I have never been crazy about first dates. Though there is the excitement that goes along with them, mostly it involves a lot of anxiety. I hate that initial discomfort before a date and the feeling of a bomb about to explode in the pit of my stomach. Why put myself through that?

Now, one might ask how bad my dates could have possibly been to make me feel this way. It seems like I have had especially bad experiences compared to my friends. Some of my first dates could have been right out of a comedy. Though, the more appropriate genre would be horror.

What I am about to tell is the epitome of a bad date. Unfortunately, this story has not been expanded or fabricated in any way.

Once upon a time in the far-away land of Fairfax, Va., this guy – I will call him Tim – asked me out on a date to a romantic dinner and movie. He was cute and quite popular in high school. He liked me, too. So how could I resist?

In retrospect, the first mistake was agreeing to go out on Friday the 13^th.

Tim picked me up. As soon as we started driving there was a horrible scraping noise under the car, like nails down a chalkboard. It sounded like something was being dragged along. Because the scraping was so loud I could only hear half of what my date was saying. Despite that, we had a good interesting conversation.

Merging onto the highway, we got lost. He pulled off the road and started cursing at his GPS system that had apparently misled us. After 30 minutes of calling friends and family, we finally received directions on how to get to the movie theater.

As we pulled up to the theater, those on the streets stared as they maybe wondered what on earth was making that horrible sound under Tim’s car.

As Tim pulled into a parking space, he hit a car. He angrily muttered under his breath and inspected the damage. When he got back in his car, he off-handily said, “It’s fine,” and finished pulling his car into the parking spot.

He sighed and looked at me. All right, now let’s go have fun! “Ha ha, yeah, all right,” I thought to myself. But how much worse could the situation actually get?

Walking into the theater we realized we had missed the showing of Slumdog Millionaire. Just one other movie was playing at this time. So, Confessions of a Shopaholic it was. During the entire movie Tim was quite the sport. I have to admit he did a pretty good job of pretending to look interested in the girlie, pre-teen movie. Of course he had to make it more awkward by trying to put his arm around me. He could pick up on my awkward vibe because within five minutes his arm was back by his side.

When the movie ended, it was only 10 p.m., not late enough to pull the whole “Oops it’s getting past my curfew excuse.” So, instead I used the “I’m not feeling very well, so I should probably get back home,” excuse. That one he bought, thank God.

As we were driving away from the theater, I saw a girl clutching her ears from the screeching sound Tim’s car was making.

Within five minutes of heading back, we heard a huge bang. What was that we wondered? Tim got out of his car to inspect the situation.

From the side view mirrors I saw Tim pick up his bumper from the side of the road, lug it back to his car and stick it in the trunk. The good news? There would be no more screeching for the rest of the drive home.

We were almost home when Tim stopped at a gas station because the tank was nearly empty.

“Shoot,” I heard Tim shout from the side of the car. “Oh, no,” I thought to myself. What could it possibly be this time?

“What’s wrong Tim?” I sweetly asked. He informed me that he did not have his wallet. He must have left it in the theater.  In one fell swoop, I stepped out of the car and went up to the counter to pay for Tim’s gas.

“All right, let’s get you home,” Tim sadly remarked as he finished pumping the gas and sat back down in the car. He said he would go retrieve it the following day. As much as it pained me to say it, and believe me, it did pain me, I convinced him to head back to the theater to retrieve it.

We looked but did not find the wallet. So we finally migrated back to the car and called it a night. We were both rather silent the entire way back.

And we lived happily never after.

I did not talk to Tim for a while after that day. In fact, the next and last text I got from him said he had brought his car in to the shop and was told that after hearing that screeching noise we should not have taken it on the highway. There was a good chance it could have exploded.

Well, there it is folks. Still don’t understand why I don’t like first dates?

The good news is the experience makes an amazing story. Seriously, whenever I encounter an awkward conversation I just ask, “Hey, wanna hear a funny story?” Not to mention, I know in the back of my head that a date cannot possibly get worse than that.

By: Nicole DiAntonio

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