Have you ever been on a date so bad that even if you were presented with a million dollars, the likelihood of you mentioning a sequence of events so egregious couldn’t even compare? Well, that’s my “LoveTail” for you today.

To tell this story right, I must start from the beginning. If I leave you all to assume that this is a Tinder date gone awry or a Bumble meet-up that should’ve buzzed off, I’d be doing you a disservice. So, to give some context, I’ve known this character for several years. We went to the same high school but were never close. While I was a cheerleader and he was an all-around super athlete playing every sport imaginable, we never connected. However, thanks to social media, I’m now just a DM away on any platform for anyone to “shoot their shot,” and unfortunately that’s what he did.

Shoot your shot

Since I had been to high school with him, I probably should’ve taken a moment to recount my interactions with said guy, which means I could’ve avoided the night of peril that was sure to ensue. But, alas, I did not. I’ll be honest, I’m a twenty-something looking to A.) Have a good time or B.) Fall hopelessly in love with my soulmate. Either way, we all know the stats that say, “by now you have probably already met the person you should spend your life with,” so I figure “ehhh… nothing to lose.”

So, this date wasn’t really planned. We were texting on a Sunday afternoon, and he asked if I’d be willing to come out later that day for a drink or something.

Harmless, right?

I get dressed and put on my face for the evening – this is the first time I’m going out with this guy, let alone our first physical encounter in at least five years – but it will become evident that I’m the only one who cared.

Strike One

When I arrive at the meeting location (H street corridor in Washington, DC) I wait in the car until he walks up to meet me. As I receive a notification on my phone that he’s finally arrived. I look up to see a somewhat short, Kofi Sirobe complected man who’s aged differently than I imagined or have seen in pictures. The glisten in his smile is dim, and the swag that I thought would encapsulate him was frayed. He stood no taller than 5’8 with wrinkled grey slacks, a button-up shirt, black loafers with white house socks. A true Prince Charming.

If I didn’t already know this man, I’d absolutely turn around and head back home. I don’t consider myself shallow, but I do take pride in appearance. Especially, on a first date! But I decided to overlook it. Not making excuses for why he looked so rough, but honestly deciding not to care.

Disappointed Black Girl

As we greet one another on the sidewalk, he proceeds to ask me what I wanted to do. Given we were on a strip filled with bars and lounges – and the fact that it’s Sunday – I suggest we pop into any place on the strip and just grab a drink. I figured we wouldn’t be out longer than two hours or so.

He had other plans.

During a casual conversation walking past several potential venues to begin this meet-up. He asks me what my favorite drink is and proceeds to walk me to a liquor store.

Not being one to shy away from expressing my exact feelings, I ask the obvious. “Why the hell are we in a liquor store? We literally just walked past three different places to grab drinks.”

He replied, “Chill. We’re still going to the bar, but I was thinking we could get a bottle and hang out on my cousin’s porch first.”

I immediately replied while pointing to my attire referencing how cute I actually look, and said “Or nah… I’m not going to your cousin’s house, you can buy yourself a bottle – but I’m going to a bar.”

Ignoring the inner voice telling me to “go the hell home,” I stick with this man and follow him out the store. As we’re walking he decides that U street (another strip of bars) would be a better time and asks if I would mind changing locations.

Strike 2 

Don’t  flex and then be cheap about it, boy bye. Also, a friend wanted me to share that grown men should never order long islands. It’s a “clown” move. You’ve been warned.

Since I essentially live on the other side of town, he also offers to drive so I don’t have to move my car. I agreed, and we headed to the new location.

On our way to the new bar he stops for gas and a chaser for the unopened bottle of Jameson he’d just purchased. As he’s pumping gas I listen to him insert himself into a conversation two men were having about being clean off drugs. He offers words of encouragement to one man who proudly exclaimed that he’d been clean for five years – I mean that is dope and wish ole’ boy the best of luck, but let’s not forget we’re on a DATE! Get your ass in the car.

Getting back on the road my date starts pouring himself a drink and begins peer pressuring me to take shots. Now, I won’t act all high and mighty. I may or may not have had a drink in the car once or twice in my lifetime, but let’s be clear: it’s Sunday! Any responsible twenty-something has work in the morning. We are not drinking JaeMo in the car, pregaming for the bar.

Now, speeding up to the actual “date” part of the night (or was this all the date part of the night?). When we finally get to the bar, homie hands me a one-hundred-dollar bill and tells me to order two long islands. He tips a $3 for a $30 bill.

Strike 2.5 

I’ll admit I have the potential to have a bright future, and I can definitely give back and help people along the way. But, I will not be used. Neither will I allow a man to put that type of pressure on me. It’s my job to support you, not build you from scratch!

Finally, the date begins to look up when he starts asking me about how school and work are going. I’m thinking “yes, he’s beginning to relax and act normal.” Too bad it was short lived.

As soon as he started to seem more invested in my future career goals, the more he began to synthesize my thoughts, flipping them to position my personal endeavors as a get rich quick scheme for himself. He insists that I’m the type of woman that can get him out the city.

Strikes 3, 4, and 5

Honestly, this is when I should’ve called the night. Three strikes your out… right.   I should have phoned a friend or Ubered back to my car. I should not have stayed. 

I finally get a little breather when my date excuses himself to use the restroom. This is when I begin to send out S.O.S signals to my best friends trying to make light of a bad situation. Once he returns, he asks me to dance. To be honest I didn’t really want to. At this point in the night, I’ve decided that a nap would be much more enjoyable than extending this escapade, but I’m already out the house and now car-less, so…let’s dance!

As we’re dancing, homie starts to try and kiss me. He kisses my hand, arm, goes for my cheek and leans towards my neck. All I can think is “GET THE HELL OFF ME.” Then, he asks can he eat my p****y.

As I’m pushing him away from me he says, “I’m going to go get another drink.” Now, I personally don’t think that’s a good idea. But he leaves before I could get a word out. He comes back with a beer, we begin having a general conversation – at least 15 minutes pass – and he asks me to dance again. Against my better judgment, I agree.

Strike 6

(Clearly, he’s been “out” for a while now)

The DJ is playing reggae, so I figure the music is fast enough where he won’t have a chance to repeat what happened before. The beat drops, I start having fun and letting go, somehow my inner Rihanna creeps in and I start to buss a whine. As soon as I turn around moving my hips, I see my date unbuttoning his goddamn shirt. This is when I lose my shit. Like have you lost your mind? Why are you doing that in a bar that’s not packed, nor is it hot. We’re on a rooftop for Pete sake.

This time I go to the bathroom. I needed to remove myself entirely from the situation and I needed to contact one of my girlfriends to express more feelings about this ridiculous evening and GET OUT.

Once I return from the restroom my date asks me if I’m ready to go eat. At first, I’m like “hell no, I’m ready to go home.” But then, I think to myself, “you’ve already suffered enough, no need to be hungry.” So, we proceed out of the venue. As we’re walking out of the bar we approach a flight of stairs in which this man asks me to “hop on his back” to get down.

I tell him to get his drunk ass down the stairs and just take me to my car. Now, I just needed to leave.

(Replaying this portion of the date back in my head, I must give MYSELF at least two strikes. There is no reason I should’ve lasted on this date this long).

Walking back to the car I see him sort of stumble, so I ask if he’s okay to drive. In return, I get a brief speech about how he’s “grown” and “can handle his liquor.” We get in the car.

(Ok, this is where I struck out! I knew better than to get into that car. I take some responsibility for what happened next, but be clear, I was not at fault.)

We start driving and he’s says “I think we should go smoke.” I responded, “I’m good, luv.” He insists. I repeat, “no thank you. I just want to go home. I have to go to work in the morning.”

As we’re driving I notice two things: he’s not driving in the correct direction to get to my car, and he’s trying to make a phone call.

Now, whoever he was calling wasn’t answering the phone; and in a split second, he turned his attention away from driving and looked directly into the phone.

 

Strike 7, 8, 9, 10 

Given the way the night has progressed, I’m sure you can imagine what happened next. But in case you can’t…

This fool crashed into FOUR parked cars, all impacting non-other than the passenger side.

I don’t think God could’ve sent a more impactful sign. I literally hit the ground running. As soon as I got my bearings, I got the hell out of dodge. My life is worth so much more than all of what I put up with that evening. The moment I got both feet out of the car, my date sped off and left me alone – I didn’t care.

As I embarked on my descent down the street, I called my best friend and asked her to come pick me up. I needed to be with a trusted confidant, and, she lives less than four blocks away from the accident.

 

My BFF pulls up like the Dark Night, not asking any questions, just telling me to get in. As she’s driving me to my car my date calls. I didn’t plan on answering but given what just happened I was concerned that he might’ve gotten into an even worst accident. It could’ve been the paramedics or the police. Who knows! I answered:

 

Him: Hey did you make it back to your car?

Me: Almost.

Him: Cool. Well, do you want to link back up? I’m sorry that happened my tire is messed up. I promise I’m cool.

Me: I’m going home. Glad you’re safe.

When I finally get to my car. I’m in shock. Did I just get into a car accident on a date? Did everything that happened that night actually happen? I’m traumatized!

Somehow between the time I drove home, and when I woke up the next morning I had about 6 missed calls from my date. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to speak to that man ever again. Then, I receive a text:

 

Him: You good?

Him: Dang, no check-up?

(Did this man who got me in an accident really just ask me why I haven’t checked up on him?)

Me: Well being that you needed to get yourself together…I figured I’d wait to talk to you until I was sure you were sober.

Him: I’m okay. I’m so sorry…if there is a next time, which I hope there is, let’s do a movie and I will Uber and not drink. Movie on me.

(Did this man really just ask me on another date? Wow, confidence is through the roof. Did he say we can uber to a movie? Sir, I have my own car and unlike you, I have not crashed it into FOUR PARKED CARS! Lol. Lastly, a movie on you? Ummm who else was going to pay for it!)

Me: Lol. Nah I’m good.

Me: BLOCKED.

Fin.

The Girl you used to know

The Girl You Used to Know spends her days rustling through accounts for her firm.  She’s an avid bruncher who can be found sharing her stories while sipping on a cocktail with the ladies.  You can find her on any continent taking in the sights and sun with a cocktail in hand.