One Gay at a Time

Day three of my dating marathon arrived and I still had no prospects for second dates. I was definitely widdling down the roster, but I wasn’t finding the quality I was hoping to find. That Tuesday, I planned a date with one of the guys who was particularly interested in me when I was texting him from Ocean City, Maryland. We started chatting on Grindr before I left for vacation, and we continued to do so when I returned.

We agreed to meet up for a bite following work. He worked as a concierge at a hotel near my office, so we picked something somewhat local to both of us. When work ran over for me, he decided to run a few errands. He hit up the gym and then moved onto a manicure. Already I was worried he was going to be yet another flamboyant ‘mo, but I would give him the benefit of a doubt.

After chasing him around to different locations, we finally met on the street corner. He was not what I was expecting. His pictures on Grindr portrayed him as a mysterious and sexy tattooed guy, but in reality, he looked kinda dorky. I knew immediately this was not going anywhere. If I was smart, I would have suggested a pub right then and there and made it a one drink date, but I wasn’t quick enough. I let him decide on the location. He chose Bare Burger on the East Side.

We sat at a table in the restaurant and ordered our beers while we decided what we wanted to eat. The conversation mainly started with work and ended with work. It was all he knew to talk about. I learned about all the hotels he’s worked at and all the perks he gets. I heard about the free Broadway shows he left half way through because Broadway wasn’t quite his thing. Once again, someone was sitting in front of me trying to impress me instead of just being real. I don’t just want to know what your job can do for my social life. He also talked about people getting starstruck in his line of business, but then proceeded to name all the famous people he’s hung out with. He was a walking contradiction. On top of this, he lived on the opposite side of the island we like to call Manhattan. Astoria, Queens would be a very long ride from Hoboken, NJ.

I couldn’t wait for the date to be over. When he excused himself to go to the bathroom, I flagged down the waitress and asked her to bring us the check. I gazed out the window people watching hoping for this date to end like the ripping off of a band aid. The only saving grace was how tasty the food was.

When he came back, we split the bill and started to walk towards the PATH/his subway. When we got to a crossroads in which we were heading in different directions, I said goodbye with a hug. He suggested we go out again. I blankly said, “Yea. We could do that.”

Just before getting to the PATH, I received a text from him saying, “Get home safe! It was nice meeting you!… shorty ;)” He was taller than me by a few inches, but did he really just call me shorty? “I just responded back with a “likewise.” The next day, I received the followup text: “How’s it going?” Of course, I didn’t respond. And that was the end of the concierge. NEXT!…