My most recent process of elimination has members of ‘The Cakes McCain Peanut Gallery’ running through the proverbial revolving door (and subsequent deleting of their numbers from my cel).
This is proving to be increasingly useful as it seems to be clarifying my own personal deal-breakers and what I am willing and not willing to compromise on, which is not very much these days since the ‘Traveler’ showed up with his authentic, open-minded awesomeness, and happy, bullshit-free mojo. (But unfortunately in and out of my life within a way-too-short period and without the opportunity to know him better.) Now as I reflect on recent events and analyze the results of a highly tuned bullshit detector, I may need a much larger Peanut Gallery to start with.
This brings me to Wednesday’s date with ‘Edge-Wise’ and the fact I never actually made it (by choice) into the passenger seat of his car.
We had agreed on a time to meet up for our date 2 days prior. It was to be 8:30pm in the piazza in my village. He had originally suggested 9, but considering the time it would take to reach the restaurant (40 min) and by the time we ordered and dinner was served it would likely be past 10, so I suggested 8:30 – to which he agreed – saying he would leave work a little early that evening. (He claimed to be an Engineer). I also suggested that he make a reservation, oddly enough that hadn’t remotely occurred to him. (I wondered if I should be concerned over that.)
It was 8:45 Wednesday when I received a text telling me he was just leaving work in Salerno – which is 20 minutes away. However annoying this was, as I was ready and waiting to leave, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I made little fuss and only said he should have mentioned that earlier. 20 minutes later I sent him a text asking where he was, considering he may have been caught in traffic. ” Vietri” he said – a mere 10 minute drive from my village. Despite the fact I had an inclination that he wasn’t quite telling me the truth, (benefit of the doubt again) I generously ball-parked, another 20 minutes.
But by this time I really started to get a sick feeling in my stomach I couldn’t quite explain, along with a voice in my head telling me: “Somethings off here, don’t go… Go home and make a nice veggie burger for dinner then maybe some popcorn later and curl up on the beanbag chair with the dogs and watch ‘True Romance’ – you love that film.” As more minutes passed, the more physically intense the feeling became.
At 9:20 I waited in the village piazza, wearing my bon-vivant vintage dress, perfectly coiffed and perfumed while being molested by swarms of famished mosquitoes. I finally got a call from him confused as to where he needed to turn to get to my village. WTF? – He was only 5 minutes away on a country road with no traffic, and only needed to make one turn. Although I was clearing explaining the directions, he repeatedly interrupted me despite every time I began with: “LISTEN…” and ending with “there are also road signs you can follow.” The exact conversation took place again 10 minutes later.
At 9:43 pm my voice was still telling me to cut my losses and get the hell out of there. I then sent him a text: “I am going home, I am getting attacked by mosquitoes,” hoping he would just give up and forget the whole thing. He then replied a minute later: “I’ve arrived where are you now?”
Despite my patience had all been exhausted and I really felt like kicking him repeatedly in the face at that point, I back-tracked to the piazza. I felt I at least owed him a “hello” and polite greeting for showing up, but at the same time hoping for a way to get out of spending an entire evening with this idiot.
From the moment I opened the passenger-side door he began an unbreakable rant ie. how he had gotten lost on the way to the village and took the wrong turn. How could this person possibly be an Engineer? Generally they are educated, can at least follow simple directions, and read for that matter. I kept my cool despite I wanted to say something like: “If you would have shut your f’cking hole for once, and actually listened – you could have been here an hour ago.”
However the fact he was NOW, technically 1 hour 15 minues late was the LEAST of my concern… He had made no mention or apologized for his attire .
I stood there on the street, leaning over with my hand resting on the car door looking at him in utter disbelief. He was a certifiable slob, and there was no way I was getting into a car with this creep. Even serial killers have been known to make an effort. Still on his talking jag, he sat there, oblivious in a grimy faded black t-shirt covering a fat gut big enough to rest at least 2 Happy meals and a few steins of ale. His hair was long and stringy and he looked like he couldn’t afford much more than a ham and cheese sandwich.
Come to think of it – he WAS a ham and cheese sandwich. Not even the good kind that come with special cheeses on delicious, freshly-baked bread like you find in a European deli, and which they call ‘Croque-monsieur’ in France. NO, we’re talking the pink, slimy, chemical-tasting ham with process cheese from plastic wrap sitting between slices of Wonder Bread… the ones that are born from public school vending machines, and 24-hr mini-marts at gas stations.
Who the hell was he trying to kid? How could we go anywhere with him dressed like cleaning staff from a mental hospital? (Other than perhaps the all-nite drive-thru at a McDonald’s.) I was momentarily speechless until I could finally articulate – at least partially what was on my mind… and knowing at least single Italian gals would be forming solidarity with me on this one (even if some of them were materialistic arm-ornaments with cardboard vaginas.)
“Excuse me one second… we are going to eat at that restaurant ‘Torre Normanna,’ correct?”
One of the finest restaurants along the Amalfi Coast built inside an ancient tower, where it is at least 100 euros per person for dinner, not including any beverage or dessert.
We are going to Torre Normanna? YOU are going to Torre Normanna like THAT, with a T-shirt?”
I was noticeably furious by now at his bullshit ie. his ‘fine-dining dangling carrot’ and overall oblivious disregard of f’cking everything.
“ARE YOU JOKING?!”
He shrugged as if to say: “Yeah, so what?”
“I just came from work.”
Despite whatever his deal was, even it was legit and didn’t have anything to do with his overall colossal stupidity – This man had no sense of even the slightest decorum to begin with, mix it with the extreme over-zealousness he exhibited before we even met, and calling me “princess” – proves it was just some sort of compensation for he fact he was an epic defect with no clue. Plus if I would have had to sit across from him for more that 15 seconds at dinner, while he talked non-stop I would have climbed over the table and stabbed him with a fork.
“I’M SORRY. NO. I’M NOT GOING. Goodbye.”
I wasn’t sorry. I closed the car door and didn’t look back. I was relieved and contented to be home moments later to take off my make-up, throw on my PJ’s, make myself a veggie burger and snuggle up with good company in front of the telly. Until I find someone special that is on the same page… I suspect I may have many more evenings as such, but I can live with that.