It was a hot, steamy night. The sidewalks in Chelsea smelled of sweat, urine, Starbucks coffee, teeth whitener and a weird mix of cheap cologne-that’s only sold in Chelsea, and only worn by guys who don’t live in Chelsea. I made it through the long two blocks from my apartment; tired after a long day but determined to be positive about my blind date. I waited for Mr. Wonderful in front of a local booze and food joint that had a good bar to meet at. Sweat did a dance on my forehead but I waited outside in good spirits and watched the parade of bodies walking past me like random Picasso paintings come to life. I heard my name and saw a sight that was like a blurry vision of the pictures I studied on online, except this vision was live and in color and nothing like the 10 or so pictures he sent me.
I could run away from him but that would be evil; though when you think about it, anyone who misrepresents themselves is deceptive and should be taught a lesson. Some people could be naïve or dumb. I had a feeling this dude has a habit of being left on first dates (and would be there again) when he remarked, “I’ll understand if you buzz off.” What could I do? It was hot and I wanted a cold drink.
He wouldn’t let me buy the first round; which meant I had to buy the second round and stay for awhile. As he waddled over to the bar I studied him. He wore a too tight Pepsi T-shirt that showed his willingness at advertizing his muffin top (think I’ll switch to Dr. Pepper) A feminine guy sitting next to me drawling, kept laughing to himself watching my situation or maybe it was the expression on my face. Pepsi Tight came over with our drinks-my beer and his Jack Daniels on the rocks; Pepsi Tight was hitting the hard stuff. His man boobs pointed at me like two guns in a bank robbery and I was the main hostage. His perspective loot? I guess he fancied a second date; I should have worn jogging shoes.
He basically drank his drink in two minutes; talking about himself in fevered glory. Pepsi Tight was all eye rolling and hand jittering like Helen Keller on Crack. He seemed to be a nice guy, but if Google had an official picture for delusional it would be him. I bought him another round. We started talking to the guy next to us. Soon Pepsi Tight needed to go have a cigarette. The guy next to me asked,” You got out of bed for this?” I had to laugh. It wasn’t just that he looked different from his pictures online, but we had nothing in common; I thought Michael Jackson was black; he thought he was white; it wasn’t going to work.
Back from his cigarette break Pepsi Tight went to the bar and ordered another round; I couldn’t leave now with free, cold beer coming my way. Time went on and the air conditioner started to go out in the joint. Pepsi Tight went to the bar without asking me and got a fourth round; maybe he was trying to get me drunk; I guess it worked I slept with him.
Just joking; there’s not enough alcohol in the world for that. By the fourth drink I was out the door; he was drunk as hell and wobbled out after me like a fly chasing a dog that pooped too much. On the street I tried to think of something positive to say; i'm not a total heartless jerk but luckily he just walked away like nothing ever happened. I stood and watched him strut down the street like a whore who just made forty bucks. Maybe it’s good to be delusional; Pepsi Tight was disappointed in me, but something tells me he’s disappointed on an hourly basis; I’m just disappointed in blind dates, but I’d be more disappointed if I never tried.
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