that's definitely a restaurant industry no no.