When it comes to dating, I really need to start following my instincts. Out of all the dates I’ve gone on these past few years, not once have I ever ended up developing feelings for someone that I wasn’t interested in after the first date. Yet for some reason I continually find myself thinking, “Hey, it can’t hurt to go on a second date, just to see what happens.” I can think of at least a half dozen guys – most of whom I’ve written about on this blog – that I wasn’t into but I still gave a second chance.
Such was the case with Train Guy. After our first date he texted me that he’d had a good time and would like to hang out again. Even though deep down I knew I wasn’t into him (I wasn’t attracted to him AND I thought he might be a douchebag), I was still considering giving it one more shot, just to see if my gut feeling was wrong.
And then I found out that Pic-stitcher was only 25. That bit of information basically sealed the deal in terms of me going out with Train Guy again. I mean, Train Guy could turn out to be a douche, but he was my age and he hadn’t lied to me.
My second date with Train Guy took place two weeks after the first. It was a Thursday night. We met up at this little dive bar close to where we both live. When I got there he was sitting at the bar watching the Knicks game, almost done with his first drink. I sat down next to him. The bar was pretty empty – it was just us and a handful of people. There was mellow 60s rock playing on the jukebox, and the game was up on every television.
The vibe was fine if you’re hanging out with friends, but I don’t think it was the move for a second date. I mean, we were sitting side by side, so we couldn’t even really make eye contact without twisting around. But whatever. I knew pretty quickly that I wasn’t into him (how the hell had I forgotten about his annoying voice?!?), so it’s not like I was eager to have any meaningful interaction with him.
The conversation was pretty standard – until it wasn’t, that is.
At one point we started talking about crazy exes, and I told him about this guy I dated once who went a little crazy. When I finished the story he said, “What nationality was he, if you don’t mind me asking?” I said, “I don’t know, I think he was Puerto Rican or something. Some type of Latino.”
He made a face. “What?” I asked him. He shook his head no, but kept on making the face. “What is it?? You look like you have something you wanna say.” And then he said this:
Him: “Well…it’s nothing. Nevermind. I don’t want to say the wrong thing right now. I don’t know how you feel about them.”
How I feel about them? Did he actually just say that? (And how stupid is he? I mean, I had just told him that I dated a Puerto Rican – clearly I like them!)
Me: “Them?? Did you just say them? Let me find out that you’re a racist…”
Him: “No no! I’m not a racist, not at all. It’s just that in my line of work I see a lot of things, and I know that they have a tendency to, you know, be more…”
At this point I cut him off. I said, “Well, I think that there are crazy people in every race, white, black, spanish, whatever.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he ended up saying, “That’s true, you’re right.”
He’s a cop, by the way. What a STELLAR example of New York’s Finest. Way to live up to the Racist Italian Cop stereotype.
So yeah, that was pretty awkward. At that point the fourth quarter of the game was about to start, so I figured I’d stay for the rest of the game and then call it a night. I probably should have left right away.
At some point he turned to me and said, “So what kind of guys are you attracted to?” I said, “I don’t know. I’m into guys that are good looking, haha.” He laughed and said, “Well what girl isn’t? But I mean what’s your type? You seem like you’re into darker guys.”
I paused and then said, “Yeah that’s true. The guys I’m attracted to usually aren’t white.” He said, “Yeah, I could tell.” (How could he tell? Because I dated a Puerto Rican? Not all Puerto Ricans are dark, by the way. Just saying.) I said, “I mean, you’re white, but you don’t look it. When I saw you on the train I thought you were Spanish or maybe Arabic or something.” I thought he would get all outraged when I said he looked Arabic, which is why I said it, but he just said, “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
From there the conversation turned to my salsa dancing and the fact that my salsa school is in Harlem – where, if you don’t know, a lot of black people live. “Ohhhh,” he said knowingly. “They must love you up there.” I knew exactly what he meant by that, so I said, “Yeah, black guys do have a tendency to like me” (it’s true, they do). He said, “Yeah, I can see that. I was watching you as you were walking to the bathroom, and you have a great ass.”
Sigh. What a gentleman.
“Thanks,” I said. I really didn’t know what else to say. At that moment I thought, “Well Rory, this is what you get when you meet random guys on the train.”
Fortunately the game ended a minute or two after that comment. I told him I was going to head home, and he walked me to my car. Since he only lives two blocks from where we were, I offered to drop him off by his house – because I am a really nice person and it was freezing out. When we got to his corner he went in for a goodbye kiss. I wish I could say that I said “Ew, what are you doing?” But I didn’t. I let him kiss me for a second, thereby confirming that I had absolutely ZERO sexual attraction to him. Then he said goodbye and left. He texted me the next morning but I didn’t respond, and fortunately he got the hint, because I haven’t heard from him since then.
So what did I learn from all of this? Mainly that I need to stop eye-fucking guys when I’m on the train. Because even if a guy is cute, it doesn’t mean that he’s not also crazy, or stupid, or a racist. Lesson learned!