José is a 32-year-old architect who lives in Bloordale. He describes his style as relaxed—or “semi-semi-semi-formal.” He tends to go with the flow and enjoys “music-related hobbies and unreasonable flanerie.” He has been single for two years and met Andrea on Tinder.
Andrea and I texted for a couple of days, then I asked her to meet me at a bar I like near Dufferin Street. She responded that she’d never been that far west. She then asked if it was a “hipster place” and said that she didn’t want to go somewhere that you’re supposed to just sit and have a conversation. I didn’t know what to say. We agreed to meet at a different bar and walk around.
Andrea was really beautiful. I told her to dress comfortably so we could walk, but she showed up wearing high heels. She immediately complained that the bar was too dark, but we sat down for a drink anyway. Within a half-hour, I knew an outrageous amount of personal information about her. She was also name-dropping all over the place, but she seemed to have a sweet, caring side, and she told me that I didn’t seem like an asshole.
At the second bar we went to, I tried to engage Andrea in conversation, but she didn’t really listen to me. There were some fun, witty exchanges and flirtations, but I also had four or five unfinished stories on the go because she kept interrupting. We left that bar and walked for a block until Andrea announced that she thought the next bar was too far to walk to. She wanted to take a cab.
The next place was one of my favourite drinking spots, but Andrea was clearly offended by the space and the people in it, so we took another one-block cab ride to a cocktail joint I thought she might like. She was okay for one drink, but then said that we had to go. We actually ran into some of my friends on the way out, but she retreated to an alcove and wouldn’t talk to them.
Back on the street, I told her to choose where we should go next. We got in another cab and went to some horrible club. The bouncers ignored her when we walked to the front of the line, and she got mad and told me it was my fault that we didn’t get in. She was probably right.
When I dropped Andrea off at home, I was so drunk and annoyed that I tried to tell her how badly she had behaved. She didn’t want to hear what I had to say and went upstairs. I won’t see her again because the universe might implode, but I’m a believer in learning from everything.
José rates his date (out of 10): 3
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