So, there was this guy I met in a bar; let’s call him Steve. Honestly, his name might be Steve. Damned if I remember. Anyway, Steve made eye contact with me a few times, despite the fact I was with a few male friends. Eventually, he caught me by himself and sparked a conversation. I wasn’t instantly attracted, despite the fact that he was pretty cute. He seemed to be about 5’7, 5’8. I’m 5’9 and I stand 6’0 in heels. A shorter guy has to be dope as Hell to really impress me. I’m not even that shallow, it’s just a matter of my comfort. I don’t wanna feel like no giant!

Well, we chatted for a few minutes and I found out that he had a degree, but was working retail. Now he was still fairly young, so the job was no big deal. But there was something else beneath all that bugging me. Against my better judgement, I slid him my number. Partially because he was persistent, but mainly because I used to halfway talk to one of the guys I was there with. He and I are cool, with no romantic tension whatsoever, but it always feels good to let these guys know that you’re wanted!

Steve went a few weeks without calling me. Dammned if cared, but when I ran in to him again, he was super apologetic. I was like “whateva, dude” and didn’t give him my number. I figured, I didn’t dig him anyway. Plus, I gave him a chance. His bad.

I end up seeing one of his friends a week or so later, who says that Steve felt really bad about not calling me and really wanted to talk. Begrudgingly, I gave him my number to pass on. I do admire persistance.

So dude starts sending me text messages: Hey beautiful, it’s Steve. Hope all is well. Looking forward to talking to you. The fuck is that shit? If you wanted to talk to me, CALL!!! After 7, I was all good to talk. This is NOT the same Textin’ Bandit I’ve mention here before, which leads me to ask: what’s with the passive-aggressive guys? Am I the only one getting this BS?

Finally, Steve asked me out on an actual date. We were supposed to hit up a bar he reccomended and he initally suggested that we meet there. That’s no problem for me, ’cause I have a car. He knew that and I know that some guys who don’t have cars tend to be funny about asking for a ride early on. That’s understandable, for our misogynistic patriarchial society.

Before I could offer him a ride, he mentions that a friend of his was having a party that was supposed to be “cracking”. Hey, I like parties. And maybe there would be a better guy there…..I agreed, and then he says “Are you pushing the whip?”. Fuckboy, it’s MY car. Who else would be “pushing it”? And what’s up with the dated slang? Would “hey, do you mind driving” or “can I ride with you” have been too…..appropriate?

Regardless, I agree to go. Something told me it would make a good story.

When I arrive to pick Steve up, he’s high. I mean really high. James Brown high. K-Ci Hailey high. Rush Limbaugh high. I’m not saying I have a problem with the guy smoking, but who shows up to a date high? A FIRST date? Have you ever been sober with a person who was really high? It’s not fun at all. Imagine watching Telemundo with someone who actually speaks Spanish. It’s mildly entertaing, but after a while, you realize you don’t understand half of what you’ve heard.

At that point, it was no longer a date; it was two people going to a party. Then this fool tells me that the party is in Arlington, VA. Granted, it’s only about a 20 minute drive. But when the fuck is it okay to sign a stranger up for a 20 minute drive to party with YOUR friends on a date. On FIRST date?

At that point, I remembered it was no longer a date; it was me, hoping that I would meet someone else at this party. I asked Steve about his retail job and he said he’d been fired. Oh, no Steven! You, who gets high for first dates parties, got fired from the mall? Why?

Why? Because he didn’t pass his criminal background check.

It gets better:

Steve wasn’t too upset, because the retail gig wasn’t his dream job.

Steve got in to some trouble as a teen, which gave him a record.

Enough time has passed for Steve to get the charges exponged from his record. But he refuses to.

Why? Because Steve wants to prove to the world that he could make it, despite the fact that he has a criminal record!!!

Even though the record will keep him from doing damn near everything, Steve’s gonna make it!

Thank God I was focused on the road, so I didn’t have to look at him. And thank God I didn’t drive off the road once I heard this bullshit. Either he’s dumbest fuck in the world or he didn’t want to admit that he can’t get his record exponged.

At that point, I remembered it was no longer a date; it was me, laughing my ass off on the inside, while praying the night would end soon. We pulled up a 7-11, where we were to meet his friends who we would follow to the party. Two young white guys, drunk and loud as the dickens, burst out of the store. These were his friends. Now, I didn’t care that they were white. But these dudes stood in stark contrast to the Afrocentric folks that Steve usually hangs with. And the likelyhood that there would be a worthy brother at the party decreased milleniafold.

No worries, because when we arrived, I saw that it wasn’t a party. It was a get-together. There were about four or five guys and the two girls who lived there. And us, the only Black folk. Great! I am a chocolate chip in a room full of vanilla strangers, and I don’t even know the guy I came with! Fabulous! Pass the Courvoisier Pabst Blue Ribbon!

Who brings a girl they don’t know to a ‘effin get-together? Why, why, why Steve? Why so dumb? Did they beat the brains out of you in the joint? Did you smoke your common sense away?

It turned out that these were Steve’s high school friends. Everyone was very friendly, but the girl who lived there had two dogs. One was kinda medium, the other was really big. Of, course these mutts run up on me as soon as I walked in the door. And, as a stranger, I couldn’t just kick the shit out of the big one and dare the smaller one to test me. I couldn’t yell out “who the FUCK has these two dogs in a one bedroom apartment?” I could only be calm and quiet, and listen to the stories about how the dogs have gotten high before. Weed-smoking dogs. That’s hot. Can I leave now?

It was obvious that I didn’t like dogs, so the owner felt bad. Then I felt bad for making her feel bad in her own house, so I reached out and petted the little one’s head like “oh, he’s pretty”. But, I did it with the fakest smile ever and used about three fingertips. Imagine when Strom Thurmond met his Black daughter. It was like that.

Did I mention that they were listening to Damien Marley and playing dominoes? Yes, I learned how to play dominoes from a group of white kids. Meanwhile, Steve quietly starts trying to ask me some questions about my life. At this point, I officially hate him, so I raise my voice a bit and say “Do you really think this is the place to try to get to know me better?” His buddy “Tommy” started cracking up, which is exactly what I was going for.

I was offered weed and shots of liquor. Oh, no thank you! I have to be sober enough to get the hell out of here ASAP. Hope you know that if you get Steve any more fucked-up, I’m leaving him here. Cause, if he vomits in my car, you will read about him in the newspaper. The obituaries, to be exact.

Tommy asked how long Steve and I had been going out. “Actually, this is our very first time hanging out”, I told him. “Wow, you chose to bring her here?”. Aside from letting the the dog smoke herb, it seems like at least one of Steve’s friends is smarter than him. In fact, I think they all were. Anyway, he tries to sell me on Steve’s good qualities. Oh no, Tommy, that ship sailed hours ago. Then Tommy tells us how he used to work at the movies and still has a hook-up. In fact, he had a two-for-one coupon that he gives to Steve.

Steve looks at me and says “Great, we can use this for our first real date”.

Ahem.

Now, I’m not a gold-digger in any sense of the word. But isn’t it a little tacky to boast that coupon will guarantee our future rendezvous? I drove Steve’s ass to Virgina under the auspice of a “crackin’” party, so that HE could chill with his high school friends and their druggie dogs. I can’t get a full price movie-ticket? He couldn’t simply take the coupon and discreetly give it to the cashier when we went on our “first real date”? Maybe he couldn’t afford to take me to the show, because he got fired from his job. For having a record. Shit, he could roll another joint with the coupon for all I cared. Dude was never gonna see me again.

As if I weren’t already having the time of my life, the medium-ish dog comes and sits on my feet.

Oh, great, he likes me. Yay!

Oh. Hell. No.

Pot the Dog pissed on my feet. Why, Pot? Why me? You felt my dog-hating vibes? Why didn’t you piss on Steve’s feet? He’s the one who brought me here! What did I do to deserve this? Did I disrespect you by passing on the blunt? You gotta understand, I don’t want to smoke anything that’s gonna make me crazy like your friend Steve.

Now, everyone got uncomfortable at this point. A dog pissing on someone’s feet is the type of shit that you laugh at. But not when it’s a stranger. And as nice as I had been up to that point, y’all know most folks are a teensy bit scared of Black women. Specifically mad Black women. I washed my feet off and quietly told Steve I wanted to go. Immediately.

We get in the car and I half-assedly participate in small talk. Steve keeps mentioning that bargin-bin second date and I just drove quietly. As we neared his house, I noticed that Tommy was following us in his car. I asked Steve and he told me they were planning on smoking again. Why didn’t he ride with him!?! I wasted ANOTHER twenty minutes of my life with this guy for no reason! As Steve got out, he asked me “Am I gonna see you again?”. Lacking the energy to be honest, I gave him the fakest, most transparent “Sure, call me” I could muster. Needless to say, I didn’t see that movie.

Moral of the story: if you don’t really want to go out with someone, don’t. Because if you didn’t like them before, you’re gonna hate them when their friend’s weed-smoking dog pisses on your shoes.