When is a date not a date…?

When I started this blog my intention was never for it to become a dating blog. And in all honesty I don’t really go on enough dates for me to write about them continuously anyway. But I must admit I do have a slight aversion to writing about my sexploits. However in this modern age of an over saturated online dating market most of my single friends and even a few of my loved up ones have at least one of those inexplicably unbelievable stories that every person who’s been actively on the dating scene in their 20s has experienced.

And this my friends is very much one of those tales.

It was CPs birthday and after a slightly chaotic surprise gone awry we spent a hysterical few hours playing games and prinking (pre-drinking to the uninitiated) at the flat before we headed to Shoreditch. After the birthday girl settled on Mother bar my first inkling that it was gonna be a good night (think Black Eyed Peas) was realised when I spotted a semi hotty manning the door.

We entered the bar and I soon recognised I was in my element. The DJ was spinning some commercial R n B, the downstairs level wasn’t too packed and I was the right amount of tipsy for a flirt. After participating in a bit of flanter (flirty banter) with 2 boys I met on the roof I headed to the club room on the middle level which was heaving.

And on the dance floor is where I met Jordan. He wasn’t bad looking and when he asked if I wanted to go for a drink sometime, I was in awe of his boldness and also a little swayed by the way we met. (I’m an advocate of meeting men organically as opposed to online especially as this seldom happens in the current dating climate). So of course I said yes.

After swapping numbers, we texted each other sporadically for about a week and I can’t say the conversation was exactly scintillating however I am not overly reliant on textual chemistry (or the lack thereof) any longer, having been burned in the past.

We planned to meet the following Thursday and the night before, we made arrangements. I explained that I had a meeting in Barnet in the morning but would be able to get back to Islington in the afternoon. He told me he that he worked in Brixton til 3:30 and offered to meet me in Barnet. As I was conscious that it was so far away I counter offered to meet in Islington to make it easier. He assured me that meeting in Barnet was no problem as it was close to where he lived and only needed to catch one bus. As he finished at 3:30 I suggested we meet at 5, to which he agreed.

And then it was Thursday…and that’s when the shit hit the fan.

After spending a long day in the fiery pits (the AC in Barnet was broken) at 4 I received a message asking where I was. I must admit I found this a little odd as I’m sure I’d explained I would be working in Barnet. But no matter I reiterated where I was, to receive the response “OK sit tight, I’m coming” I laughed this off and responded that I was still at work so there was no rush. If only I’d known…

At quarter to 5 I received a follow up message asking what time I finished work. Upon reading this I must say I was seriously questioning this boys ability to absorb and retain information. (Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday?)

One thing I think it’s quite pertinent to know about me, before I continue, is that I have not been blessed with the largest amount of patience ever bestowed. In fact it’s fair to say that when God was handing out this particular characteristic I was probably in the food appreciation queue for the second time.

I  presumed that he was just double checking our meeting time and assured him that I would be finished in 15 minutes. He then proceeded to tell me that he would be in Barnet before 6.

Excuse me? Before 6? Did we not agree to meet at 5? Was he taking the piss? 

All thoughts that flashed through my head before I summoned just enough patience (remember, not my strong point) to ask exactly how long he would be.

He then told me that it takes half an hour on the bus. Although admittedly perturbed at his disregard for the fact that I would be hanging around in Barnet with nothing to do for at least 30 minutes I responded that as I had to be out of the building by half 5 I could work til then but if he was to be any longer I would prefer to reschedule. In my opinion allowing him to be half an hour late for a first meeting was being pretty damn accommodating.

Another thing you should know about me is that one of my biggest pet peeves is when people have me waiting around for them, which of course is very much a bi-product of the impatience issue. My friend SB is often late for our meetings and even she does not escape a salty comment tossed her way if she has me waiting for longer than 10 minutes, and I’ve known her for over 9 years.

Following my thinly veiled ultimatum, he assured me he would be in Barnet by half 5. So I left it at that…

5 minutes later a ding alerted me to a new message and I felt an unexplained sense of trepidation, before I glanced at my phone. I both thank and curse the person who invented the ‘show message on lock screen’ feature. Such a convenient thing that I didn’t even need to open the message to be confronted with such drivel I barely knew how to respond. From the locked screen I read the message “I guess you don’t want to see me as much as I thought you did” and the red haze that descended before my eyes wouldn’t have been done justice by Picasso himself. I responded with an underwhelming “Pardon?” as I was in such shock my eloquence escaped me.

And now my friends is when the situation descended into complete madness.

Jordan proceeded to tell me that he’d informed me he finished work in South London at half 3 and that it takes him an hour to get home to East London and then he’d have to come straight back out to see me in North London. He then went on to say that, if he was worth it (what arrogance!), that I would wait and that I should appreciate that he’s come from that far away to see me.

Apparently I should appreciate having to wait around on the street for over half an hour for someone I don’t yet know and haven’t really had a chance to assess whether he is indeed worth it or not…yeah right!

I argued that when I suggested we meet at 5 he had every opportunity (ideally more than 15 minutes before we were supposed to meet) to make me aware he wouldn’t make it and I would have happily altered the meeting point / time or at the very least geared myself up to wait. At no point had he even hinted that it would be a problem. I explained (as I have to you dear friends) that I have no patience for waiting around (even for friends I have known for over 9 years) and that I didn’t appreciate him trying to guilt me by saying he’d come a long way to see me, when the only reason I’d agreed to stay in Barnet was to make it easier for him.

He conceded that yes he should have told me he wouldn’t make it for 5 but then completely undid any small advantage that would have made by contradicting himself and saying that he assumed I would know how long it would take for him to get home (yes because I live in your house and travel your journey everyday). He then brought it home with, if he had driven and been late due to being in traffic that I wouldn’t have complained then (actually, I still wouldn’t have been happy having to wait around no matter the circumstance, well in fairness if  there was an emergency I would have been more understanding, but poor time keeping and not communicating effectively is not an adequate excuse).

At no point did this person apologise for being late as is courteous and expected in these situations or even acknowledge that he was causing me any inconvenience at all because my time is clearly so worthless. And I felt him acting as if I was being unreasonable for expressing some dissatisfaction at having to wait for over 30 minutes, was completely ungracious.

I’ve already given you an overly detailed narrative of our dialogue that day but it still astonishes me now that I’ve even had the experience of having such an intense argument with someone I do not know. As they say there are two sides to every story and I can only tell you mine. However I cannot for the life of me figure out how he felt his actions were even a little bit justifiable. To make an already long story a tiny bit shorter than it could be, I decided it would have been too awkward to sit across from him having borne his accusations, and I was too fuming to even attempt to be polite let alone nice. It would have been a disaster.

Yet even after I messaged saying I didn’t feel like going for a drink after all and promptly headed to the station in order to make my way home, I received another message 15 minutes later (when he eventually arrived in Barnet, 40 minutes late I might add) he messaged asking whether I was still there?

All I have to say is, I think I had a lucky escape as he’s clearly not the brightest Crayola in the box.

So the answer to my question ‘when is a date not a date?

…when the date turns into a disaster!


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