The Slider Stealer

I gave Marc, a ‘concierge consultant,’ the right swipe on Tinder and after exchanging information he invited me for a cocktail and a bite to eat around happy hour one evening. I accepted his invite and was looking forward to scoping out this new prospect.

Marc suggested a bar on 42nd street, essentially in the middle of Times Square. I thought this was particularly peculiar because anyone who lives in New York City desperately abstains from going near this area at all costs. Being the assertive New Yorker that I am, I mentioned that maybe we could elect to go somewhere not so touristy.

“Well I have this event to go to for the concierge’s industry. I figured we could just swing by there as I should really make an appearance then we can go somewhere else.”

I did think it was somewhat strange that he would want me to accompany him at an industry event, but for the sake of not being difficult, to Times Square I went.

When I arrived at the event for the hotel concierge’s ‘union’ of NYC, it was very crowded but had an open bar so I wasn’t complaining. Marc worked at a high end hotel in the city and mentioned he also owned his own ‘consulting’ firm. I barely got a word in about myself between him mingling with colleagues and speaking about his own successful ventures in the concierge industry.

At this point I noticed a waitress with a tray of meatball sliders circulating the room, and before I could make it through the crowd they had all been devoured. I mentioned to Marc that I was feeling pretty ravenous and how I wanted to keep an eye out for the next waitress that came around. Several times I saw a tray being passed but was never quite quick enough to snatch myself a  scrumptious meatball.

“Ugh!” I said to Marc. “I am dying to get one of those sliders! I am so hungry.”

At that moment an acquaintance of Marc’s approached us to greet him and he had two delectable, untouched sliders on his cocktail napkin.

“Oh man, you were lucky you were quick enough to grab one,” Marc said. “We have been trying but no luck!”

Marc’s friend then obligingly picked up one of the sliders and handed  it to Marc. I began to salivate with excitement over the delicious meatball slider I was about to ravage.

Marc took the slider…

and shoved the entire thing straight into his mouth.

Wow. What a gentleman.

After an hour and a half went by and another 2 glasses of wine I was getting pretty bored pretending to be interested in all the conversations being had around me and my hangry-ness (hungry + angry) began to set in. I told Marc if he wanted to stay at the event he could do so but I was going to head somewhere to get a bite to eat.

“No wait!! Just 10 more minutes and we can go get something to eat I promise!”

After we exited the hotel Marc suggested a place right around the corner. We entered the lounge area of the establishment I noticed all the waiters saying hello to him. It turned out to be the place where Marc worked.

We sat at the bar and again, I barely spoke because Marc was too busy speaking to his coworkers. We ordered some appetizers and the distractions were welcome because I was so busy stuffing my face with coconut shrimp and parmesan truffle fries.

After we finished I offered to split the check considering I knew I would never see Marc again and didn’t want to be under any sort of obligation. Marc refused and excused himself to go check on something.

He returned 15 minutes later.

“Hey so, do you actually mind splitting the check after all? I thought the manager that I am pretty tight with would be here and he would have comped my entire check but he’s not and I only get a 50% discount.”

I relinquished my Visa into the billfold and anxiously awaited the return of our server.

As we signed our checks Marc said, “Well, I thought I was going to get through the night without spending any money at all but I guess $25 isn’t so bad, right?”

Marc texted me a day later telling me that he was looking forward to doing it again.

Good luck, Marc.

contact@thesinglesociety.com

 

I Now Pronounce You A Drunk Idiot

I met Brandon on Plenty of Fish because let’s be honest, I just moved to New York City a few months ago, and any money I make seems to evaporate into thin air, so shelling out $40/month on a Match subscription just isn’t in the cards considering the lack of funds in my bank account.

Brandon was hot. He had blond hair and blue eyes which looked especially adorable when framed by the worn out brim of his Syracuse baseball cap. Despite him being a few years my junior, we began spending a generous amount of time together relatively quickly.

When you click, you click? Right?

A few weeks into our courtship I had a wedding to attend for one of my good friends from childhood which just so happened to be in upstate New York, not far from the city. Since I had already RSVP’d to bring a plus one months ago for a previous boyfriend, I decided to invite Brandon, and he (thankfully) accepted.

As we sat on the Metro North I was excited to show up with my handsome, younger man looking dapper in his tuxedo for this black tie affair and introduce him to my high school peers.

When we got to the hotel, Brandon suggested we go enjoy the pool for a few hours before the nuptials were to begin. I figured a sun kissed glow would be the perfect compliment to my light yellow gown, so we put on our swim suits to catch some rays.

After an hour or so, I told Brandon I was going to start getting ready. Being a formal event and an unofficial high school reunion, I wanted to give myself a healthy amount of time to make sure I looked my best.

About 30 minutes before we were supposed to leave for the ceremony, Brandon still hadn’t come back to the room to shower. I returned to the pool deck only to find him shooting the shit with the bar tender and enjoying a full glass of beer.

“Brandon, what the hell?! We need to leave in 30 minutes!”

“Oh shit! Sorry, lost track of time. Let me just finish this and I will be right out.”

Brandon proceeded to pour an entire pint of Guinness down in gullet and returned to the room with me.

In the elevator, he gave me a quick peck on the lips to which I cringed in disgust at the putrid stench of tequila.

“Have you been drinking tequila?”

“The bar tender and I got to talking and we just did a few shots. What’s the big deal?”

Though Brandon’s words were slightly slurred, we made it to the chapel on time. During the brief ceremony, I heard a loud snore coming from next to me. To my horror, me along with everyone else noticed my date, head back, mouth open, and passed out. I gave him a sharp nudge and his little nap was immediately cut short.

While chatting up some old classmates at the cocktail hour, I glanced over at the bar and noticed my escort taking a shot of what looked to be whiskey. This  was followed by another shot, then a pint of Guinness. I warned Brandon that we had a long night ahead of us and he needed to remain composed until at least after dinner.

As we sat down for our meals, Brandon ordered a glass of cabernet. It was clear to the rest of our table that he was quite inebriated and I insisted he  lower his obnoxious voice and trade the wine for some high quality H2O.

When the bride and groom approached our table to express their appreciation, Brandon got a little too excited. Though he had never met these people before, he eagerly jumped up and sloppily extended his hand out to greet theirs like Mr. Personality.

I don’t know what happened, but as he tried to regain his balance and stand up straight he dropped his wine glass on the floor and it smashed into a million pieces.

The maroon liquid splashed all over the bride’s shiny white satin gown.

The bride quickly dashed out of the reception hall to desperately try and salvage her precious wedding gown. It was apparently unsalvageable, as she returned donning the off white rehearsal dinner dress she wore the previous evening.

I condemned Brandon back to our hotel room, and when I returned for the evening he was (thankfully) nowhere to be found and never to be heard from again aside from the pathetic apology he attempted to offer a week later.

 

contact@thesinglesociety.com

 

 

Bitches Be Crazy

I met Tara on Tinder. She was athletic and not so bad on the eyes so I was eager to meet her the following weekend. Tara was exactly as advertised in her profile pictures and we had a nice long conversation on the first date. I was looking forward to seeing where things would go.

I suggested for the following Friday to meet at a wine bar by her office in the Flatiron District. We drank probably 3 bottles of Cabernet between the two of us, it was fair to say we were quite inebriated. After making out on our bar stools for about 10 minutes she suggested going back to her apartment. Normally, I am apprehensive about going back to someone’s apt after the 2nd date but I was pretty drunk and it was a while since I got laid, so into an Uber we went.

She lived on the UWS and had a fairly nice apartment. She failed to mention to me that she had a cat (warning sign), but I looked passed it. We did the deed and I stayed the night.

I play in one of the city’s social sports leagues and had a game the following morning, so I needed to get home and get ready. We said our goodbyes and I felt that things were going great.

After my game I went to check my phone only to discover  had 27 text messages and 6 voicemails. I automatically assumed the worst and thought a family member passed away.

To my surprise, shock and horror, they were all from Tara. The voicemails were 2-3 minutes each and the text messages were lengthy. They started with niceties, then went to “why are you ignoring me?”, then to “you’re a fucking asshole for ignoring me”, to finally her self-loathing and saying no one wanted her.

Needless to say, I had to end this quickly. I blocked her on every communication possible after I told her I could no longer see her.

That was the last time I was on Tinder.

contact@thesinglesociety.com

Venmo Oh, NO

As a recent transplant to The Big Apple straight from undergrad, I was a fledgling novice to a dating scene that was a far cry from the simplicity I had experienced in my small town just outside of Fort Worth, Texas. Nevertheless, I was looking forward to putting myself out there since the only guy I had ever really ‘dated’ was my college boyfriend of 3 years. Also, I only knew one person in New York, so I was anxious to delve into some sort of social life.

To hop back in the saddle, I joined Match.com after settling into my cozy studio closet apartment in Bushwick. It was here that I met Chase, a strapping 30 year-old financial consultant who lived in SoHo. I am not sure if I was intimidated or intrigued by him, but whatever the case, I did find life a bit more fascinating with him in it.

Being from a provincial little town in Texas, the extent of my nights out were dining at some kind of burger joint or taco stand followed by a dive bar with specials that consisted of $2 PBR/shots of Jameson. Perhaps I was a fish out of water living in this new city, but I tend to appreciate the more simple things.

Chase was clearly on the complete opposite end of the spectrum and definitely enjoyed a more extravagant lifestyle than I was accustomed to. Our first outing was at the Hudson Hotel Terrace, a place with breathtaking views of Manhattan and drinks that could easily consume my entire week’s paycheck. Being the polite southerner that I am, I offered to split the check when the bill came but was secretly relieved when he denied my offer because had he not, I don’t know how I would have eaten for the remainder of the month.

I suppose Chase found my simplicity endearing because he insisted I accompany him to a colleagues birthday party the following evening to which I accepted his invitation.

When I arrived at an establishment called 1OAK, I definitely stuck out like a sore thumb. Sporting my flats and dainty lace sundress I was drowning amongst a sea of women donning tight leather mini skirts, sequin drenched crop tops and sky high stilettos. I remained confident and had fun with Chase though it was clearly not my usual scene.

Despite our differences, Chase invited me to the Hamptons for the weekend with his friends as they had rented a beach house for Memorial Day. I was especially excited because the only Hamptons experience I ever thought I would possess was on an episode of Real Housewives.

I accepted, but not wanting to be presumptuous, I asked how much my share would cost me to which he replied, “Oh, don’t worry about it.”

So I didn’t, and I had an amazing weekend with Chase in the Hamptons. We laid out on the beach during the day, grilled bratwursts in the afternoon and enjoyed alcoholic beverages at the beach clubs in the evenings.

Coming back to reality was a difficult task after such an amazing weekend with the new man in my life.

And then I received it. A Venmo request from Chase.

For $681.29 

With the entry level paycheck I was earning at the time, I would have to eat Ramen for weeks.

I quickly texted him and said that I didn’t have then money at that particular moment but I would figure out how to reimburse him for the weekend that HE invited me to and specifically told me ‘not to worry’ about. Because you know, eating is NBD.

“Ok, just maybe try to get it to me by the end of the month,” he said.

Not wanting to deal with the stress of being indebted to Chase, my only friend in New York was gracious enough to let me crash on his couch for 4 nights while I AirBnB’d my apartment to come up with the funds.

Chase continues to text me, but clearly I can’t afford his ass.

 

contact@thesinglesociety.com