Tamara is a 22-year-old student who lives in the Village at Church and Wellesley. She says, “I have big curly hair, and my style is as outgoing and colourful as I am.” Her friends would say that she is energetic, cheerful, and funny. When she’s not in class or doing schoolwork, she likes to check out museums and galleries and “have a great time, any way, anywhere.” Tamara has been single for two years.
Being single for such a long time, I sometimes think Toronto is a hopeless place for finding love but, deep in my heart, I’ve just been waiting for the right person to prove me wrong.
I met Derrick at the student pub. He was a friend of a friend. I thought he was nerdy-cute, which I like a lot, and he was definitely smart, so I started talking to him. He seemed shy and serious, so I started making fun of him a bit, in a playful way. I was probably a little too drunk. We exchanged numbers at the end of the night—I asked him for his number first—but he was weird to me the whole time, and didn’t flirt back at all. He really didn’t have any of the qualities I’ve been looking for, but I was willing to see what was under the surface.
Derrick texted me after a few days, saying that he was sorry he was so serious, and that we got off on the wrong foot. He invited me to have a beer to make up for it, so I decided to give him a chance. He didn’t really know where he wanted to go, so I suggested we go to another school’s student bar near his apartment.
We talked about ourselves, our schoolwork, and interests, joked, laughed and played some pool. I definitely joked and laughed more than him, but I blamed that on the fact that he’s a science guy. It seemed like he was interviewing me instead of relaxing and having fun. At one point, he stopped playing pool and suddenly said that he’d drop me off at home if I wanted to go. I would have rated the date as mediocre, nothing great, but not shitty either, so I said I was fine. He kept wanting to go outside to smoke, but it was too windy out. I’m a smoker too, but I don’t smoke every 15 minutes!
When Derrick asked me again if I wanted to go for a cigarette, I told him that, since we just had one, I was going to stay inside, but that he was welcome to go by himself. He took my hand, shook it, and said, “It was nice meeting you, but you failed completely.” I was speechless. Then, he said it again: “You failed. You’re a nice girl, though. Take care.” And then he left.
Yes, I’ve had bad dates, and I’ve experienced guys never calling or texting, but this was next level. It wasn’t so much the rejection itself, but the bizarre way that he did it. At least now, the guys who don’t text you back for days on end, or the ones who seem to reject you without ever directly rejecting you, don’t seem so bad. Now, I don’t give as many second chances.
Tamara rates her date (out of 10): 1
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