The Caravan. No windows. I understand why people like that in a bar, but it wasn’t a place for me, primarily because it smelled like puke, but also because there were always way too many people drinking themselves into oblivion at all hours of the day and night, and I tend to find that pretty depressing. However, if you’re looking for a true dive bar, look no further.
We’ve all had one of these: the Angry Dater. Life has been quite unfair to this man and he is out to avenge his wronged-ness on all future dates. He feels that women have been jerks to him, and Connor had a lot to tell me about just how rude women are. He also said that he had too many pet peeves about women in general to mention in one date. Well, I thought to myself, you’d better talk fast, pal, because this is your first and last chance for my attention.
“I can’t stand women who would prefer to spray public toilets with their urine than sit their precious thighs on the seat. If you go into a restroom, and the seat isn’t clean looking, just sit your ass down. Your pee will go where it’s supposed to, and the seat will stay dry.”
I mulled this over in my head and couldn’t figure out what he was bitching about since women tend to use those paper seat covers in public restrooms, anyway. And exactly why was he sharing this with me?
“And another thing I hate about women is when they don’t thank me for things I pay for, like they just expect it. I hate when a woman puts her hand in my potato chip bag. Get your own damn chips, I want to yell at her. And then what about girls who wear sandals that are too small, and their feet spill over the top of them?”
He quickly glanced down to survey my piggies, which were neatly encased in a properly fitting boot. I had to smile as I thought about the monstrous bunion I had on my left foot. The right one had been removed a few years back, but I needed to find a stable relationship before I could be on crutches for six to eight weeks. Crutching and blind dating don’t mix; my black boots are slick on the bottom!
He continued his rant by saying he’d actually punch some walls after some dates to vent his frustration. I remarked that I wasn’t sure that punching walls was the best, and I tried to help with my de-stresser strategy by suggesting he consider throwing rocks at trees, or buying a box of dishes from Goodwill and smashing them inside his garage.
“Sometimes I drive to the middle of nowhere and scream really loud. I also find thrashing around with my rockin’ dance moves helps, creatively channeling all my negative energy—with the blinds down and curtains drawn.”
Now he wanted to know my issues with guys. What was it that I really hated most? I told him that poor grammar and spelling are my pet peeves. He wasn’t satisfied with that. So I told him that I can’t stand angry daters.