My Date with Adam

February 3, 2009

In honor of the current "AntiValentine's Bad Date" contest, I'm going to tell you all about my date with Adam. Don't worry ladies, I'm not in the running for the contest, being specifically excluded due to my status as a regular columnist here, but Natalie thought this one was just too rich not to share.

This all started when I met up with an old friend who was passing through town. We decided to meet up around 5:30pm at a local bar and grill, and we chatted until about 7 or so. After my friend left the premises, I stuck around to write and somehow wound up at the bar, being hit on by a rather belligerent fellow of about 30 whose romantic style reminded me very much of those old Wild Kingdom reruns where the elks are running around showing off their antlers and headbutting each other pointlessly in an attempt to catch the attention of some cow who was either in the vicinity because the grass looked tasty or she was a spy and would lampoon them all later in a column. I digress.

With this guy was an acquaintance who was not much older (about 35) but MUCH older if you get my drift. He was covered in tattoos (including one on his neck, which made me wince: it must've hurt getting it done) but this one didn't say much.

In any event, after regaling me for about an hour with what passes for charm, some vestigial synaptic connection was finally made -- ie the obnoxious guy who was hitting on me realized that there was no way I was going to do it even for practice, no matter how many bags of Doritos he dangled in front of me -- and he left.

This left me with the heavily tattooed Adam, who began talking. And turned out to be rather interesting. He looks exactly like a big scary biker, but I like this guy. He strikes me as a gentle giant. A mechanic by trade, he is newly divorced with 3 small children

Adam asks me out to lunch (the next day at 1) and after warning him that I stay single deliberately as a public service to men everywhere, I accept. He offers to walk me home. I accept. I'm pretty tuned in to danger when it comes to the male of the species and this guy is not ringing any of my bells.

You can tell he doesn't quite know what to make of me. This happens often with the people I meet. He laughs a lot but over the course of the entire evening, says nothing either stupid or inappropriate. Apart from asking me out to lunch, he does not hit on me. Eye contact is maintained at all times. He never tries to lay a finger on me. He speaks well of his ex wife, which is heroic considering that they've been broken up for less than a year and his youngest isn't quite 2 yet.

So he walks me home, but he questions me at least twice about whether or not I'm actually going to show up at lunch. I assure him I will.

The next day, I arrive at the restaurant early because I want to read the paper. I sit down and start reading.

He shows up and sits down. We begin to talk.

Almost immedately, the walkie talkie he's carrying crackles to life with 'Hey Dude, did that hot chick you picked up last night show up?' This inquiry is broadcast at concert volume throughout the entire restaurant. I'm sitting there looking at him thinking: 'Ok, buddy, what stories have you been spreading about me?' but he doesn't strike me as the type. Maybe he's just thrilled that he's got a date.

His face goes beet red and he turns to one side to respond. 'Uh, I'm at the restaurant now' which elicits an almost instantaneous reply of 'We'll be right over.'

'WE'LL BE RIGHT OVER'???

Has this become a party? I'm tired. I'm just here for lunch and ONLY out of politeness because really, all I want to do is just go home, Avoid the Drama and sleep. We order our food and talk.

We talk. He's still funny and still not at all inappropriate, at least not to my face. I'm not liking that "We'll be right over" thing and I'm having dark suspicions about the fact that (a) it's merely less than 12 hours since I've seen this man and a number of his friends know about me (b) they think he picked me up (c) they know that we were meeting at this place for lunch. I do notice with alarm that although the sun is barely over the yardarm, this guy's already drinking alcohol. Strike one.

Not ten minutes later, his best friend shows up and inspects me as if I were about to go up for auction. He likes what he sees to such an extent that he attempts (deep breath now girl) to give Adam a high five at the table with me sitting right there. And although I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and he's not directly responsible for his friend's appalling conduct, I'm not inclined to be all that generous, so this definitely counts as strike two.

Again, my spidey senses are tingling. WTF did this man say happened between us? He walked me 4 blocks. That was IT. I have yet to shake his hand. Lunch was agreed to on the basis of the 'Friends only' caveat. And/or how long has it been since he's had a date?

His friend retreats, but not far. He sits at the bar some 10 feet from our table to watch us have lunch. This swiftly becomes not only irritating but unnerving as his friend (Brad) is constantly (a) drinking (b) on the cellphone juggling women and giving us 'progress reports' on how well he's doing with each of them.

By this time, I cannot imagine what the look on my face is like but I suspect my smile has faded somewhat. Adam leaves the table, walks over to Brad and says something. Brad goes outside for a while. Adam returns to the table and orders more alcohol. I'm losing track of how many strikes we're at by now, but at the very least we're coming up to the seventh inning stretch and it's not going well for him at all.

Lunch, which was very good, is over and he asks if I would like to see the patio for a minute. I would rather just kill myself at this point, but polite to the core, I agree. I bring my coke to the patio, he orders *another* beer. With a shot to go along with it.

Then the rest of his friends start arriving, all saying some variation of 'Wow -- is this the one? Score, dude!' right out loud in front of me. They attempt to impress me with tales of their recent trips to Hooters. Adam is not saying much and I'm saying NOTHING. He's shrinking visibly into his seat as his buddies continue to arrive and congregate at the table. Soon, there are 8 of us there: me and Adam, Brad, Brad's DAD (whom Brad has phoned to drive over to inspect me) and 4 of Adam's other friends.

What follows is 20 minutes of relentless sexual harassment (which I believe passes for charm) at the hands of his friends, which Adam does not even attempt to intervene in or stop. He sits there mute and mortified and keeps trying to make himself smaller and smaller but hasn't asked anyone to leave and continues to drink. In fact, it accelerates.

While it was an interesting anthropological exercise, I've been completely silent throughout it and after the said 20 minutes, I cannot take anymore and get up. 'Well, sounds like you guys have your afternoon planned' -- a fun filled day of boating to Wyandottte to take in the delights of a strip club there and a return trip with a hold full of smuggled alcohol back over the border -- and I take my leave. There is a chorus of 'give her a kiss Adam' as I stand and prepare to depart, but by this time, Adam seems to understand that he will never lay eyes on me again if I have any say in the matter but I'm not sure he's clued into the fact that it's because he's invited the entire town out to gawk at me, insult me and stare at my breasts. I leave.

Lunch was enough to persuade me that I'd seen all I wanted to of Adam the biker mechanic.

M.