Last night I went out with a guy and I wish I hadn’t. It was our 3rd date and by the end of the night, I was just completely over it. Don’t get me wrong, the game was good and we had awesome seats with an incredible view, as shown above. Even though the Buccaneers lost, there were lots of great energy throughout the stadium. Anyway. I woke up this morning feeling some type of way because I had such high hopes for this guy. He was supposed to good. He was supposed to be decent. Now let me tell you guys what went down. He thinks I expect too much and that’s my downfall but I felt like my limits were pushed last night and I have every right to be mad.
Before the shit show started….
We met up at his place and I got in his car around 6:45 PM. Keep in mind the game starts at 7:30 PM. I was surprised he didn’t call an Uber or Lyft seeing as how parking would be really tight, but didn’t think much of it as I assumed he had parking passes along with our tickets.
So we drive around Raymond James aimlessly to find somewhere to park. By the time we realized there’s no way getting around the parking situation, it was already 7:15. So we pull into the nearest lot owned by the Tampa International Airport which cost $15 to park. He didn’t carry cash. Why he did not carry cash to a football game, I do not know. Luckily I had pulled out some cash earlier at the ATM because I wanted to pay for our drinks so at least one of us came prepared. A true gentleman would not make a girl pay on the 3rd date. 5th date? Yes, let’s split the bill. 7th date? My turn to buy us dinner. But the 3rd date? Sorry, that doesn’t fly with me. Did I mention on the first date he didn’t pay for my cocktail either, but I let it slide because I thought he was going to be worth my time? Ugh. Anyway. Moving on.
After we parked, it had begun to drizzle and it was raining all day so the entire lot was muddy. And the lot was not paved. It was just a pure flat land of grass. We didn’t want to deal with that because he had on Sperries and I had on my brand new white vans. Plus we didn’t want to miss the game as it was inching closer and closer to 7:30 PM.
So what do we do? We hopped the 8 ft. fence with barbed wire like dumbasses. Everyone who parked near us did the same thing because nobody wanted to trudge through the mud while it was raining. And this lot was huge too. It stretched for fucking miles. There were girls in shorts who got cut from jumping over and guys who got minor scrapes as well. But that didn’t stop us. I don’t know what I was thinking going through with this. I felt like an inmate trying to escape prison. So after caving in, he hops over first. Let’s call him… Chad. Chad hops over just fine because he’s 6ft tall. Me, being 5’7, had a little trouble. I was wearing a white button up and the barbed wire snagged through my shirt sleeve and cut my arm. I started bleeding. Not profusely, but bleeding mildly. But no. It doesn’t stop there. There is yet ANOTHER 8ft fence to go through. I don’t know who the fuck was running this lot that night, but you would THINK they’d open the gates for us to walk through. The gates were locked shut. And so it begins,
Round 2 of the Hunger Games
By now, we’re already late to the game. Everyone else was stuck in the same situation with us. People had cuts on their palm, legs, arms, hands. It was too late to turn back. So again, we hopped over. Luckily, a good samaritan who was over the fence already and decided to hold down the barbed wire for me to jump over. Why didn’t Chad hold the barbed wire down for me? Why did a stranger have to do it? He was completely thoughtless and he could tell I was pissed. Now we’re finally on the sidewalk and walking towards the actual stadium. Some awkward moments followed and I tried to lighten up but I was so annoyed. My cut was still bleeding little drops of blood and there was blood on my favorite vintage linen shirt. I think he knew how upset I was and decided to remain quiet to let me cool off. I decided to hold my tongue because I didn’t want to spoil the evening and I actually really wanted to see the game.
Taking matters into my own hands
While we were at the crosswalk waiting for the pedestrian light to come on, I saw an officer. I explained to him what happened and that I needed a band-aid. He found a band-aid for me in his car along with an alcohol wipe. Chad didn’t take the initiative to even try to make things better. He only said, “Are you okay?” but I would’ve liked for him show more concern. So I, of course, had to fend for myself. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic but you know what? If your date is bleeding in any way, I think you owe him or her a common courtesy get them a band aid. Or something. Anything!
I’m very prone to infections as an individual who has extremely sensitive skin. I felt better once I had some kind of antiseptic and a fresh band-aid. Once we got to the game and found our seats, the mood lightened up. I guess energy is contagious and you could feel that once you walked into the stadium. God, I love American sports. I tried to forget about what had happened earlier and the fact that he wasn’t thoughtful enough to get us an Uber which would have been much cheaper because his place wasn’t that far from the stadium. We enjoyed the game, but then things took a turn for the worse yet again.
It’s pouring rain out, everyone was wearing ponchos and as they left the stadium. You know, if I was taking a girl out, I would have planned for this because I am actually a very thoughtful person. The weather forecast showed rain all day. Plus, it’s freaking Florida. It’s always raining here. But if he didn’t bring an umbrella, why would he think of bringing a poncho for us? The weather wasn’t in his control but the parking situation could’ve been prevented. I should’ve just called a cab for myself but I didn’t want to ditch him. I’m not unreasonable, people. I’m just very particular. It was my fault for depending on the guy in this situation, I should have brought my own poncho, to be honest. So here we are, treading through about 2 miles in the pouring rain. I was soaked. Drenched. And I just couldn’t take it anymore. I shouted, “Why didn’t you plan our date better?” And he was just making excuses and turning everything into a joke. Saying shit like “It is what it is. We’re already wet. Just embrace it. Go with the flow. Life isn’t perfect. This is football. Relax. It’s not a big deal.” Not a big deal? I got cut, my shirt ripped, I’m soaking wet, I paid for parking, and no apology was given. Walking in the rain with someone you like is really not as romantic as it is in the movies or books. And you know what’s really fucking annoying? WET SOCKS. Along with wet jeans. Destroying a perfectly good pair of white sneakers. I’m pissed because this could have been prevented. Instead of acknowledging how upset I was, he turns the whole thing into a joke. Boy, I ought to slap you.
I ended things later that night over text, stating irreconcilable differences and that we were better off just friends and not surprisingly, he did not respond. I want someone who can be considerate of my feelings. Not waving them away like they don’t matter. I would like someone more attentive and caring as well. The next morning I called my best friend and mom to reaffirm my decision.
I don’t know. There was someone else I was sort of talking to earlier this summer. And I imagined being stuck in the rain with him with mud all over our shoes. And I don’t think I would’ve cared. I think we would’ve laughed about it. It all comes down to who you’re with. You could be in a really shitty situation with someone you care about and it wouldn’t be half bad. So I guess Chad was never the one. That’s what dating is, folks. Narrow it down to what you truly want. Know your worth and do not fucking settle.
The bottom line? Get real with people about who you are, what you want, what you need to flourish in a relationship, and be 100% honest and upfront about that. Address how you expect to be treated. Standards only scare off people who are not meant for you. The right ones will stay. Weed out the rest.
And I rest my case. Goodnight.