the angry sushi date

Hello, friend…

As I left work tonight, my co-worker Walter asked if I felt like grabbing a hot chocolate for the subway ride home. As it’s a snowy night, and slightly chilly, I agreed that this was a good plan… so he treated us both! Walter is a good egg. He is also older, and married and has grown children so don’t get any ideas here people… the man simply treated me to a hot chocolate.

So, I now present to you the exact opposite scenario… the angry sushi date.

A few years ago, when I tested the online dating waters for the first time, I landed a date with a guy. We agreed to meet near the art gallery after work. I knew what he would be wearing and vice versa.

We say Hello. We agree it’s time to eat.

And that, my friend, is where the wheels fell off this romantic bus!

I proceeded to follow him, as he complained for blocks about the traffic he just drove through, to a sushi restaurant on Queen St where he then turned to me and said “We’re going for sushi. I hope you like sushi.”  So, in we go and we (oh, who am I kidding, he) ordered and then proceeded to tell me how his best friend just got divorced. She hadn’t been married for long. She had also planned with my angry sushi date, a back up plan for them to run off to an island if she got cold feet before the nuptials. I had yet to add anything to the conversation. I was cluing in pretty quickly that this guy was in love with his best friend. So we leave, finally, and for some reason he suggests that we go for beers. REALLY?! And certain that I said to him “hell no, I’m going home”… apparently it came out as “Sure, why not let’s go for beers”.

So, off we go to a local watering hole. Where I sat through two pitchers of beer and his ramblings over how much he likes to “bang Asian chicks”. The last time I checked, I was a white protestant with a Latvian/British/French Protestant background. I am really not Asian, reeeeeally not Asian.

I was starting to realize that this guy didn’t need a date, he need a fucking therapist!

I should note that he paid for the sushi AND the beers. That is the only thing I can give him points for.

I should probably keep to myself that I ended up walking  him home. But I did. I walked him home, and then I stumbled back along King St and found the closest hot dog cart I could. It felt like the circus had just set up shop in my head, my stomach felt like I had been on a rough day at sea. If OK Cupid had a Yelp review-type section he would not have gotten a favourable review.

The next day at the diner I worked at, I had my first shift with one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had in my life. The guys I worked with were proud of me. I had earned some unknown restaurant badge. All thanks to the angry sushi guy who was soon to realize he was in love with his best friend after sleeping with some Asian girl who deserves waaay better.



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