Urban Thought Collective

When I was married, my single friends would tell me all their horror stories about meeting crazy people and wasting perfectly good Friday and Saturday nights on folks who were not worth the time. I would shake my head and say, “I’m so glad I don’t have to go through that!” Unfortunately, a short time later, I found myself single and dealing with the trials of finding that someone special. Just like many of my friends, I too had bad experiences.

One Friday night, I went out with a couple of co-workers to celebrate a birthday. Nothing special, just some drinks at your neighborhood Friday’s. Why do black folks love Friday’s so much? I think it has to do with the Jack Daniel’s sauce that they put on everything. Anyway, back to Friday night. While I’m chillin’ at the bar with my folks, I see a chick on the other side of the bar giving me a serious mean mug. I mean, this sister is looking at me as if I pushed her in the water at one of those pool parties that black folks have where nobody actually swims. It took me a few minutes before I realized who she was, and that’s when I started to panic. Let me explain.

A few months ago, I got a random message on my “MySpace” page from said female. She was commenting on the song I had playing on my page, and wanted to compliment me on my good taste in music. We had a brief conversation that day, and chatted a couple of times afterwards. About a week later, she sent me a message saying that her birthday was coming up, and she wondered if I would like to meet her for a drink. I’m always down for some libations, so I agreed to meet on Thursday after work. She agreed. Well, I had a hectic week at work, and when the day we are supposed to meet came around, I completely forgot about it and went directly home. I got a nasty message that night expressing how janky I am, and that she isn’t usually treated so shabbily. Fast forward to Friday night!

Here I am sitting directly across from this chick that I’ve accidentally stood up the night before. What do I do? She obviously recognizes me. Why else would she be giving me the side eye? So, I muster up my courage and walk around the bar to say hello, and once again apologize (I had already sent her a genuine apology) for the night before.

Me: Hi, How are you doing?

Her: Hello.

Me: You know who I am right?

Her: Yeah.

Me: I wanted to come over and apologize again for last night. I’m so sorry, but like I explained to you, I was extremely tired and the only thing on my mind was getting to bed.

Her: So, you really are 6’3.”

Me: Yeah.

Her: If you weren’t so tall, I wouldn’t even think about forgiving you.

Me: (Laughter)

Her: I guess I’ll let you make it up to me, but you better not mess up again.

Me: That’s a bet. Let me get your number so I can call you and make arrangements this time.

She proceeds to give me her number and I rejoin my party across the bar. Later that night, I get a text from her saying:
“Don’t think because you are tall that you can get away with acting like that!”

(HUH?)

I think it was guilt that made me do it. I mean, it was a forgivable mistake, but I still didn’t want her walking around thinking that I was the type of guy to leave a woman waiting at a bar alone. Whatever it was, I agreed to meet her for dinner on Saturday at one of my favorite spots in the city. Something about her behavior the night before, and the odd text message was trying to tell me that I should just walk away from this chick, but did I listen? Hell no! You see, I’ve always been a magnet for women who are a few fries short of a happy meal. I’ve had a fatal attraction chick who tried to stab me in the park, and another sister who claimed that she could levitate on demand. So the little display of psycho behavior from this woman wasn’t a real deterrent for me.

Strike One:

My usual rule about first dates is to make it happen during the day if possible. One reason is that I’d be mad as hell if my entire evening was ruined by a horrible date. The other reason is that I want to get a good look at the person. In keeping with that theme, we were supposed to meet for dinner at 5:00 PM. I’ve checked my breath, smoothed down my bushy eyebrows and am getting ready to exit my truck at 4:55 PM when my cell phone rings. It’s her telling me that she is lost but thinks she will be there in about ten minutes. If you are lost, how can you estimate a time of arrival?

At this point, I’m starting to think that maybe she is getting me back and really doesn’t have any plans of showing up for the date. If that is the case, I figure that I can at least go inside and get a drink from the bar. Thirty minutes and two Crown and cokes later, I get another call saying that she is parking and will be inside shortly.

Strike Two:

I think of myself as an open-minded person who can appreciate people of all shapes and sizes for their own beauty. However, people who really know me would tell you that I can be extremely judgmental and quick to cut somebody off. That is probably why I knew this date was going to be a dud when I saw her walk around the corner wearing one of Beverly Johnson’s best wigs. Now ladies, I’m not against a woman wearing a wig every now and then. Hell, it can be a nice prop in the bedroom. It’s like having sex with different women without cheating. The problem with this wig was that it was just a little bit crooked. During the entire dinner, I wanted to lean across the table and pull it down on the left side. What is the proper etiquette for something like that? I couldn’t concentrate on anything she was saying because of this distraction. Ladies, what should I have done?

Strike Three:

The one personality type that I just can’t stand is a complainer. I hate the type who is always finding fault with something. This chick was one of the worst complainers that I have ever had the misfortune of being around. The place that we were having dinner was one the most popular spots in Atlanta, so on a Saturday evening it was crowded. Having lived here for several years, it’s something that you learn to deal with and accept. She complained about the length of our wait for seating, our table, the strength of her Tequila Sunrise, the amount of time we had to wait for our food, the level of noise in the restaurant, the line in the women’s restroom, the amount of the tip I left, and how long it took the valet to bring her car. Then, she had the nerve to ask me what I was doing for the rest of the evening as if she wanted to hang out some more.

YOU ARE OUT!!!

Vincent Slaughter is a writer and graduate of Morehouse College. Single and living in Atlanta, Georgia, his thoughts on love and relationships are also featured on www.skoolboisplayground.blogspot.com.