I’ve had several hellish dates in my time, but this one in particular remains the funniest.
In my younger days I worked as a waitress while I was at university, and we would often go out after work to unwind at a particular bar, which wasn’t the classiest joint in town but the only one open at that time of night.
One night in particular I met a man standing at the bar who struck up a conversation with me. He seemed like a nice sort and was quite interested in me. Now at this point in the night I had had a few glasses of wine but was definitely not drunk. This guy started talking about his interests and mentioned that he was really passionate about “his” football team, which I had heard about and were quite a big deal. He kept referring to “his” team and how busy he was with “his” team. He even pulled out a business card with his name and photgraph on it with the football teams logo on it. Now, maybe I was slightly tipsy, and not as observant as usual, but for whatever reason I assumed he meant that he owned or managed the football team. I have to admit this impressed me. It isn’t often that you meet a really nice guy with such a successful and interesting career. At the end of the night he asked for me number which I willingly gave, and I left feeling very excited that I had just met the owner of the famous football team.
The guy called me the next day and asked if I wanted to go around to his house and watch a dvd. I agreed and was really excited about what would happen next. Now you have to understand that at this point I had envisaged a very successful businessman who probably is very wealthy. Rich men have never been particularly attractive to me, but it’s funny how your imagination runs away with you once an idea is planted. So he agrees to pick me up from my house, and when the time comes he arrives in a huge white panel van with smoke pouring out of it, in very bad condition. I was a little surprised, and he explained that this was actually his friends car he was borrowing while he was being repaired. We drive to his house which turns out to be in a very notorious part of town. The house looks like it is abandoned. It is literally falling apart. The grass is up to my waist, there are countless empty beer bottles on the front porch and an old wheelchair which has obviously been there for a while. He opens the door to the house, and on the floor there is no carpet but ASTROTURF. FAKE GRASS!!!. It’s everywhere, even in the bedroom. As I enter the lounge, I see that an entire wall of the room has been set up like a football grandstand which he has made himself by drilling a picnic table on top of the sofa. On the other wall there is a LIFE SIZE colour photo of the entire famous football team, “his” team, with a cut out of the man’s face glued next to the players as if he were part of them.
At this stage I had finally grasped that by “his” team he meant the team he was obsessed with. Maybe he really believed he owned them, I’m not sure. The sensible thing to do next probably would have been to make my way home, but I felt so sorry for the guy I ended up staying for three hours while he sat me down and showed me all the photos and memoribilia he has collected over the years.
Needless to say, this was the first and last date. 04-22-09
Where’s The Yellow Penalty Flag of Etiquette When You Need It?
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