"M" is for "Michael"
A recent question from suewan got me thinking about Chim Chim and the two worst dates of my life (yes, both with him). Here, in its entirety, is something I posted on The Antioch92 Message Board many, many months ago. Enjoy.
So I'll take up Dolphin's baton and tell the stories of my two worst dates ever (and both with the same guy, I might add):
The runner up: I'm in Pittsburgh for spring break or Thanksgiving or something and I give my ex, Mike (aka "Chim Chim") a call. We decide to go out. Mike picks me up (I have no car) and we go to some bar, where he drinks himself silly (as always) and I don't even try to keep up. At some point we move to another bar; a bar I quickly discover is a gay bar. Not that I have a problem with gay bars, but apparently Mike frequents them, because whether or not he's willing to admit it to himself, he's gay. Sure enough, Mike gets to talking to some guy (also named Mike), and before long, they decide to go home together. So what happens to me? I go out and wait for a bus home, while my "date" drives off and hooks up with some guy.
But that's nothing compared to:
The winner: I'm in Pittsburgh again, and, like an idiot, I've called Mike. I remember this one specifically: it's Thanksgiving 1992, and I'm visiting from Chicago. At around 6:00 p.m. Mike picks me up at home, and we once again drive to some bar. I remember it was Hemingway's, a fairly decent bar/restaurant. Mike's slugging 'em back; I remember he actually made a comment that he wished he had a colostomy bag so he could just drink nonstop and never have to get up to go to the bathroom (this should've been my first clue). Maybe Hemingway's closes, or maybe we just get stir crazy, because we get back in the car and head to Chief's, a much seedier bar (the kind of place that has 75-cent pony bottles and that never cards, so it's full of teenagers). Mike continues drinking heavily. I forget if we met up with a friend of his or if he just knew of a party in the area, but after Chief's we head to someone's house. This is vaguely fun for a while because there are one or two people at this house / party / gathering who are old friends that I haven't seen since high school and it's nice to catch up. That said, it's already getting pretty late and after being at this house for a little while, I get pretty tired. Mike's of course too busy getting drunk to take me home, so I find a quiet corner and a pile of coats and curl up there and take a nap. Who knows how long I sleep for, but eventually Mike wakes me up and says it's time to go. We get outside, and by this point Mike is sentimental drunk (you know, that "I love you" phase). We're standing by the car and he starts saying all this stuff about how glad he is to see me again, how much he loves me, and how he wishes we could go and find a motel room. I say something along the lines of "you should've thought of that four hours ago." Anyhow, turns out we're not going home, but rather going with some friend of his to Ritter's, a crappy all-night diner. Mike's friend says Mike's too drunk to drive, so he takes Mike's keys and then we all get into the friend's car and head to Ritter's. At Ritter's, it becomes clear that this friend is a total drunken asshole. I forget how it starts, but M.F. ("Mike's Friend," or, alternately, "Mother Fucker") starts throwing little bits of bread at me. I get annoyed, so of course M.F. kicks it up a notch by throwing bits of bread into my water glass. I think Mike tells him to cool it and get the bread out of my water, and M.F. accomplishes this by dumping the glass of water all over my lap. At this point I say "that's it - I've had it" and get up and go outside, figuring I'll hail a cab and head home. This is the night that I learn that you can't hail a cab in Pittsburgh. After standing out there with my arm in the air for at least 10 minutes, Mike comes out, apologizes for M.F., and basically pleads with me that if I'll just come back inside and stay though this meal, then he'll drive me home. I figure I don't really have another option, since I have yet to see a taxi, so I go back inside. The rest of the meal is thankfully uneventful, and after we're done, sure enough, M.F. drives us back to Mike's car and says goodnight. Have you been paying attention to the story? Because if you have, you'll remember that while Mike gave M.F. his car keys because he was drunk, M.F. never gave them back, and has now driven off into the night. At this point I'm livid. I tell Mike that I don't care if he has to hoist me onto his back and carry me, but one way or another, he's going to get me home. He ponders this for a moment, and says if I've got change for the pay phone, he can get me a ride. I give him the change and guess who he calls? His girlfriend. You heard me right: his girlfriend. Throughout this whole extravaganza, Mike has neglected to mention that now he has a girlfriend. But for whatever reason, this woman gets up out of bed, comes and picks us up, and drives me home. It is now around 6:00 a.m. The date lasted 12 full hours. This was more than a decade ago, and it still wins hands down as my worst date EVER.
So I'll take up Dolphin's baton and tell the stories of my two worst dates ever (and both with the same guy, I might add):
The runner up: I'm in Pittsburgh for spring break or Thanksgiving or something and I give my ex, Mike (aka "Chim Chim") a call. We decide to go out. Mike picks me up (I have no car) and we go to some bar, where he drinks himself silly (as always) and I don't even try to keep up. At some point we move to another bar; a bar I quickly discover is a gay bar. Not that I have a problem with gay bars, but apparently Mike frequents them, because whether or not he's willing to admit it to himself, he's gay. Sure enough, Mike gets to talking to some guy (also named Mike), and before long, they decide to go home together. So what happens to me? I go out and wait for a bus home, while my "date" drives off and hooks up with some guy.
But that's nothing compared to:
The winner: I'm in Pittsburgh again, and, like an idiot, I've called Mike. I remember this one specifically: it's Thanksgiving 1992, and I'm visiting from Chicago. At around 6:00 p.m. Mike picks me up at home, and we once again drive to some bar. I remember it was Hemingway's, a fairly decent bar/restaurant. Mike's slugging 'em back; I remember he actually made a comment that he wished he had a colostomy bag so he could just drink nonstop and never have to get up to go to the bathroom (this should've been my first clue). Maybe Hemingway's closes, or maybe we just get stir crazy, because we get back in the car and head to Chief's, a much seedier bar (the kind of place that has 75-cent pony bottles and that never cards, so it's full of teenagers). Mike continues drinking heavily. I forget if we met up with a friend of his or if he just knew of a party in the area, but after Chief's we head to someone's house. This is vaguely fun for a while because there are one or two people at this house / party / gathering who are old friends that I haven't seen since high school and it's nice to catch up. That said, it's already getting pretty late and after being at this house for a little while, I get pretty tired. Mike's of course too busy getting drunk to take me home, so I find a quiet corner and a pile of coats and curl up there and take a nap. Who knows how long I sleep for, but eventually Mike wakes me up and says it's time to go. We get outside, and by this point Mike is sentimental drunk (you know, that "I love you" phase). We're standing by the car and he starts saying all this stuff about how glad he is to see me again, how much he loves me, and how he wishes we could go and find a motel room. I say something along the lines of "you should've thought of that four hours ago." Anyhow, turns out we're not going home, but rather going with some friend of his to Ritter's, a crappy all-night diner. Mike's friend says Mike's too drunk to drive, so he takes Mike's keys and then we all get into the friend's car and head to Ritter's. At Ritter's, it becomes clear that this friend is a total drunken asshole. I forget how it starts, but M.F. ("Mike's Friend," or, alternately, "Mother Fucker") starts throwing little bits of bread at me. I get annoyed, so of course M.F. kicks it up a notch by throwing bits of bread into my water glass. I think Mike tells him to cool it and get the bread out of my water, and M.F. accomplishes this by dumping the glass of water all over my lap. At this point I say "that's it - I've had it" and get up and go outside, figuring I'll hail a cab and head home. This is the night that I learn that you can't hail a cab in Pittsburgh. After standing out there with my arm in the air for at least 10 minutes, Mike comes out, apologizes for M.F., and basically pleads with me that if I'll just come back inside and stay though this meal, then he'll drive me home. I figure I don't really have another option, since I have yet to see a taxi, so I go back inside. The rest of the meal is thankfully uneventful, and after we're done, sure enough, M.F. drives us back to Mike's car and says goodnight. Have you been paying attention to the story? Because if you have, you'll remember that while Mike gave M.F. his car keys because he was drunk, M.F. never gave them back, and has now driven off into the night. At this point I'm livid. I tell Mike that I don't care if he has to hoist me onto his back and carry me, but one way or another, he's going to get me home. He ponders this for a moment, and says if I've got change for the pay phone, he can get me a ride. I give him the change and guess who he calls? His girlfriend. You heard me right: his girlfriend. Throughout this whole extravaganza, Mike has neglected to mention that now he has a girlfriend. But for whatever reason, this woman gets up out of bed, comes and picks us up, and drives me home. It is now around 6:00 a.m. The date lasted 12 full hours. This was more than a decade ago, and it still wins hands down as my worst date EVER.