#first-date

Have you ever participated in some nonsense and wondered how you found yourself in that situation. It happens to me more often than I'd like. It's never life threatening or otherwise dangerous—just crazy. 

I'm talking about the kinds of things that happen and you feel like you need to write about them but you don't really want anyone to know you did something so stupid. Well this is one of those times.

In 2004, I moved to New York City. I was a contract attorney so initially I changed jobs every few months. During this time, I belonged to a popular gym chain with locations throughout the city, sometimes literally less than a block from one another.

As with most chain gyms, the personal trainers were prevalent and persistent—really quite aggressive—to say the least. I wore headphones and still some would step onto the treadmill next to me while I was running to strike up a conversation. Irksome!

One day, I must have forgotten my headphones because I remember being forced to engage this one trainer who had been stalking me…okay perhaps stalking is too harsh but that's what it began to feel like. He was nice enough and, for reasons beyond me, on this particular day, I agreed that we could "go out sometime." Now, by "go out sometime," I really meant never ever go out. But how was he to know this?

Physically he wasn't at all my type. So why did you agree to go with him? I honestly don't know. I've never been the type of person who could be worn down so that wasn't it. The only thing that I can think of is that I thought maybe, at the very least, we would just have a little fun and that would be that. I was still new to the city and had turned over a new leaf, which meant stepping out of my pleasant loner life and "trying new things." Perhaps I should have tried getting high instead.

Problems immediately began to surface, even in the planning phase of our now official date—his interpretation not mine. And yet I still didn't just call it off.

First, I'm in bed by 9 pm. That's pretty much a non-negotiable for me unless there are extreme and extenuating circumstances. A date does not fall into this category. He said that he wasn't able to meet me until 8 pm. Still, I did not simply call it off.

No one to blame but myself.

So the evening began. I had dinner with a friend near Lincoln Center. He was to meet me at 8 somewhere near there and then we would have a drink or something. I don't drink alcohol so really, at this point, what's even in this for me? 

My friend held out and waited with me so that there would be someone to identify him if I came up missing. At least, this is what we discussed over dinner. I had no real or imagined reason to believe that this would happen. The guy, in fact, seemed rather goofy to me, which is not how I think of murderers. 

At around 9 pm when he had still not arrived, my friend went home. She lived in the Bronx so had a long train ride ahead of her. I think he finally arrived at 9:30 pm. It was Fall and pleasantly cool outdoors. He pulled up in a convertible with the top down. As we sped down the Westside highway, music blasting, cold air whipping, I thought …

No one to blame but myself. 

But now I have to see it through, right? Just how crazy can things get?

We arrived at a restaurant. I told him I had already eaten but by now I was actually a bit hungry again so I ordered coffee and dessert. I couldn't feel my hands so I remember rubbing them together over the candle on our table. It was a very romantic restaurant. Why?

No one to blame but myself. 

He ate. He giggled. He drank what appeared to be a half glass of wine.

I don't remember anything that we talked about or if we talked at all. But I insisted that he put the top up when we left and turn down the music. He stumbled a bit as we walked back toward the car, announcing that the half glass of wine had made him tipsy. He was about 6'3 and 200+ lbs. How in the hell was he tipsy?

No one to blame but myself. 

I did ask if he was okay to drive. He assured me that he was. At 90 mph, back up the Westside highway we went. When he pulled up in front of my apartment to let me out, he leaned over to try to kiss me. I was out of the car before he even opened his eyes to see that I was ghost. With my back to him, I waved and yelled goodnight. He sped off.

I began to laugh as I made my way upstairs, hoping and praying that my roommate would be awake. She was. I couldn't even consider this a date. I don't really know what this was or how I had gotten myself into this. 

But then Monday rolled around and I had to hit the gym. He wasn't there. But Tuesday, he approached me all smiles, saying we should hook up again sometime. I said maybe. WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME? He asked me out many many more times over the next 3 or 4 months and I came up with every excuse I could find. Why not just say no? I thought he would get the hint but he was relentless, which made coming up with even more outlandish excuses a game.

I told him everything except that I was gay or joining a convent. Then finally I switched jobs and moved to a gym closer to the new job. I never saw him again. But he was one of the great lessons of my life.

Here's what I learned:

1. Don't date someone at a place you frequent because avoiding him or her will be difficult if things fall apart.

2. You don't have to be flexible on a first date. If someone is more than 15 minutes late, go home. 

3. Be willing to end a date early. I should have left before he arrived to pick me up or when he refused to put the convertible top up on the way to the restaurant or when a half glass of wine made him tipsy.

4. Tell the truth. The few months after that one "date" were uncomfortable for me at the gym. I should have simply said that I wasn't interested in going out with him again. I could have shared the real reasons with him but chose not to because I could not fathom that he didn't realize that the date was crazy.

5. On first dates, it is preferable to meet the person at a designated location. That way, no one is committed to see it through to the end of the evening and you don't consider staying because (s)he's your ride home.