Without further adieu, I humbly introduce to you episode 2 in the Series of Unfortunate Dates.....
Now to preempt this story... I met Tony in what I would call a dark era of my life... I was recently recovering from the first of two back surgeries, being laid off from my dream job, and the ending of a relationship that was long and painful. I was broke, broken, and wounded. And it apparently seemed to have impacted my judgment regarding the gentlemen I was going to be going out with.
Tony was a doctor, or so he told me.
I met Tony as I was walking down Robson Street. It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, but I was far from happy to be walking around the city, resumes' in hand, trying to find a serving job to quickly stop my bank account from disappearing due to my recent lack of employment. Many a time that afternoon, as I wandered from restaurant to restaurant, smiling like I meant it, I would go sit and try to hold back tears of frustration that my life wasn't going the way I wanted it to be.
After handing out five or six resumes, I threw in the proverbial towel. I just couldn't do it. Going from working as a broadcaster to going back to serving was just too gut wrenching for me to handle... And I could no longer fake being happy about it.
I turned my way towards home, head low, cursing God for putting me in this position, and that's when it happened. I met Tony.
Pulled up next to me in a beautiful black Mercedes, Tony stepped out looking like an Italian version of George Clooney *see below*. He Insisted that he saw me and couldn't drive away without at least knowing my name, so we talked briefly. Perhaps I thought this was some sort of fate, me: at probably one of the worst, lowest moments of my life... and him: perhaps too charming, too nice, and overall, too pushy. At the time, I ignored the pushiness, gave the stranger my number, and went on my way.
Tony called me two days later asking me to go to dinner. I accepted, not knowing where this would go. He seemed a little older than my normal type, but I figured you can't knock it until you try it.
He picked me up, roses in hand, and took me a little place in Yaletown.
Tony seemed the perfect gentleman, except for one thing. Every time I asked him about himself, his answers were vague and evasive. He said he was a doctor and did his schooling at UBC. Although when I implored him to tell me some of the hardest days at work, he told me he'd rather not say. Fishy, very fishy.
He also said he was 36, which although he was quite dashing... seemed to be a stretch that even I in my fragile state couldn't believe. It seemed that every detail that came out of his mouth was just a little bit.....untruthful.
He then began to ask me the most abstract questions I have ever been asked, and I took philosophy.
For example: he asked me if I had a living room with a fireplace, a T.V., a sofa, a plant, a dog, and a cat, where would everything be laid out. I answered as best I could, that the fireplace would be in front of me, with the TV a top, couch beneath me, plant next to me, and the dog and cat on my lap. He paused and told me that the Dog and Cat represented my husband and my boyfriend, and my answer was very unsettling for him.... I still don't understand.
As the date, or rather interview went on, he became stranger and stranger. Asking me how I would like to go shopping next week, and we'd get whatever I wanted. I felt like not only was this guy a weirdo.... he was trying to get in by buying my affections... Something that is just not me.
When the server approached, without a second to ask me what I wanted, he ordered fruit and dessert, and dismissed the server curtly. Upon the arrival of our "dinner," I reached for my fork and then it happened... He snatched the utensils from my hand and said, "No."
And, as if the date could get ANY weirder, Tony dipped his fork into his cocktail, speared a grape, and tried to feed me.
I was shocked and, at first, I tried to not be rude. (My mother taught me better) I politely bit the grape off is fork, laughed (at how ridiculous this was) and again, reached for my utensils. He again stopped me and said "No".
Tony made it very clear that if I intended to eat anything, that I would NOT be feeding myself. I couldn't take it... I asked him why he was doing that and he said he thought nothing was sexier than the way a woman ate when a man fed her.
REALLY?!?!?! Who does that work on?
Disgusted, I excused myself to the bathroom. My mind reeling, I kept thinking that god really had a sense of humour. I returned to the table and pulled out the trusty, I-am-not-feeling-well card and asked him to take me home.
As soon as we got in the car, he said he had to drop something off first. I sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window at the beautiful city scape; I was hoping this "thing" he was dropping off, wasn't me... rolled up in a carpet, at the nearest landfill.
I could not believe I had gotten myself into this situation, stuck in this weird table feeder's car, going somewhere other than home. I asked where we were going and he said "to my place quickly" which ended up being his bachelor pad in Coal Harbour.
My mother had always told us if we were kidnapped and in a vehicle to jump out of it, as we were safer with road rash than if we were....well, rolled up in a carpet at the dump. Problem was, I figured at the speed he was driving road rash was going to be the least of my problems. And to be honest, mister "feed-me-with-a-spoon" was not coming off as a serial killer.
Retrospectively, I guess the thing he intended to "drop off" were our pants, and when I made that even CLEARER to him, he didn't force the issue. And yes, I called a cab and got the hell out of there.
When I finally got home, I called my mother who, with her research skills and mother radar, creeped him on all and every social network possible. She phoned the local hospitals to see if Mister "Tony the Doctor" was on staff, and even looked up the college of physicians and surgeons list for B.C. and big surprise... he wasn't on it.
So... the moral of the story is... only see a doctor in a office or a hospital. Or if you know he's not a creep. Do not see one in a mobile Mercedes "clinic" driving down Robson Street.
In hindsight, I am pretty sure this guy was married and his bachelor pad was in fact just that, a place to bring his "patients" to, for perhaps... a full physical.
I am lucky this turned out to be more funny than tragic. Lesson learned. And to future paramours who might be reading this??? NEVER feed me or it will be you who needs to see a real doctor.
Until next time....
In hilarity and shock,
Emelia xx
Stay tuned for further Episodes of the Series of Unfortunate Dates entitled....
&
José Lukas: the Stage-Seven Stalkerazzi
Tony the Table Feeder
Now to preempt this story... I met Tony in what I would call a dark era of my life... I was recently recovering from the first of two back surgeries, being laid off from my dream job, and the ending of a relationship that was long and painful. I was broke, broken, and wounded. And it apparently seemed to have impacted my judgment regarding the gentlemen I was going to be going out with.
Tony was a doctor, or so he told me.
I met Tony as I was walking down Robson Street. It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, but I was far from happy to be walking around the city, resumes' in hand, trying to find a serving job to quickly stop my bank account from disappearing due to my recent lack of employment. Many a time that afternoon, as I wandered from restaurant to restaurant, smiling like I meant it, I would go sit and try to hold back tears of frustration that my life wasn't going the way I wanted it to be.
After handing out five or six resumes, I threw in the proverbial towel. I just couldn't do it. Going from working as a broadcaster to going back to serving was just too gut wrenching for me to handle... And I could no longer fake being happy about it.
I turned my way towards home, head low, cursing God for putting me in this position, and that's when it happened. I met Tony.
Pulled up next to me in a beautiful black Mercedes, Tony stepped out looking like an Italian version of George Clooney *see below*. He Insisted that he saw me and couldn't drive away without at least knowing my name, so we talked briefly. Perhaps I thought this was some sort of fate, me: at probably one of the worst, lowest moments of my life... and him: perhaps too charming, too nice, and overall, too pushy. At the time, I ignored the pushiness, gave the stranger my number, and went on my way.
 |
| Here is a picture of George Clooney, so you can imagine what I am saying.... ER doctors anyone? |
Tony called me two days later asking me to go to dinner. I accepted, not knowing where this would go. He seemed a little older than my normal type, but I figured you can't knock it until you try it.
He picked me up, roses in hand, and took me a little place in Yaletown.
Tony seemed the perfect gentleman, except for one thing. Every time I asked him about himself, his answers were vague and evasive. He said he was a doctor and did his schooling at UBC. Although when I implored him to tell me some of the hardest days at work, he told me he'd rather not say. Fishy, very fishy.
He also said he was 36, which although he was quite dashing... seemed to be a stretch that even I in my fragile state couldn't believe. It seemed that every detail that came out of his mouth was just a little bit.....untruthful.
He then began to ask me the most abstract questions I have ever been asked, and I took philosophy.
For example: he asked me if I had a living room with a fireplace, a T.V., a sofa, a plant, a dog, and a cat, where would everything be laid out. I answered as best I could, that the fireplace would be in front of me, with the TV a top, couch beneath me, plant next to me, and the dog and cat on my lap. He paused and told me that the Dog and Cat represented my husband and my boyfriend, and my answer was very unsettling for him.... I still don't understand.
As the date, or rather interview went on, he became stranger and stranger. Asking me how I would like to go shopping next week, and we'd get whatever I wanted. I felt like not only was this guy a weirdo.... he was trying to get in by buying my affections... Something that is just not me.
When the server approached, without a second to ask me what I wanted, he ordered fruit and dessert, and dismissed the server curtly. Upon the arrival of our "dinner," I reached for my fork and then it happened... He snatched the utensils from my hand and said, "No."
And, as if the date could get ANY weirder, Tony dipped his fork into his cocktail, speared a grape, and tried to feed me.
I was shocked and, at first, I tried to not be rude. (My mother taught me better) I politely bit the grape off is fork, laughed (at how ridiculous this was) and again, reached for my utensils. He again stopped me and said "No".
Tony made it very clear that if I intended to eat anything, that I would NOT be feeding myself. I couldn't take it... I asked him why he was doing that and he said he thought nothing was sexier than the way a woman ate when a man fed her.
REALLY?!?!?! Who does that work on?
Disgusted, I excused myself to the bathroom. My mind reeling, I kept thinking that god really had a sense of humour. I returned to the table and pulled out the trusty, I-am-not-feeling-well card and asked him to take me home.
As soon as we got in the car, he said he had to drop something off first. I sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window at the beautiful city scape; I was hoping this "thing" he was dropping off, wasn't me... rolled up in a carpet, at the nearest landfill.
I could not believe I had gotten myself into this situation, stuck in this weird table feeder's car, going somewhere other than home. I asked where we were going and he said "to my place quickly" which ended up being his bachelor pad in Coal Harbour.
My mother had always told us if we were kidnapped and in a vehicle to jump out of it, as we were safer with road rash than if we were....well, rolled up in a carpet at the dump. Problem was, I figured at the speed he was driving road rash was going to be the least of my problems. And to be honest, mister "feed-me-with-a-spoon" was not coming off as a serial killer.
When we
got to his apartment at Coal Harbour I decided to go in because the
chances of someone hearing me scream were better in there than in the
trunk of his car... Plus there wasn't cell service in the parking garage.
Tony's "place" was a bachelor pad in all aspects of the word. I mean, Hugh Hefner would have been proud. With everything immaculate (to the point I was SURE no one actually lived here) and art that, well, only depicted fruit that looked oddly like certain body parts. I knew by the play boy bunny bedding that I was not brought here to "drop off" anything.
Tony's "place" was a bachelor pad in all aspects of the word. I mean, Hugh Hefner would have been proud. With everything immaculate (to the point I was SURE no one actually lived here) and art that, well, only depicted fruit that looked oddly like certain body parts. I knew by the play boy bunny bedding that I was not brought here to "drop off" anything.
Retrospectively, I guess the thing he intended to "drop off" were our pants, and when I made that even CLEARER to him, he didn't force the issue. And yes, I called a cab and got the hell out of there.
When I finally got home, I called my mother who, with her research skills and mother radar, creeped him on all and every social network possible. She phoned the local hospitals to see if Mister "Tony the Doctor" was on staff, and even looked up the college of physicians and surgeons list for B.C. and big surprise... he wasn't on it.
So... the moral of the story is... only see a doctor in a office or a hospital. Or if you know he's not a creep. Do not see one in a mobile Mercedes "clinic" driving down Robson Street.
In hindsight, I am pretty sure this guy was married and his bachelor pad was in fact just that, a place to bring his "patients" to, for perhaps... a full physical.
I am lucky this turned out to be more funny than tragic. Lesson learned. And to future paramours who might be reading this??? NEVER feed me or it will be you who needs to see a real doctor.
Until next time....
In hilarity and shock,
Emelia xx
Stay tuned for further Episodes of the Series of Unfortunate Dates entitled....
Bryan: the NOT-SO-SINGLE Bachelor
&
José Lukas: the Stage-Seven Stalkerazzi
OMG - I'm so glad you are ok, but I actually hope there are many many more of these posts!
ReplyDeleteHere is my quick one, to not make you feel alone - online dating - the worst - guy sends me a cute picture, of course looks like a model. Plan to meet and he shows up - AT LEAST 20 years older than the photo (which he looked about 20 in), wearing addidas track pants, dress shoes, a white button up shirt and a fanny pack. (I kid you not).. when he introduces himself, he playfully punches me in the stomach? I don't remember the middle part of the date, but when we said goodbye he tried to kiss me - like a romantic sweep you up in my arms kind of kiss... I literally ran away and he ran behind me asking when we could go out again...
Yes this is anonymous for a reason... for some reason I actually continued internet dating after haha and while I never had any as crazy as this, there were some other crazy ones.
Thank you for the chuckle,