Monday, March 24, 2008
“Matt, we gotta go,” my date said to me. Outside of the club, I had just learned that he saw someone, who, in his words, “fucked him over.”
He told me that he had to take care of something. He got out his phone and dialed.
Then one of the most awkward moments of my life began.
“You got to do me a huge favor,” he said into the phone. “You know what I’m talking about…You remember, that Doug guy?…No, don’t call me afterward, just send me a picture...Oh shit, there he is…purple Honda, plate number…You got his car? Good, now follow it until he gets home…” and the conversation trailed off into my misery.
My date hung up the phone. “Did you just put a hit out on someone?,” I asked, afraid I might be next. He just smirked. I started to freak out a tad, and asked him again. “No one’s going to die, Matt,” he answered. “But let’s just say he won’t be walking at graduation. Crutches, maybe, but definitely not walking.”
After that night, I couldn’t see the harm in being asexual. I would rather try to be attracted to no one than him.
I don’t want to think that this is what casual dating had become. On our third date, he was comfortable enough to threaten another human’s life in my presence. Granted, I don’t really know that anything illegal or violent actually happened, but I didn’t want to think what was in store if we actually made it a month.
I am not starved for attention or romance enough to feel the need to impress someone by conjuring a “hit” at the touch of a button. Being polite and taking care of your mafia-esque business in your own free time is all I need to be impressed.
After contemplating the asexual thing for a good 15 minutes, I folded. As horrible as dating can be, the end result in some cases can be worth it.
Sure, there will be dates who are constantly late, call you by the wrong name and kiss like there’s no tomorrow (and your tongue is the key to their survival).
There will also be the dates who smile every time you look at them, still open doors for you and notice things about you that you didn’t even notice yourself.
At the end of my I-could-have-just-become-an-accessory-to-battery evening, my date said he would keep in touch. I smirked, just as he had earlier that night, knowing that it was probably the last time I would see him.
I put myself out there, resulting in the worst date at this point in my life, and that’s all I can do until I find a relationship that doesn’t involve me being a potential witness to a crime.
Hirschfeld is an Augusta junior in journalism.
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