Date #32 – Drinks with Communists

Everytime I go on a date, I brace myself for what kind of circus freak/mutant I am about to meet. Even with all the prior messaging, photos, texting, the probability of meeting someone that’s really out of left field in some way or the other is disproportionately high. From the very rude and ill-educated to the mock-croc-pleather-wearing, from the superiority-complex-harbouring to the not-even-single-as-it-turns-out, you name it, I’ve dated it. And still there seems to be room for surprises.

OKcupid matched me up with a 38 year-old hot, fit black teacher (because he gave me 5 stars and I, him). He was nice enough, polite enough in his messages. I scheduled meeting up with him for a quick drink before heading to the Hong Kong Panto show last week but I had to cancel as I barely made it in time for the show thanks to work. So I apologised like a good person would and rescheduled to after when I would return from my weekend in Bangkok (which was ridiculously fun).

Cut to Wednesday, the 11th . The teacher (he doesn’t deserved a name yet) said he’d finish work only at 10 so we agreed to meet in wan chai at 10.30. I wanted to be dressy but not overly so I stuck to a plain black silk cocktail dress. I initially wore a fancy statement necklace but swapped it out for earrings and a bejeweled vinyl bracelet instead to look slightly less fantastic. Navy tights with my favourite navy suede booties.

As I made my way to Amoy street, the teacher texted that he was in the bar at the end of street “with his mates”. Now I hoped against hope that what this meant was that he would actually bid adieu to said mates when I arrived. Alas, it was not to be. I arrived at the bar and he waved at me. He was definitely with his mates – two teachers, both female, one older, one a lot older.

He gave me a big hug and kissed me on both cheeks with a “Nice to see you, darling!” He was hotter in person, younger-looking too, very well dressed and generally just fucking hot. (Spoiler alert: Until he opened his mouth of course).

It became quite clear that he didn’t plan to leave his friends. I didn’t mind too much though it was definitely not what I had expected. Part of me went back to my perfect date with Orangetree what now seems like ages ago. Orangetree had sideswiped me by getting me to meet him at a pub where he was already, with friends, participating in a pub quiz. I went with the flow and that date ended up being the most charmed, most memorable nights of my life. (I realise that I have never told you about that night, I should).

But this was not Orangetree.

I ordered a glass of wine. I spoke to the teacher – he was fluent in Spanish and Portuguese, having lived in both Brazil and Venezuela. Unfortunately this also meant that he bitched about not really liking HK (and that it sucked that HK had a M&S like they do in London. Yes, I know that makes no sense). He kept going on and on about how he wanted to move to brazil right away which is of course the exact thing you want to hear during a first date that the guy initiated! No way can you have expectations of anything longer than a night when the caveat is proclaimed loud and clear before you’ve had your first drink.

There was a lot of talking. A lot of it about bitching about their coworkers, other teachers…which I obviously couldn’t participate in. And then one of the teachers left. I was about to leave but when my glass turned empty, the teacher asked if I wanted another one. He seemed so thoughtful for one fleeting second that I decided not to write him off just yet so I said yes, though I don’t think I was at all enamored by this striking man. So it was just me, the teacher and the older teacher who was drinking her second or third double vodka. We talked about hazardous countries to live in and the state of the environment and surprise, surprise, communism vs. capitalism. I am obviously capitalist and one against two anti-establishment communists, it appeared. Still I am not one to shy away from a debate, though admittedly it would have been nice to not have been pushed into a corner.

By now, it was 1.30 am and the bar was closing down. The check arrived and I put money down for my drinks, the teacher didn’t refuse it. (Fail). We walked out, I started out towards the taxi stand at Hopewell Center. The teacher stopped me and said we should walk the other woman home. This was completely odd but she was drunker than us and apparently only lived couple of blocks away. Once we dropped her off, I walked off the footpath and announced that I’d get a cab. The teacher insisted I walk a bit further. At this point I told him I had been taken by surprise that he had invited his friends out. He got defensive and playfully remarked “ah, so you wanted me all for yourself?” I was not impressed by the cockiness. He also pointed out his building at this point. Had he expected that I’d somehow forget taking a cab and go to his apartment? While I am all for casual sex, I didn’t think he deserved it. So I gave him a kiss on both cheeks. He stalled, and said something I can’t remember, and leaned forward again to kiss me and this time kissed me square on the lips.

Before I got home, he was already trying to appease me through whatsapp, promising me another date and being playful. He said that because I couldn’t spare much time, he figured it was a casual meetup. I can’t say I was amused, I was even offended at one point in the chat because he said he saw something in my eyes. To which my reply was that my eyes, like religion, were frequently misinterpreted.

I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to see him again. Blame it on my resolution to trust my gut a bit more after the Sam debacle. Nonetheless, I told him that it had been a fun and intellectual evening and I wished him good night.

Turns out I did see him again. Stay turned for a recap of the follow-up date with the teacher. In the meantime, boys, seriously, don’t bring your friends to a date.


2 thoughts on “Date #32 – Drinks with Communists

  1. Pingback: Dates #33/34 of 2013 – How to get away with two dates and a dinner in one night (sort of) | Juice

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