After going back and forth with Josh on Tinder attempting to find a time mutually beneficial for both of us, we agreed to meet for an afternoon cocktail in NoLiTa at 5 PM on a Sunday.
Naturally I show up at 5:08 because being the old fashioned young lady that I am, I prefer to make an entrance and arrive subsequently when on a date. Eight minutes is fashionably late, but not so much that is is being inconsiderate of someone’s time.
To my dismay, I arrived at the latin-fusion taqueria to find out I was the first on the scene. I talked myself into sympathizing with his tardiness because I know how terribly inconsistent the subways can be on the weekends, so I ordered myself a pomegranate margarita and attempted to remain patient.
He texted me at 5:13 and informed me that brunch with his friends ran late and he would be arriving shortly.
I would have preferred he used the subway delay excuse but I suppose I appreciated his honesty.
When he finally made his appearance he was loud and boisterous to the point that he commanded the attention of every patron in the bar. He rudely shouted at the bartender to ‘fetch’ him a Dos Equis.
Clearly, the guy was heavily intoxicated.
“So, you were at brunch you said? I don’t suppose it was bottomless brunch, was it?”
“Oh yeah, it was. I’ve been drinking since 1. I’m good though. I’m ready to keep drinking!”
He proceeded to consume 2 beers within 5 minutes and was becoming even more obviously inebriated so much that the bartender began to notice and requested that he exit the bar because he could not in good conscience serve him anymore drinks.
Suddenly he got extremely belligerent and started demanding that he be served another drink.
Humiliated, I tried to coerce him into leaving peacefully. As I grabbed his arm to lead him to the exit he turned around, looked me straight in eyes…
And vomited. All over my feet.
I screamed and ran into the bathroom to rid myself of his regurgitated eggs Benedict and mimosas and when I emerged again he was nowhere to be found.
I never heard from Josh again, and it is probably for the best, because I would most likely punch him.
Have a story to share? Email us at firstname.lastname@example.org