The Great Houdini

I let my co-worker set me up on a date this weekend.  We went through a quick checklist: he has all his teeth, a job, and always pays on the first three dates.   I figured why not?  Bring on the clowns.

B2 (we’ll call him that for now) asked me to meet him for dinner in Roscoe Village after Oysterfest. We met at Volo and sat outside under paper lanterns and heat lamps. Turns out we share a lot in common—we both love travel, the ocean, outdoor adventures, microbrews and Pinot Noir. Oh, if only I knew how much he loved Pinot Noir…

He mentioned that his friends may swing by after the fest to join us for a drink, but neither of us expected that they would arrive by the time the waiter could bring us our appetizers.  I suggested we move to a larger table to accommodate the backpack brigade. B2 asked the waiter to bring 5 bottles of wine, and headed to the restroom.  I’m left with The Panel who proceed to grill me with questions like: “Do you cook?” “How do you feel about children?” “Ever been married?” (answer there is no, btw) “How do you feel about B2’s ex wife?” (I had no idea he was divorced.)

When dinner is over The Panel asks where we are going next.  They start to chant my name with such enthusiasm that for a second, I think I must be doing a keg stand.  My date doesn’t reclaim the night, so off we go, on our group date, to the Roscoe Village Tap.

Now here’s the deal: at 10:30pm after a street fest, the only people you’re going to find in the neighborhood bar are the people who are too drunk to leave—the bottom of the barrel, or as I like to call them, The Dregs. I should have left then.
As soon as we arrive B2 gets quiet and glazes over, so I start swapping stories with his buddy, a professional kayaker.  B2 gets a phone call, and heads outside.  Fifteen minutes later his friends head home, but Kayak stays to keep me company. I text B2 and ask where he is— no response.  Five minutes later, Kayak calls him. Twenty minutes later, it’s clear I’ve been ditched.

Before I can finish my beer a guy with a birthday hat stumbles up to me, fixates on my chest and says, “Your boobs are staring at me!!” I tell him to go away, but retell the story to Kayak, laughing.  I’m deep in the dregs and I want to go home.

Kayak escorts me out.  I think he’s behind me, but when I turn around to say goodbye I see a dude in a birthday hat splayed out on the sidewalk.  Kayak is hovering over him yelling, “You can’t say that to a girl I’m with, Asshole!”

A crowd of starts to form and my instincts kick in.  He’s 6’4 but I march right up to Kayak and start pushing him backwards down the sidewalk yelling, “STOP DEFENDING MY HONOR! I PROMISE, I HAVE NONE!”

He yells something at me I can’t understand and staggers home.

This morning I woke up to 6 messages from a very hung over date asking me how he wound up at home, with puke on his shirt.

Related Disasters:

• How to Shake a Stage Five Drunk
• The Anatomy of A Date
• Hobo Teeth
• One Glove, One Heart
• Sugar Coated