Ingrid is a 26-year-old advertising account manager who lives in Baldwin Village. “I’m pretty high-maintenance and a little obsessive-compulsive,” she says. “I like blogging, kickboxing, volunteering, and going out with girlfriends.” Ingrid is looking for a guy she can trust, who shares her sense of humour and who can be her best friend as well as her boyfriend. She met Carl a few months ago while she was working as a barista at Starbucks for extra money.
I was getting ready to end my shift for the night when Carl came in for the second time that day to get an espresso. He swiped his credit card and then pushed a folded-up piece of paper across the counter towards me and told me to read it later, in private.
I did what any reasonable girl would do and read it aloud to my co-workers the second he left the store. He wrote that I was the brightest part of his day, and asked if he could take me out sometime. He also added, conspicuously, that he was a doctor. I wasn’t attracted to him, but I hadn’t been on a date in a long time, so I texted him.
I chickened out and rescheduled a few times, but eventually I had Carl meet me at my place while my roommate was home. He showed up wearing jeans and a white, mock-neck sweater that I absolutely hated. He was a lot older than I am. I tried but I just couldn’t find him attractive. He gave me a bouquet of daisies that still had the price tag on it—he had absolutely no game. Against my better judgment, we left for the date, but first I quietly told my roommate to call me in 30 minutes so that I’d have an excuse to bail if necessary.
We went to another coffee shop; we were the only ones there. He mentioned that he’d noticed me weeks ago while I was working and had been quietly watching me, waiting for a chance to ask me on a date. I told him that this idea made me a little uncomfortable. That’s when he told me he’d noticed something else about me, and said he thought I might have a personality disorder. He took some pamphlets out of his bag and said he had brought them for me. I opened one up and saw that he had highlighted “Personality Disorder: Type C.”
I thought it was some kind of prank, but he was earnest about it and proceeded to explain my “diagnosis” for the better part of 10 minutes. Luckily, my roommate called, and I told Carl it was my boss calling me to pick up a shift. As I left, I thought, “There is no way he’s really a doctor.” It was too weird.
I had this feeling of dread that he’d come back to the store, which he did. After he ordered his espresso shot, he asked if he could possibly get that literature back from me. I couldn’t believe it, and told him I had thrown it out. A couple of months later, he sent me a random Facebook message saying that his intention wasn’t to scare me, but to tell me that he wanted to take care of me whenever I was ready to be in a serious, committed relationship. I blocked him on Facebook and never heard from him again.
Ingrid rates her date (out of 10): 2
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