In 5 Reasons Why Dying Alone Is Probably Better Than Going on This Date, we ask anonymous Washingtonians to chronicle their tragic attempts at romance in the city. On Fridays, we put it on the internet. This week:
- Does: Non-Profit, 24
- Lives: Northern Virginia
- Is: Male
- Relationship history, in one word: Quixotic
On a date with:
- Does: Think tank researcher, 25
- Is: Female
So how did you meet her?
I met her at a boring professional after-hours event I attended for the free booze. We chatted for about 10 minutes after we bumped hands while reaching for the dwindling free appetizers. In retrospect I was so relieved to be talking to someone who wasn’t a generic management consultant or Hill staffer that I missed the red flags of what was to come. I got her business card, smiled at the important sounding job title, and bragged to my friends about how I may have finally met someone interesting.
Where did you go?
A darkly lit bar with an overly friendly bearded bartender and overpriced drinks. The type of place they put thyme in your drink to elicit ooh’s and aah’s. A friend of mine recommended the place as a good date spot, and it had 4 stars on Yelp, so I suggested the venue.
I asked her out in person when we met, so the only text messages we exchanged were logistical. She showed up about 15 minutes late because of an Uberpool Snafu, but had the courtesy to let me know she was running late.
What are the five reasons dying alone is probably better than going on this date?
1. I never again have to answer the question “What is your theory on the creation of earth?” or hear “You know the Big Bang/Evolution are just theories right…?”
2. I would have an extra $85 (Thyme! Remember…).
3. I never have to hear “Do you and your parents speak Hindu at home?” again (I’m South Asian).
4. I don’t have to explain what curry is, or how I do not in fact eat it daily.
5. Did I mention the $85?
Want to be featured in our search for DC’s worst date? Introduce yourself in an email to eplott@washingtonian.com.
