After about 15 minutes, Cheapo returned to the scene of his crime and, without further mention of his intermission, sat down and reached for the hookah.
Not only did he leave for “a quick bite”, but he brought back with him a lingering scent of 5 spice curry, as a reminder of his impropriety. I was done and completely checked out. My girlfriend, however, was determined not to let him off the hook that easily. She smiled and playfully asked, “Oh, which pizza place did you go to? The one on the corner?”
He gave a smirk and said, “No, I went to the Indian restaurant.” She forced a fake chuckle and said, “Oh, I didn’t know they had pizza at the Indian restaurant? Ha-ha, I’m just kidding.”
Cheapo half- smiled and avoided further discussion by taking his turn at the hookah. An uncomfortable silence loomed over our table until the tension was broken by our waiter who asked for Cheapo’s drink order. He responded, “No, thank you. I was here already. I just stepped out for a bit.”
The waiter, who didn’t seem to speak much English, insisted, “What would you like?”
Cheapo’s tone grew increasingly obnoxious, “I don’t want anything. I came in with them.”
The waiter hurried to the back and brought the manager to our table, who explained the bar’s one drink minimum per person policy.
With an entitled look, Cheapo pointed to our wine glasses and told the manager, “But I already contributed to this.” He turned to me and asked, “You didn’t get me one?”
Shocked and confused, I said, “You didn’t ask me to order you a drink.”
He pressed on, “But I paid for half of that wine.”
I finally realized this cheap fool thought we were drinking from the bottle of wine we purchased together. “Ooh, no. This isn’t a B.Y.O.B. spot. I paid for my glass of wine.” I responded.
Cheapo, once clued in, said, “Oh.” Opened the menu, turned to the manager and said, “I’ll have a cup of tea.”
A cup of tea, really?! You’ve got to be kidding me! I turned to my girlfriend and found her gathering her things. She whispered, “I’m sorry girl, that’s my cue. I need to leave now before I kill him for you.” She exchanged pleasantries with Cheapo and left.
And then, like a dark storm cloud over a cursed house, the uncomfortable silence returned. There I was left alone with a man who, despite looking great on paper, was possibly the worst date of my life.
As we sat in silence, I stared at Cheapo in wonderment as he drank his tea and smoked his hookah. Was this my fault? How did I not see this coming? Did I bring this upon myself? I quickly came to my senses when I realized I was still hungry and Cheapo was likely full.
Despite my anger at his audacious behavior I could not bring myself to tell him off. Instead, I turned to him and said, “It’s getting late and I work tomorrow.”
He seemed surprised I was calling it an early night, but didn’t seem upset. He walked me to the train and said, “I had a great time. We should do it again.”
I nodded my head in acknowledgement and said, “Well my schedule is pretty crazy. I’ll keep you posted.”
I made my way home, once again, trying desperately to put this disastrous evening behind me. I received a text from Cheapo later that evening, which said, verbatim, "Listen PYT : dig u, want 2 see, build w/u soon. And u know this. I can, will move pieces in my unhectic schedule 2 make it happen. So, it’s on u baby girl."
Alright Common, you want to build with me?! Were we on the same date? This didn’t all just happen in my head. Did it? Needless to say, I never responded to his text.
So, why am I writing about the debacle of my non-existent dating life? Well, aside from the sheer comedy, the experiences in my story are shared by many of my female (and a few male) contemporaries, which lead me to ask the following questions:
What would make a successful and educated woman of color, much like myself, give her number to anyone on the train, let alone someone at 3 in the morning?
What would afford (no pun intended) a guy like Cheapo a second date after what was clearly a horrible 1st date?
The truth is that it’s a dog eat dog dating world, especially for successful and educated women of color looking for successful and educated men of color. The fact is the odds are against us. For every “successful” and “educated” man of color there are about 20 “successful” and “educated” women of color lined up waiting to take their turn at “Could he be the one crapshoot.” And this isn’t even including a whole other subset of women who are not “successful” and “educated” or even of color.
I’ve put successful and educated in quotations because they’re subjective terms defined by our individual social contexts, but for our story let’s use a broad definition of successful as having a job and educated as having at least a college degree.
We can go deeper in this analysis by categorizing what type of jobs and which types of colleges. We could also take into account emotional maturity, or what I like to call the emotional midgetry factor. Are they able to have honest and healthy relationships? Do they have the “My ex hurt me and I won’t trust anyone ever again” or the, “I’m not looking for anything serious because I really need to focus on my career” baggage. There are plenty of other factors to consider, but this could turn into a thesis and that’s not my point.
For the record, I'm not generalizing all men of color. I recognize that men also go through dating trials and tribulations. I’m merely attemping to reflect on my own experiences as well as, what seems to be, the collective experience of a number of women of color to figure out why dating is so darn difficult.
Is dating really a game of timing? Or numbers? Or some unpredictable cosmic phenomenon? Maybe, it's just not my time and I should focus my energy elsewhere. I can dig that. But what if the tables were turned and for every successful and educated woman of color there were 20 successful and educated men of color?
Would I have given Cheapo my number or even a second date? After all, there would be at least 19 other successful and educated men of color waiting their turn.
Not only did he leave for “a quick bite”, but he brought back with him a lingering scent of 5 spice curry, as a reminder of his impropriety. I was done and completely checked out. My girlfriend, however, was determined not to let him off the hook that easily. She smiled and playfully asked, “Oh, which pizza place did you go to? The one on the corner?”
He gave a smirk and said, “No, I went to the Indian restaurant.” She forced a fake chuckle and said, “Oh, I didn’t know they had pizza at the Indian restaurant? Ha-ha, I’m just kidding.”
Cheapo half- smiled and avoided further discussion by taking his turn at the hookah. An uncomfortable silence loomed over our table until the tension was broken by our waiter who asked for Cheapo’s drink order. He responded, “No, thank you. I was here already. I just stepped out for a bit.”
The waiter, who didn’t seem to speak much English, insisted, “What would you like?”
Cheapo’s tone grew increasingly obnoxious, “I don’t want anything. I came in with them.”
The waiter hurried to the back and brought the manager to our table, who explained the bar’s one drink minimum per person policy.
With an entitled look, Cheapo pointed to our wine glasses and told the manager, “But I already contributed to this.” He turned to me and asked, “You didn’t get me one?”
Shocked and confused, I said, “You didn’t ask me to order you a drink.”
He pressed on, “But I paid for half of that wine.”
I finally realized this cheap fool thought we were drinking from the bottle of wine we purchased together. “Ooh, no. This isn’t a B.Y.O.B. spot. I paid for my glass of wine.” I responded.
Cheapo, once clued in, said, “Oh.” Opened the menu, turned to the manager and said, “I’ll have a cup of tea.”
A cup of tea, really?! You’ve got to be kidding me! I turned to my girlfriend and found her gathering her things. She whispered, “I’m sorry girl, that’s my cue. I need to leave now before I kill him for you.” She exchanged pleasantries with Cheapo and left.
And then, like a dark storm cloud over a cursed house, the uncomfortable silence returned. There I was left alone with a man who, despite looking great on paper, was possibly the worst date of my life.
As we sat in silence, I stared at Cheapo in wonderment as he drank his tea and smoked his hookah. Was this my fault? How did I not see this coming? Did I bring this upon myself? I quickly came to my senses when I realized I was still hungry and Cheapo was likely full.
Despite my anger at his audacious behavior I could not bring myself to tell him off. Instead, I turned to him and said, “It’s getting late and I work tomorrow.”
He seemed surprised I was calling it an early night, but didn’t seem upset. He walked me to the train and said, “I had a great time. We should do it again.”
I nodded my head in acknowledgement and said, “Well my schedule is pretty crazy. I’ll keep you posted.”
I made my way home, once again, trying desperately to put this disastrous evening behind me. I received a text from Cheapo later that evening, which said, verbatim, "Listen PYT : dig u, want 2 see, build w/u soon. And u know this. I can, will move pieces in my unhectic schedule 2 make it happen. So, it’s on u baby girl."
Alright Common, you want to build with me?! Were we on the same date? This didn’t all just happen in my head. Did it? Needless to say, I never responded to his text.
So, why am I writing about the debacle of my non-existent dating life? Well, aside from the sheer comedy, the experiences in my story are shared by many of my female (and a few male) contemporaries, which lead me to ask the following questions:
What would make a successful and educated woman of color, much like myself, give her number to anyone on the train, let alone someone at 3 in the morning?
What would afford (no pun intended) a guy like Cheapo a second date after what was clearly a horrible 1st date?
The truth is that it’s a dog eat dog dating world, especially for successful and educated women of color looking for successful and educated men of color. The fact is the odds are against us. For every “successful” and “educated” man of color there are about 20 “successful” and “educated” women of color lined up waiting to take their turn at “Could he be the one crapshoot.” And this isn’t even including a whole other subset of women who are not “successful” and “educated” or even of color.
I’ve put successful and educated in quotations because they’re subjective terms defined by our individual social contexts, but for our story let’s use a broad definition of successful as having a job and educated as having at least a college degree.
We can go deeper in this analysis by categorizing what type of jobs and which types of colleges. We could also take into account emotional maturity, or what I like to call the emotional midgetry factor. Are they able to have honest and healthy relationships? Do they have the “My ex hurt me and I won’t trust anyone ever again” or the, “I’m not looking for anything serious because I really need to focus on my career” baggage. There are plenty of other factors to consider, but this could turn into a thesis and that’s not my point.
For the record, I'm not generalizing all men of color. I recognize that men also go through dating trials and tribulations. I’m merely attemping to reflect on my own experiences as well as, what seems to be, the collective experience of a number of women of color to figure out why dating is so darn difficult.
Is dating really a game of timing? Or numbers? Or some unpredictable cosmic phenomenon? Maybe, it's just not my time and I should focus my energy elsewhere. I can dig that. But what if the tables were turned and for every successful and educated woman of color there were 20 successful and educated men of color?
Would I have given Cheapo my number or even a second date? After all, there would be at least 19 other successful and educated men of color waiting their turn.
