Two weird experiences this week. One that multiple people told me to mock, one that actually deserved it.
I had an extra ticket to a show. No one cancelled on me, I just bought two tickets figuring it would probably get me a date on Tinder. It did, and a fantastic time was had, but not before sending a bunch of women messages saying "Hey! Want to check out this show tonight?" One of the replies was "I can't, but if you want to grab a drink on less short notice, let me know."
The woman in question said in her profile that she was looking for a relationship. In the interest of full disclosure, I told her I was only in town for a few weeks, so a relationship wouldn't be in the cards, but I'm new in town and happy to grab drinks. New friends, and all that. Her near-immediate response: "i need a husband"
She didn't capitalize the I in that message, which was probably red flag #1, but I was fascinated. I had to keep it going. I ask if she's considered not using Tinder, since that's not where guys like me go to find a wife, though I've met some absolutely amazing women through it. She comes back: I couldn't fill out all the questions (red flag #2, keep a tally) and my friend got matched on eHarmony with a truck driver from Illinois (elitism, red flag #3). I hesitated to point out that in my own experience eHarmony offers you multiple people to choose from and instead suggest speed dating or a matchmaking service. I wasn't aware that I was talking to a woman who had been on Millionaire Matchmaker multiple times trying to find a man.
At this point I've met up with the woman who did say yes to the ticket, and as we sit down for a beer at a trivia night before the show (because that's how I roll) she encourages me to keep going because of course, this is interesting. I change tacks again: You seem lovely, but marriage is a big thing. What do you bring to the table? Why would a guy want to put a ring on it?
She replies talking about her success in real estate, that she's a total package, that she drives a pink Mercedes.
The lady I'm out with and I immediately agree to call our trivia team Pink Mercedes.
I'm preoccupied for the rest of the evening, but the next day I send her a message saying that if she's keen, I'd be happy to treat for drinks. I feel kinda bad for her, and while I may not be her Prince Charming, at least she can have a couple drinks on my dime, which I assume she'll appreciate since I have a theory that everyone working in real estate is overstating their success to appear more credible. Despite me being clear that the odds of a relationship are effectively nil, she agrees, which is either red flag #4, confirmation of my theory, or both.
It was... an entirely pleasant date with a woman I have zero compatibility with. Do we need to keep counting red flags once they completely obscure the upside of a green card? She said she could be my ticket to one within 5 minutes of us sitting down, as long as I gave her a nice wedding and a couple of kids. I ask her if she's seen Hamilton, probably because the line "I am not throwing away my shot" is running through my head.
She's a Trump supporter. Of course she's a Trump supporter. She's terrified of terrorists. Of course she is. Never mind that America could have have a 9/11 scale attack every month and you'd be more likely to die in a car accident, which I futilely tried to show her on my cell phone while she showed me instagram photos of her Pomeranians and the scars on her hands from how frequently they've bitten her. I have dog bite scars too, but I don't share them. Mostly because straining to show off barely-visible facial scars feels like trying way too hard.
The reddest flag, in my opinion, was her insistence on private schools. There's nothing that scares me more about the possibility of bringing kids into this world than the idea that they'd lack perspective and self-awareness, possibly the only two things that aren't guaranteed on the Private School-Ivy League-Goldman Sachs trajectory she wants for any kids she has.
We go our separate ways, and the next day I'm conflicted. Is this how I get what I want? To be able to grab a light day job that pays the bills while I chase my dreams of being a comic? No company is going to burn an H1-B on a salesperson, no matter how talented they are, and I don't even think I'm that talented. I don't want to risk screwing it up, so I call her. I don't text, I call her, to say I had a great time and if she's keen we should grab dinner and a comedy show. She's on board.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and it's at this point that I google her and see this. And my first thought, before "run like hell, Brian!", before "she claimed to be 32 on Tinder, but she said she was 33 on national TV four years ago," is "she's got more TV credits than I'll probably ever have". Now I'm questioning if being an entertainer is even something I want to do with my life. I mean, that's not the endgame I have in mind, but if it ends up being the endgame I face? Jesus.
I wait a couple days, then text her like a coward that I've thought it through, I don't think I'm the person she's looking for, and I wish her the best. She responds in a totally appropriate and decent manner. I hope she finds what she's looking for, but what she's looking for scares the hell out of me.
Fast forward to last night. I'm out for a beer when 3 guys roll up beside me and start berating the bartender for drinks. 2 of them are decent enough guys, but the third is just a piece of shit. Their first round, he claims, is too weak. There's no booze in these drinks, he claims. He's full of shit (if anything, this bar is generous with the pours), but he keeps ramping up, trying to get me on his side which isn't happening. I tell them I stick to draught for the reliability. He keeps treating the bartender like shit, tempering it with compliments on her appearance, which betrays just the worst attitude. Like, how little do you think of a woman that you believe saying "you're beautiful" is going to negate your hostility towards her from 5 seconds earlier? How stupid do you think she is?
He's telling his friends he's worried about spending too much on his dad's credit card, which I read as trying to discourage his friends from getting comfortable in his generosity so he had something, anything, to hold over them. Fuck if I know why they were hanging out with such a shitheel otherwise.
A couple things puzzle me about his stinginess. First off, if you're using daddy's credit card to get drunk and he's well off, chances are if he's going to be angry, he'll be pissed whether it's $40 or $400. Second, now he's asking me where the nearest strip club is, and he does not strike me as the kind of guy who gets out of a strip club without spending a ton of cash. He's so obviously desperate to have something he can claim as his own accomplishment, so clearly insecure about his inability to accomplish anything of meaning or value in the shadow of his successful father, that a stripper who knows how to handle him could take him to the cleaners.
As he leaves, he (in choronological order): scribbles Fuck You on the credit card receipt, tears it to bits, asks for the bartender's number, and flips her off when she rebuffs him. I think it's over at this point. I am mistaken.
Since I plan to have a couple more and I had been working earlier, I walk down the block to drop my laptop at the apartment. As I'm leaving, dude's yelling at a cab driver while his friend tries and fails to calm him down. The friend was a good kid. I tried to give him some career advice when the idiot he came in with was busy striking out with every group of women in the bar.
5 minutes later I'm coming back and they're still trying to get a cab, almost as if every driver they interact with immediately nopes the fuck out when this shitheel yells at them. I can't blame them for denying the fare. No clue where the third guy ended up.
A cab pulls up to let a passenger out, but the passenger didn't realize that he didn't swipe his credit card properly. So while the cab driver is yelling at the passenger to come back and re-run his card, shitheel is already piling into the cab rather than just waiting for this to clear up, or flagging any of the many cabs going through the East Village at 12:30am, or calling an Uber which seems way more in line with his clear desire for petty vengeance. He starts hurling racial slurs at the cabbie and the asian passenger who's now returned to the cab, and it strikes me that there's really no reason to use those unless you deliberately want to inflict pain on others. The asian dude trying to pay his fare takes offence to being called pretty much the worst thing you can call someone of that ethnicity by some punk in a polo, so things escalate and spill out onto the sidewalk. Shitheel pulls out his phone to record the guy he's hurling racial slurs at while he's hurling said racial slurs, which strikes me as peak counter-productivity. I kinda hope it ends up on Youtube. The doorman of the pub is outside trying to de-escalate things now, so the n-words are flying as well from shitheel.
It's just... embarrassing. I don't think I've ever acted with the viciousness this guy is hurling at anyone and everyone in a vain effort to have an impact on anything around him. To the credit of the doorman and the asian dude he's pretty much failing at that, just like he's failed at everything in his life since he happened to win the genetic lottery. Eventually the cab peels out with him and his friend in it, and I regret not telling the friend in the strongest possible terms to cut this guy out of his life.
Back inside the bar, I grab a drink and have the "what the hell just happened?" conversation with the bartender. Apparently I missed him telling her about the super-exclusive private school he attended, and how his family lives in Greenwich, just over the Connecticut border, because they're rich, but they want to dodge NYC tax rates. It occurred to me that the woman I went out with had expressed an interest in doing real estate development in Greenwich. Starter mansions, she said. Only 8000 square feet or so. I wasn't particularly surprised.
So yeah, that's my Keanu Reeves impression.