The one who was so obnoxious

I met Mr. Obnoxious online. He was older than me by five or six years and worked as a bartender at private parties while he was studying to become a police officer.

The fact that he was Jewish was a nice added bonus and so I figured why not? He wasn’t necessarily my type, but you never know.

Mr. Obnoxious picked me up at my house in a double-breasted pinstripe suit, brimmed hat and bald head. He was wearing a tie with a matching handkerchief. He looked like a Jewish gangster. I was wearing jeans and insisted that I change into a skirt at least just to not feel out of place. He stated that the suit was new and wanted to break it in. No problem, it was certainly different and sorta classy.

We got into, what I call, his “penis car”: a stick shift two-seater sports car. I swear Mr. Obnoxious was going to give me whiplash before we got to the restaurant by the way he drove that thing. His voice was piercing, and I could tell from the first few minutes of this date that I didn’t like him much. The fact that he hadn’t really asked me any questions about myself from the get-go was an automatic turn off. He talked my ear off about the boat he was going to move into. Not that I don’t care about boats, I just don’t need to know all the details about this particular boat.

The restaurant was nothing special. Mr. Obnoxious had made reservations though which was thoughtful. It seemed he had taken some steps to make this date nice, which I did appreciate. I mean, no one has ever shown up to a first date in a double-breasted pinstripe suit before.

So far, I just had an idea that this guy was not for me. But when we got to the restaurant it became clear that I did not wish to spend much more time with Mr. Obnoxious.

He wanted to order a rye whisky. I don’t know enough about alcohol to know what that was. But he’s a bartender, so I’ll give him that.

“Well it’s obvious which one I’m going to get,” Mr. Obnoxious said looking at the menu, “they only have three and I own two of them.” Well, good for you.

“Oh look,” I said, “they have my favorite scotches” trying to sound somewhat cultured in that area.

“Which ones are your favorite?” Mr. Obnoxious asked (probably the first question he asked me all night.)

“Talisker and Oban,” I said.

“Oh, I figured you would say that.” (What was THAT supposed to mean?)

“Well I’ve been to the breweries”

“Aren’t they called distilleries?”

Alright, fine. It seems that this date isn’t that bad yet, I see that.  But getting rather obnoxious, no?

I noticed that when I was speaking, (not that he had asked me anything, I just decided to offer up information about myself) he would start looking at the menu or something, as if he wasn’t paying attention to me. I really don't like it when people won't look you in the eye.

During one of these times when I was talking, Mr. Obnoxious interrupted me and said,

“I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but do you want to go hot tubing?”

“No,” I said. “No, I don’t want to go hot tubing.”

“Okay, that’s cool, I just didn’t want you to think I was an asshole or something.  I mean, it’s not like I just want to see you naked, although that would be cool too… it’s just a nice place to talk.”

Right.

I declined dessert and getting more drinks, I just wanted him to take me home.

As I got out of the car, I wanted to make it clear that I did appreciate the nice dinner.

“See you around,” I said... DAMMIT! I panicked.

“Really, can I call you?” Asked Mr. Obnoxious.

“Um, maybe?” I said. SHIT!

I could see in his reaction that he knew I meant, NO!

He never called me, thank the powers that be.

I found out later after telling this story to a friend’s boyfriend that the only hot tubing place in the area is a naked one.

And hence, the story of the worst first date I’ve ever had, even worse than the one who went the bathroom and didn’t come back. Sure, that date was a disaster, but at least it wasn’t painful from the moment it began.