Pay For My Damn Taco!

I don't make it a habit of getting picked up by men on the train. Not since I was in high school, ok fine, not since I was in college have I ever given anyone on the train a second look, ok fine, a third or fourth look. The point is I don't do it! I’m a successful, intelligent woman of color, and cute, if I do say so myself. I don’t want or need to pick up dudes on the train.

I say that to admit I recently gave my number to someone on the train. Let me explain. The truth is I was bamboozled! Hoodwinked! It was around 2:00am when I jumped on the train headed home from a party in Brooklyn. I was prepared for the dreadfully long and painful trek back to uptown with my GRE prep book. While I struggled to figure out the difference between polynomials and binomials, I noticed a fine looking brotha walk in the train. As he made his way toward me, I saw from the corner of my eye that he was attempting to figure out what I reading. He was likely thinking of something clever to say to strike up conversation.

He opened with, "What are you studying for?”

I smiled and lifted my book to show him the cover. To my surprise, this sparked an hour long conversation that covered everything from race studies to politics to skewed media and hip-hop.

Here's his run down: originally from Harlem then transplanted to Los Angles, he’s 33 years old, single with no kids and works for a public news radio. He completed his undergraduate studies at Columbia, Masters from Ohio State and PhD at UCLA. At this point, my rule of not getting picked up on the train went out the window. I mean really, a man of color, with a Masters, PhD and a job! SOLD, I’ll take two! He asked for my number in hopes of "getting to know me better" and I caved. He sounded great on paper and didn’t seem like a crazy.

He called the next day to invite me to a showing of Bruce Lee's Enter the Dragon at Prospect Park. Here’s where the nightmarish saga with Cheapo begins. We arrived at the park to find a sign that read "$3 SUGGESTED DONATION.”

With a perplexed look, dude said, " $3?! I thought this movie was free!"

Oh hell no, was this guy really trippin’ about having to pay $6?!

I reached into my pocket ready to pay for my half before he said, "No, no. I got this."

Hell yeah you got this! A little while later, with no further mention of the admission fee, he said, "I guess I didn't have to pay, it’s only a suggested donation."

I shook my head thinking it was best to change the subject. While we waited for the movie to start we talked more about our common interests: books, music, international travel. I couldn’t have painted a better picture for this date - sitting on a blanket in the park on a gorgeous day with the perfect reddish orange sunset sky, vibin’ with a smart and attractive man of color.

After the movie, I suggested we grab a bite at my favorite taco spot, The Snack Dragon in the Lower East Side. It was only 10:00pm and despite the suggested donation comment we were having a great time. This was clearly my cue to keep the party going, but he seemed hesitant about eating.

He explained he had a late lunch with his brother where he paid “$25 for a piece of chicken.”

At this point my picture perfect date began fading to black. Was this guy really cheap or was he trying to make his way out of this date? I was ready to dismiss this as “he’s just not that into me” when he insisted on coming with me to get MY tacos. He was clear to say, “I’ll go with you to get your tacos.”

Whatever man, I was done trying to decipher his signals. I was annoyed and hungry with a one track mind to get tacos, nothing could spoil this moment. So excited about these delicious tacos I urged him to order one for himself. He reluctantly ate one and said, "They're okay." Now he was really pissing me off.

Once we were done eating I waited to see if he was going to pay for my $4 taco. After all, this was our first date. And yes, I'm all about women paying their her own stuff, going dutch, yadda, yadda, but this was our first date. Pay for my damn taco!

Will Cheapo pay for my taco? Stay tuned for part II of Pay for My Damn Taco.