Check Yourself, Not My Watch

I met Andrew on Bumble, and after chatting for a brief period of time I opted to meet him for drinks at a craft cocktail lounge in Soho after work one evening.

Andrew claimed to be a ‘real estate investor’ when in reality, he was a real estate broker. Now, there is absolutely nothing negative whatsoever about one who works in such a profession, but it did give me a sense of dishonesty on his part.

We sipped on our cocktails while I mostly listened to him talk about his sister’s dog and…I don’t even remember, but not one question was asked about me and my life.

I attempted to give him the benefit of the doubt and stick with him for at least another round. After all, I didn’t wash my hair that day to only have one drink.

As the liquor started to sink in and my body temperature increased I decided to remove my sweater. It was at this time that my watch that I am fortunate enough to call my own was exposed to Andrew, and he eerily would not take his eyes off of it.

We engaged in a conversation about how both of our grandfathers were vastly approaching their birthdays in which they would officially be one century old. We exchanged knee-slapping stories about how economically  frugal one can be when being raised in the Great Depression era.

“So you are telling me your grandpa would never be one to buy a Rolex?” He asked presumptuously.

“No. Absolutely not. He won’t even buy a coffee at the 7/11.”

“You know why I said that, right?” He muttered suspiciously.


“Because you’re wearing a Rolex.”

“…..OK?” I said, confused as to where exactly he was going with this information.

At this point Andrew thankfully changed the subject to how utterly famished he was. He summoned the waiter and ordered a skirt steak with a side of Brussel sprouts and red-skinned mashed potatoes.

Though I had already eaten prior to the date I elected to order a side salad in order the avoid the awkward situation that is eating alone.

When the check arrived Andrew took a glance and placed it on the table.

“Judging by what you are wearing on your wrist, I think we can split this.”

I surrendered my Visa, but insisted he leave the tip seeing that his portion was significantly greater than mine.

We exited the establishment and I told him that I was headed south to the nearest 6 train entrance. Not that I wanted to spend another second of my time speaking to this boy, but I was raised to expect that a certain level of chivalry was meant to be common sense.

“Cool. I’m heading this way,” he said. “Get home safe!”

I assumed his lack of courtesy was due to his disinterest in me, but clearly I was wrong.


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