First Date at Chicago Fire: That time my Tinder Date CRIED

I met the guy on Tinder. He had a nice bio, a nice smile, and cleverly quipped with me over text. The intellectual chemistry was fairly smooth and (with heavy peer pressure from my friends) agreed to a date with him fairly quickly. He seemed entertaining enough, and he certainly got my jokes.

We were to meet at Chicago Fire, a restaurant and bar in Midtown that I had always wanted to try, but had never gone to, so I was pleased over the location. Although when I got there I realized it was within a block or two of Rick's Dessert Diner... a special place for Daniel and I, and also within walking distance of Daniel's apartment. It threw me off, and the non-nonchalant vibe I had been trying to fake to myself crumbled as I sat and cried in my car for a bit. I hate dating in general, and I hate the pressure that comes with meeting new people- jumping through hoops, unconsciously trying to impress each other- even if you don't really like them there's always some level of posturing, and of course the nerves. I also always felt like I was cheating on Daniel. This should have probably indicated I hadn't taken enough time for myself before attempting the dating scene, but I was getting so much flack and pressure from my friends about how I needed to "move on" that I felt that I had to start going out, even though I was pretty much crying every day, not eating, and felt horrendously depressed. It might have been a wise recommendation that I attend group therapy, but this was the best idea my friends came up with. "Use them for free drinks and get even for all the men that have screwed you over," they said. But I won't let them pay for my drinks unless I'm interested. So that doesn't usually work in my favor.

This guy was intelligent, kind, educated, had a good job with the legislature... it had potential- why not? I didn't really ask many questions about the future or what he was interested in or looking for and tried to just go with it, which for me is pretty off the wall and out of character.

I walked the two dark blocks to Chicago Fire and pushed the heavy door open into the restaurant. At first I didn't see anyone appearing to be waiting for me, or anyone obviously sitting alone at the bar, like a date would be. I knew he was  already there, so I was a little confused. Then, from a dirty table covered in plates and half eaten pizza, an extremely vertically challenged man waved me over.

My date had apparently commandeered a used table.

I awkwardly perched on a stool in front of some other person's half eaten pizza crust and smiled at my date... and tried not to stare. A large wound of some kind seemed to be protruding from the middle of his forehead.

...What the hell was that?

I smile. We shake hands. "So you must be very full from all of these pizzas! Exactly how many other dates did you have before me?!" I start needling him right away. Trying not to stare. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?

He makes some jokes about the line of Tinderellas that preceded me in the restaurant.

I keep glancing back and forth between his face... and that thing on his forehead.

Is it is a zit? A massive, gigantic zit?

I lean on my hands and try to look away... and not put my elbow in the marinara sauce on the table.

This is already so awkward. 

The banter is quick and witty and entertaining, but already I have thought a thousand times, What the hell is he thinking? 

Finally a waitress comes and clears the table.

It's so dark in the restaurant I just can't get a look at the massive tumor on his head. It's a zit right? A giant big bite? Why doesn't he acknowledge it? Just own it! Doesn't he know I'm avoiding looking at him simply so I won't stare?

Suddenly the conversation turns. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but our witty banter suddenly shifted to a serious discussion about his family. I pause. I had already been struggling to keep up while I invented various stories about the massive tumor in the middle of his face. He leans his face into mine and... launched into specific detail about each member of his family's psychiatric history...

I clear my throat. I nod empathatically. I too, am wildly guilty of the over-sharing. Everyone knows this. Perhaps he hasn't realized he's starting to tread too far. I make a joke and try to help him back pedal. He shakes his head and plunges farther into stories of electric shock treatments and suicide attempts and people being committed to various asylums. Mmmkay.

"You just can't save everybody." No, looney date, sometimes you can't.

Now he was discussing his maternal side of the family. Surely he couldn't have too many more relatives?

"That must be very difficult for you,"I hear myself saying. I sip my beer. He shows no sign up stopping so I better pace myself.

Suddenly I hear a bizarre choking noise. I glance at my date. I had been trying so hard to not look at him directly so as to avoid wondering about that THING on his head.

He was crying. CRYING. The man was openly weeping at the table. He had begun talking about a cousin and had just lost it.  I glance at my iPhone. I had been on this date for 36 minutes. My date was sobbing at the table. WHAT EXACTLY IS THE PROPER PROTOCOL FOR THAT?

He continues sniffling and sobbing, babbling on about his mentally ill cousin. I have no idea what to do. DO I PAT HIM? HUG HIM? What if the tumor is contagious? A tear splashes to the dirty table. I have no idea where to turn my gaze. The sauce covered high top. The zitty tumor, which now curiously looks like it might have some dried blood in it. My date's tear-stained face. I admire my hands. I've always thought I had such pretty hands.

"We all have our challenges,"I hear myself saying.

My date sucks some snot back into his nasalcavity.

I try not to gag.

The waitress wizzes over with the check. "Split it?" My date says, suddenly recovered. Praise Jesus.
"Suuuuure." I respond, hesitatingly.  But shouldn't I get the beer for free as compensation?

"So, would you like to come back to my place? Or maybe grab another drink at the bar next door?"
"What?" How is this hell not over yet?
"It's only 9:40! I can make you a drink at my apartment around the corner, or do you want to go next door?"
"Uh, we just met, I don't usually hang out at my friends houses until I've known them for at least a few months."

I am so thrown by the invitation back to his apartment. Is he seriously asking me back to his house? Like.. for a hook up? Am I being punked? I scan the restaurant with sudden suspicion.
 
"Well I live right across the hall from my sister, so girls usually like that! Plus we have this open door policy, so-"
"Wait, what?"
"An open door policy! You know, she can come in whenever. "

"You mean, she like... walks in on you? With dates?"
"Well, I mean, yeah, that's happened."
"Isn't that... awkward...?"
Long pause "Well, I mean... It can be. But my dates still usually really like it."

"Uh...." I stare blankly for a minute...Okay, so I am just going to go with this... "So, since you guys basically live together, do you ever just like... open your apartment doors and make like a big apartment together?"

"What do you mean?"
"You know, like just open your doors, and like, seal the doors open with tape. Close yourselves off from the world!" ....Like Flowers in the Attic.
"I don't get it."
"Hmmm." Maybe he isn't that witty.
"Bar next door?"
I glance at my phone. It is 9:43pm. I have been on this date since 9:04. If I left right then, it would totally feel like I was ditching the poor crying tumor guy. I mean, the snot hadn't even totally dried off of his face yet. He's clearly never going on another date in his life so, can I write this off on my taxes as a charity donation?  "Uhh, I guess." A mercy-drink if there ever was one. I picked up my purse and rolled my eyes as I followed him out the door.

Now the advantage to going to the horrible dive bar next door was a giant SPOTLIGHT highlighted this thing on his head the second we slid into a booth in the back. I could finally see what in the hell this thing was. STITCHES. He had flipping STITCHES going across the middle of his face. At least a dozen of them. WHAT THE HELL?

We got a couple more beers; I took a couple of sips and I went to the restroom. Sitting on the toilet, I collapse my head into my hands. Shit. There's no way I can drink any more of that beer I just ordered. I had left it unattended with the crier and if I was ever going to get roofied on a date this was for sure the one. Shit. I'll just pretend I'm drunk instead of actually getting drunk. As soon as I came back I slid into my seat and got ready to go hog wild.

"SO."
"So?"
"What exactly happened there?" I point to the stitches.
"I was wondering when you were going to bring that up."
"Why not just volunteer the information yourself? Isn't it more awkward not to?"
He shrugs. "I had a cyst drained. It was the size of a golf ball. It really wasn't that big of a deal, but they had to wrap my entire head in gauze the day I had it done. Wanna see?"
"UH, YEAH."

He busts out the photos. It looks like he had brain surgery. Nothing is visible except his mouth and his bug eyes.
"My friend took me out bar hopping afterwards. Just for the reaction. Best night of my life."

...Yeah I bet.

"Well, my cat needs his insulin shot." I am so loving my cat at this moment.
"Your what needs his what?"
"Oh did I not mention? Yeah I have like 3 pets. All are super high maintenance. The cat has to have that insulin shot right on time or he might die. So I have to get going."
"Oh. I was having such a good time though. I thought you might want to go to my apartment after this."
"Uh.... Well, the cat though."
"Oh. Well. Can I walk you to your car?"
"Oh, I am good, I am right there, thanks so much!"

Then I ran out of the bar, darted around like 5 other cars to make sure he didn't follow me, circled the block like 6 times to again make sure he wasn't tailing me, and then sped home and locked all of the doors. And windows.

So what's your best worst date story? Because this was pretty good for me.