Match Date Gone Bad…Night Turned Good
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Ok, you fans out there. I admit it. I have gone on a Match date or two or ten. Well, tonight’s date was one of those dates, that was, well somewhat doubtful at best, but hey, what’s a drink or two or ten? ( Despite my instincts saying NAH) We spoke once or twice and it seemed, “OK”. So I arrived at the bar to meet him (after arguing with the $5 umbrella that kept turning inside out due to March coming in like a lion) and I’m like, “he’s kinda cute, maybe I was wrong”. (Now this is one of my favorite places with a great bartendress and fantastic crab cakes) and Mr. Match and I are yakking up a storm and I just get my drink, which was a luscious, much needed Cosmo (o.k. Sex in City throwback but WHATEVER!) And we start to talk about the crab cakes, and I say, “so I’m starving and going to order one”. And he says, well I’m leaving in a few minutes (NOTE: My drink had not been touched). And I’m like, “is it my breath” and he’s like “I don’t know I haven’t smelled your breath”– I swear this is NOT artistic license. This is faster than SPEED DATE. Except a lot more rude. So I decide to take the high road and say, “buh, bye wise guy” and leave with the rain pulling at my umbrella. After hopping into a store to immediately call my best friend and madre, I decide to make a night of it any way (it IS Thirsty Thursday) and go to the local steakhouse.
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At this place, I give a very young red headed girl my sopping coat, umbrella and scarf– head to the bar where a twenty something guy makes way and gives me his seat. Which was OK until one of them said, “so do you still work? or DO YOU WORK?” and I’m thinking, I have just gone from bad to worse. What? Do I look 65??? And he’s like, “well you just looked relaxed and you’re buying yourself an expensive dinner, so I figured you made it rich and got out.” So, I’m like OK, whatever, I look like shit and maybe close to 65 but it’s raining, I just got dumped after 15 minutes and hell, at least this guy gave me his seat.
So, I get ready to leave and give my ticket to the coat check girl. She asks me if it’s a long umbrella or short one. (Now, I know only NY’ers will understand this but I said “it’s one of those cheap umbrellas that the umbrella guys sell, you know, Umbella, umbella)* And she said very ernestly, “I never heard of that brand.”
The woman behind me hears that story and she says, “how can you NOT know what an umbrella man is”. And I said, she’s probably texting as she walks. She doesn’t see anything. Well, this woman told me I MADE HER NIGHT and roared with laughter. And you know what? She made mine by getting me. At least someone does. Guess you had to be there. Or not.
** When it rains in NYC, Umbrella guys spring up. They all have unidentified accent which prevents them from saying R. But they’re great ’cause the brellies are there just when you need them. Unlike cabs which are NEVER there.
