A few weeks ago I shared with you all how I went to bed feeling smug. I had asked a boy I liked out on a date with the final reserves of my battery and was excited as to the text message I’d wake to find.
Well like you, I’m still waiting for that date to happen. I give up. I’m damned single if I do ask, I’m damned single if I don’t.
Instead of dwelling on losing another potential husband, I planned to jump straight back onto the dating horse. I’d chatted to a guy on [insert generic gay men’s social networking site here] a few weeks previously and decided to ask him for a drink one evening after work.
I headed to a bar on Brick Lane, a few minutes earlier than planned and grabbed a pint while I waited. And waited. And waited. I bought a second pint to partly drown my sorrows and partly give the guy, Rob, the benefit of the doubt. At what point do you conclude you’ve been stood up and leave?
About 45 minutes later he arrived and I greeted him with a hug and brushed off the wait as if I’d hardly noticed he was late. We grabbed a table and he bought himself a pint to join me. He was the same age as me, but had only just graduated from drama school. Conversation flowed somewhat uncomfortably – natural on a first date. There were no sparks of banter, not hint of flirting, but he was interesting to talk to.
Out of nowhere a girl with matted hair and what looked to be a homemade and unwashed knitted jumper, approached our table trying to get my attention. ‘Excuse me,’ she very politely interrupted, ‘I was wondering if I could buy some ketamin off you?’
I looked to Rob and laughed nervously. ‘Ummm, I’m sorry’ I said, ‘I don’t have any; you must have me mistaken.’ I looked back to Rob and laughed in an attempt to convince him to laugh along with me at her obvious mistake. He wasn’t convinced.
Noticing my companion was looking awkward and sipping his pint she continued. ‘I’m so sorry, how silly. Would you rather we go outside and do it, or I can wait over there,’ pointing to the toilets.
I looked at her in disbelief and panicked inside. I don’t look like a drug dealer! What on Earth must this guy be thinking of me since the arrival of Little Miss Drugs Mule?
I breathed slowly and reassured the girl again that she must be mistaken and she eventually returned to her friends the other side of the bar. I smiled at Rob who nodded as we silently finished our pints, both contemplating a quick and convincing get away. However, before I had swallowed my last gulp the girl returned, egged on by her friends. ‘What else do you have on you, if you don’t have any ketamin? My friend says you have some.’
‘For the last time, I don’t have any drugs on me – would you please just go back to your friends!?’ I said harshly, so she’d finally get the message. I apologised to my unwilling and embarrassed date and joked about how the girl must be crazy. Rob made a quick exit and I never heard from him again.
The whole situation felt very Beadle’s About and definitely ranks high on my Worst Dates Ever list. And Rob, if by any chance you are reading this, honestly, I am not a drug dealer.