The Christmas Tinder

Date Stats

My Outfit: A white skirt, grey cashmere turtleneck, pink flats, (fake) fur coat

His Outfit:  A suit

Day: Thursday

Time: 6-7.30pm

Overall Rating: 1/10

Note: This title may be misleading. Nothing was remotely jolly about this date.

One of my favourite date stories ever is when a friend of mine’s date said to her, ‘whenever I walk through Times Square I just think, “God I love this city.”’ In that moment, she knew it wouldn’t work out.

When Christmas Tinder suggested that we meet at a bar in Times Square, I should have realized that he was not The One. I didn’t know much about him, except that he worked at the same bank as Cheating Tinder, which incidentally is conveniently located across the street from the bar he wanted to meet at.

Although he had seemingly put zero effort into planning this date and was potentially a business pal of Cheating Tinder (‘Hey Cheating Tinder, wanna go count our money on the company yacht?’ VOM) he had some cute photos and he seemed intelligent and I’d just watched Love Actually so was perhaps feeling overly optimistic about being just a gal, meetin’ up with a Tinder boy, fallin’ in love in Times Square.

Walking through Times Square at Christmas is a bit like being burned with multiple candles shaped like Justin Beiber’s head. As I pushed through tourists, muggers and meth heads alike I finally arrived at my destination (The Glass House in case you are interested although obviously you are not – it’s Times Square) only to see a text on my phone saying:

Glass House was too crowded so I’m at Brazil Grill around the corner.

‘Around the corner’ meant walking back on myself 5 minutes on the route I had just taken. I arrived at the Brazil Grill (oh by the way, never go – it’s even worse than the name/location suggests) ready to kick a small child.

Sometimes, you just walk into a date and know that the likelihood of you marrying that date is about as high as that of you pitching a tent in the middle of Times Square and just sitting there for fun.

I can’t quite put my finger on which components made up our instant lack of chemistry. Perhaps because he was already one stiff cocktail down in the five minutes he’d been waiting? Perhaps because he had his work blackberry in his hand the entire date like an ominous blinking stock market? Perhaps because in the first five minutes of meeting he said (haughtily), ‘I don’t follow pop culture’? So many turn offs, so little time…

I ordered a glass of wine and he ordered (another) cocktail. He told me that he was big into politics. When I asked whether he’d considered becoming a politician he said, ‘I don’t really think that the North East would vote for me in this current climate. People in this area are pretty liberal… if you know what I mean.’ Then he threw his head back and cackled evilly (this last part may be imagined…).

OH FUN, a Republican.

Shortly after ordering my second drink (and his fourth) we had exhausted all areas of small talk. So much talk about the weather, so little interest.

After a lengthy finance lecture (EVERY TIME! WHAT ABOUT ME SAYS ‘PLEASE TELL ME THINGS ABOUT STOCKS AND BONDS’? I’D GENUINELY LIKE TO KNOW) the conversation swerved dangerously to politics. Despite our best efforts to move away from the subject, it kept heading back there until finally we gave up and had a full-on blazing row at the bar.

Christmas Tinder was a homophobe… but he didn’t really ‘identify’ as one since he had a gay friend. In his strange, prejudiced little mind, this disqualified any actual homophobia from his valiant efforts to strip gay people of all of their rights. Usually nitwittery of this degree evokes the ‘just smile and nod politely while backing away slowly’ response but Times Square gives me rage.

At this point we both had empty glasses – he had had five drinks to my two and I’ll admit I was mildly impressed.

On any other date we would have just got the check and bolted, accidentally-on-purpose kicking each other on the way out, but we were at the aforementioned Brazil Grill – where meth heads pop in for a quick grilled Brazil (food, anyway) and service is a pipe dream.

We sat with empty glasses and not a waiter in sight. Once it became clear that we would be sitting indefinitely, he casually asked what my views were on abortion.

Whatever your views on abortion, can we all agree that it is a human’s right to never be asked your views about it on a first date?

It’s as though he used the five minutes before I arrived to sit and concoct an evil scheme to make our date as bad as possible. I suppose this might be what Republicans do in their spare time?

Realizing that no waiter was going to rescue me, I excused myself to the loo (despite having gone about ten minutes before) and when I came back, he was signing the check. I am at least thankful that he paid for my three dollar wine (yes, did I mention it was happy hour? FALSE ADVERTISING, BRAZIL GRILL).

As we walked out of the bar, I realized that we were headed in the same direction so I invented important ‘business’ downtown to avoid a discussion about the merits of capital punishment.

When we said goodbye we did not bother with feigned desire to do it again sometime but instead brusquely wished each other luck in the future and went about our business (yes yes mine was invented – I Netflixed).

That will be my last Tinder date of 2014… as they say, end on a low.

It can only get better in the New Year?