You wouldn't have to go back too far in time to remember when internet dating was such a taboo subject, that those who had dared to try it would rarely admit it. The assumption was that the sexy 23 year old brunette you had been happily chatting up, would turn out to be either some hideous biffer of a woman with a vivid imagination and a penchant for butt pluggery, or some (barely) post-op transsexual who makes their own movies.
These days I like to think the stigma surrounding internet dating has been removed, and I will happily discuss the fact that I have met someone "off the 'net", with friends and people at work. The fact that the meeting was, on reflection, a complete disaster is neither here nor there. She was a sexy girl, who looked very much the same as the picture she provided, and who was, dare I say, normal. The only downside was that the fussy bitch didn't like me.
This was my first, and to date my last internet date, and whilst I still wear the deep wounds of rejection that may never heal, I must take the time to point out that she was really quite pleasant. If I hadn't been such a complete bellend when we had met, then there was a chance that the girl could have been my one true love.
I worried about the meeting for a day or so before it actually happened. I am shamed to admit it, but I thought long and hard about what I should wear, and changed my mind a number of times. I finally decided, having re-read her profile again, that I should look 'smart'. The only time I ever look smart is when I am at work, and even then its not often.
I found the right shirt, found the right Jeans, found the right (only) shoes, and I was sorted. I felt supremely confident as I drove towards the agreed meeting place - a collection of bars, restaurants and shops near a marina on the Solent coast - but as I drew nearer I started to lose that confidence.
A text message as I enter the car park:
"are you here yet?"
Should I reply right away, or would that look keen? It would look keen, but that might be good. After all, you like her right?
[errr there's a car behind you.]
After parking, which left just the right amount of time for me to look polite, but not keen, I replied:
"yes"
The very second I hit the send button I remember thinking I should have said more. I was losing it, and wanted to get the difficult bit out of the way. I knew as soon as we had met, sat down, and had a drink in front of us, we would relax.
I opened my door with a steely determination. Such was my focus on the task in hand that it took 3 shouts, of increasing volume, from the owner of the brand new Golf parked beside me, to attract my attention.
"What?" I said
"You just dented my fucking car"
"Did i? Oh I'm sorry"
"You just opened your door and hit my car"
"Yeah I know. Sorry"
"What do you mean 'sorry' " (sorry was said in a really whiney voice. Nothing like my voice)
"Errr, you know. Like regretful, apologetic, that sort of thing"
"Don't get fucking smart with me mate, you dented my car"
"Here lets have a look, you must be well gutted, is it new? What is it? A gti? Im really sorry I dented it mate"
"V6 R32 mate. 3.2 litre engine in that fucker. Goes like shutoff a shovel mate. Only had it a week"
"So what abou"
"Got it imported. 26 grand mate. Well quick."
"I bet"
"How fast is yours then mate? Bet that shifts a bit don't it?"
"150 break - nowhere near yours, how many ponies has yours got?"
"Fucking don't ask mate, fucking loads I bet. Ponies?"
"sorry - BHP - break horse power"
"Oh right yeah. Fucking loads mate"
"great. Anyway, ive gotta dash, catch you later, yeah?
"ok mate sound. Yeah. Catch you later"
I half walked, half ran from the car park and down towards the marina.
The pub we agreed to meet outside was one of the first you came to as you rounded the path and descended the two flights of stairs. It was coming to the end of a really hot summers day, and the sweat patches appearing on my shirt did my confidence the world of good.
I noticed as I approached the pub that there were hundreds of chairs and tables dotted around outside the various outlets. It was currently a transitional time for the area. At some tables you had people who were having a quick beer before heading home after a long day in the sun, and at a few others you had people like me, who were just arriving for a night out. To say I felt overdressed would be something of an understatement, but at least I wasn't cold.
It took me about 3 circuits of the bar, each one including both the inside and outside seating areas, to establish that my date wasn't actually there. I had a couple of scary moments when I saw women on their own who, lets just say, 'weren't my cup of tea', and probably starred eerily at one too many people.
By now I was intensely paranoid, and was under no illusion.
I knew action was required, and fast. I grabbed my phone from my pocket and fired off a text:
"where r u?"
I waited for a reply. It got to that amount of time before her reply, where you begin to lose the optimism that she's typing a long text, and begin to fear the worst.
I felt like a such an arsehole - stood there looking like a weirdo, having individually 'stared out' each patron of this fine waterside establishment.
I licked my dry lips, turned on my heel, and made my way to the bar.
As I was deciding which offensively weak lager I would allow myself to drink a pint of whilst driving, I felt an all too familiar vibration in my pocket.
The text read:
"Felt nervous and am still in car. Can you come and meet me"
"Shit" I said out loud.
The look from the barlady was more of a 'bored to within an inch of glassing the next bloke who looked at my tits' kind of look, than a 'my goodness!!, he said shit!' kind of look, so I left without further word.
I knew from previous internet banter that the date had a black Corsa. I walked up to the car park and spotted it instantly. It was parked about 3 spaces away from mine. One of those spaces was empty, but was once occupied by a brand new V6 Golf.
I felt as though my stomach was about to fall out of my arse for a number of reasons.
1. There's every chance she saw how I entered the car park (I was late, and mildly stressed following a (one sided) exchange of words with Beamer driving, mobile phone using ignorant fuckwitt, who decided to change lanes on the motorway as I passed him) My driving style was most likely 'erratic'.
2. She saw me before I saw her. (She didn't drive off - it's ok...)
3. She most likely witnessed the exchange with Dent Man.
She got out of her car as I approached.
<*dv_0*> "Hi " she said
"Hi. How long have you been there?"
"A while"
"oh. Shall we get a drink then?"
"yeah sure"
The conversation flowed really quite well for the first 20 minutes or so, without any mention of Dent Man, or of close relatives being run over by joy riders. I was charming and articulate, and felt like I was putting her at ease.
It wasn't long before I was nursing the dregs of my pint, and silently cursing my decision to drive my car. I wanted another pint, but felt that until a boundary had been established, I shouldn't get another in case it offends the date for some reason. It dawned on me how little I knew the girl. I was musing this point, and admittedly not uttering a word, when she broke the silence,
"Do you want another drink?"
"Yeah. Pint please."
As she walked to the bar it was the first chance I had to look at her arse. She was wearing tight jeans, and it was a peach. I made the decision then that I 'liked' this person, and tried for the rest of the evening to be everything I thought she would probably want me to be, based on the information I had gathered in the 30 minutes I had known her.
We talked all night, laughed at each others jokes, and took each opportunity we could to move ours chairs a little closer together. The sun went down, and the night wore on. We moved inside the bar when the temperature got too low, and were the last to leave. We were oblivious to the barstaff walking round with faces like smacked arses, banging glasses on the bar and shouting "CAN YOU START DRINKING UP PLEASE?".
I even dared a quick snog by the cars before driving home with a large grin on my face, and a lazy lob on. I was on cloud nine. I had 'pulled', and I had done it using the internet.
Modern technology, eh?
As I pulled down my garage door to close it I 'felt' another message:
"thanks for 2nite it was fun but im sorry I don't think im over my ex"
"Shit" I said out loud.
Submitted by Jimmy
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