The restaurant is hidden in an alley, just out of sight from the main strip. The pair, barely a couple, meet at its door, exchanging smiles and pleasantries. A kind server seats them in the courtyard out back, under strings of fairy lights. While sipping soju they discuss their research projects and laugh, curiosity bubbling between them. As two hours spill into a third, they slip out of their seats and into the bar next door. Despite practically being strangers, for the entirety of the evening, he asks her no questions.
“He’s perfect for you!” my coworker squeals as we walk to lunch, scrolling through the profile waiting for my response. I giggle and let myself indulge in the hypothetical for a second. Might he be?
Two hangouts later I can confirm he is, in fact, not.
He, like a handful of others, is one hell of an anecdote though.
How a man with a fully developed frontal lobe, who asks so few questions of his date, can have the audacity to send so many sexual memes, justified as “vulnerability” and “communication”, I’ll never know.
On the eve of my 23rd birthday, I played dating apps like I played Nintendogs in 2008, which is to say, with absolutely no regard for screen time or bedtime. And although I didn’t fuck around, I certainly found out.
Of all the dates I’ve organised, attended, regretted, and laugh about in hindsight, these are the pick of the litter when it comes to terrible times:
#3 The date that might’ve been better if I had gotten stood up
After waiting 20 minutes for him to show up, I had already perused the exhibition we planned to see together. I had a lovely time on my own, and then a less pleasant time once he arrived, because I could see he wasn’t appreciating or interacting with the art. I wished I could tell you what this man studied or where he worked, but I sincerely cannot remember. What I can remember is him trying to explain South American history to me, and failing to justify his betting habits and [objectively unethical] horse races because “they’re fun”.
He was also a bit snobby about coffee, which I didn’t feel like dealing with alongside the polite betting-and-unethical-race disagreements that were being had, so I had to stealthy pour the copious amounts of sugar I desired into my glass behind the cover of my hand and a serviette holder. Very demure, very mindful, very secretive.
To wrap up the date, I led him to the bus stop and heard about his relationship with his ex while Brisbane’s sticky, summer rain poured down on us. As he told me all the ways in which his ex-lover’s anxiety and depression ate away at him and spoiled their relationship, I quietly wished peace for both of them, in a future that did not involve me.
After a polite hug in the city, we never spoke again.
#2 The date where he talked shit about his sister, and I forgot I had hobbies
By this date, I had practised a polite goodbye ahead of time. Not because I thought it was destined to fail, but because I had found myself struggling to end dates I wasn’t enjoying and wanted to work on my confidence. And I’m glad that I did.
The date wasn’t disastrous. The chosen café was cosy, the after-work time was comfortable, even the weather was nice. Had I not hated his opinions and general demeanour, it could have been a perfectly pleasant first-date story to tell the grandchildren.
Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t impressed by how much he disliked his sister for having a stable fast-food job, being young, and owning a phone. Shockingly, I don’t hate young women for the crime of simply existing.
As if that wasn’t enough of a turn-off, I was also disinterested in the way he kept explaining how relationships should work, practically adlibbing a viral video that resurfaces every couple of months, but seemingly passing it on as his own wisdom. Please don’t get me wrong, I love an emotionally mature man who’s willing to reflect on relationship dynamics. The possibility that the video even crossed his feed? That’s awesome! What I don’t love is feeling like I’m being lectured to by a superior being. I’ve already dated that guy. I’m sick of that guy. Which is why I say, I think I hated his general demeanour – and I can’t blame him for that! It’s not his fault he just rubbed me the wrong way. I’m sure his personality will dazzle the love of his life any day now, and the dad lore he’s building will entertain for generations to come.
I will also add, I wasn’t the best date either. I had just started working full time and was experiencing a minor personality crisis, so I’m sure I must have come across as shockingly boring when he asked me about my hobbies only to find me hesitating and staring into the distance.
#1 The date where I feared for my safety [TW: mentions of abuse and physical violence]
I should’ve ended the conversation when the psychologist six years my senior insisted all the women he matched with ghosted him for “no reason”. I didn’t enjoy the fact that he talked shit about Australia and was unimpressed by the dating scene after having moved from Argentina a little under a year before we matched. And yet, the idea of going on a date and speaking Spanish for the full evening appealed to me. So, I gave him and his negative views the benefit of the doubt.
The night went from stale to alarming as the conversation drifted from “the people here suck” to “by the look of you, I can just tell you like to get hit” to “you know, I almost killed a girl in bed once. She liked it.”
How did the conversation reach that point? It started with him pressing about this sex column.
As a rule, I’ve learned I’m not the biggest fan of talking about sex on the first date, but I’m happy to discuss my writing and my interest in sexology. On this occasion, he brought up my article about kinks and fetishes, questioning how these terms are described in Spanish. What started as a theoretical discussion soon turned into an interrogation that involved intermittently switching to a baby voice, poking my leg, and shaking my arm.
When I say I told this man “no” and “I don’t want to talk about that” over a dozen times when he asked me about my sexual preferences, I’m not exaggerating. When I told him I was surprised a psychologist would be so pushy given I had explicitly set boundaries, he just laughed.
I left as soon as I was able to and, once in the comfort of my apartment, told him I had no interest in seeing him again. I also deleted the apps for a month, remembered all the therapy I’ve done, baked some sweet treats, and basked in the freedom of knowing I never have to date someone who disrespects my boundaries and makes me feel unsafe. Because FUCK people that disrespect your boundaries and make you feel unsafe.
Sometimes you meet a bad date, sometimes you are a bad date, and sometimes you shouldn’t be dating at all. If you’d like to share your worst dating stories with me, I would love to hear them via unSEXpected’s Instagram DMs.
Stay safe, stay hopeful, stay kind.
Love ya!
unSEXpected is a Glass column dedicated to the things we learn about sex and intimacy through conversations with friends. If you have any unique, funny or interesting stories you’d like to share, please get in touch! It’s the team’s goal to make this column a fun, safe and diverse space.
