Kiss and Tell: “My date made kissy faces at me and left without paying for his drinks”

Welcome to Kiss and Tell, a new series about the steamy, surprising and frequently absurd world of Toronto dating. Send your most memorable stories from the pursuit of love and lust in the city to [email protected].
 
—As told to Isabel Slone

I matched with Brady on Tinder a couple of months ago. I was six months out of an 11-year relationship and on a mission to test out dating apps. The last time I was unattached, they weren’t on my radar. I wasn’t looking for anything specific relationship-wise, just some cute dates; I’d see what the chemistry was like and go from there. I liked Brady’s floppy, skater-style hair. He was tall, blue-eyed and fashionable, and I was impressed by the MJ Lenderman song on his profile.

Related: “We had sex behind Burrito Boyz”

From his very first message, he was extremely flirty. He kept telling me that I was a babe, which was flattering. We made plans to go out, but on the day of the date, he texted me to say that he was “too hungover” to meet up. Whatever, we’re both in our 30s, I thought. Hangovers get worse as you get older. I didn’t think it was a big deal. That said, I did clock the fact that he had this debilitating hangover on Monday evening.

Another month went by without either of us scheduling a new date. He did text me “What’s up?” around midnight a couple of times. I told him to stop contacting me unless he wanted to make actual plans. I was fine with just hooking up, but for me, there needs to be some baseline compatibility for it to be fun. My message was evidently received, and he immediately suggested a time for a date. I agreed.

We made plans to meet up on a Friday at 9 p.m., at a bar on Roncesvalles. We’d already established that we both lived in the west end. Before the date, I was making dinner and chilling at home. Brady started texting me at about 8:30 p.m. He repeatedly asked if I could meet up earlier than we’d agreed to—he even offered to call me a Lyft. I said, “Dude, I’m eating dinner. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”

By the time I start walking over, he was sending me a stream of messages asking whether I was still coming and what time I would get there. I assured him that I would be there at 9 p.m., at most a couple of minutes late. But, when I rolled up to the bar at 9:04 p.m., he wasn’t there.

I messaged him to ask where he was, and he said he’d left because his phone had died and he needed to charge it. I thought that was weird—couldn’t he have asked the bartender for a charger? I ordered a beer and decided to wait for him. After all, people are late all the time for any number of reasons. But, if I’m honest, I think my horniness was overriding a bunch of red flags.

After about 15 minutes, he finally showed up, but he seemed a bit off. He refused to make eye contact with me and kept craning his neck to watch the sports game that was playing on a TV over my shoulder. It made me feel invisible, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just nervous.

I’m a librarian, so I drew on my professional skills—it’s my job to speak to strangers. I started asking some standard questions, like “How are you?” and “How has your week been?” He rolled his eyes at me and said, “Do we really have to do this? Can’t we just make out?” I was pretty surprised and kind of annoyed. Like, Yes, we do have to do this—I have to make sure you’re not a murderer! I told him I wasn’t about to make out with someone I had zero chemistry with, and that I’d have to get to know him a bit before I entertained the idea. That’s when he started smacking his lips and making kissy faces at me.

At that point, I was asking myself why I was still on this date. But I kept going and tried my luck with a more fun question: “What’s something that made you laugh recently?” He said, “My friend acting like a hillbilly.” When I asked him to explain, he let out an audible sigh and put his head down on the table. Now I was frustrated. I told him that being out with him was like talking to a brick wall. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t respond.

I’d finished my drink (it was already half gone before Brady even arrived), so I ordered another. I’m a pretty generous person—I tend to give people more chances than they deserve.

He told me that we could have another drink at his house, so it was pretty clear that he wanted to leave and go hook up. I snapped. “Dude, you’ve barely said three words to me! I’m the only one putting in any effort here.” He stood up and, without saying a word, walked right out of the bar—without paying for his drinks.

I flagged down the bartender and told her what was going on. I was not about to pay for them. She asked if I knew him at all, and I told her it was our first time meeting. She explained that he’d been in earlier and drank three beers alone before leaving and coming back. I stuck around to finish my drink and talk shit with the bartender about how weird this guy was. They didn’t charge me for his drinks, and the bartender and I added each other on Instagram. I decided that Tinder was the trashiest of all the dating apps.

Meanwhile, I’d been texting my friends about how badly the date was going, so afterward I met up with them at a different bar. We laughed about the whole thing, and I ended up finding someone to go home with. The evening wasn’t a total waste after all.