The Fake Date

I was really, really excited about this date.

I was thrilled to finally get asked on a date. We agree to meet at the Bulldog Bar for a drink. I text my date when I park, and he tells me that he got a table outside.

My date is sitting by himself when I get to the side of restaurant. I say hi and sit down. He lights a cigar.

It’s intimidating because my date is a former New York investment banker and a bit intense. The conversation was alright, but after about 45 minutes my date tells me that he has movie tickets and has to run.

I say goodbye, go home, and walk my dogs.

I figure the movie thing was a bullshit excuse because he wasn’t terribly interested.

When I’m walking my dogs I get a text:

Date: “So what’s the deal? You’re not interested?”
Me: “What do you mean? I thought you had to go to a movie?”
Date: “What? What movie? I never said anything about a movie. I’ve been waiting for you. I’m the guy in a black polo.”

I stop walking and gasp.

The guy at the restaurant was wearing a checkered button-down, NOT a black polo.

I went on the wrong date.

The fake-date looked close enough to my real date’s photo, and had also recently moved from New York. All of the details were close enough that I never suspected a thing.

The entire time my real date was at the outdoor tables on the other side of the building, making friends with the waitress and feeling stood up.

The real-date never texted me because his phone died. After an hour he got frustrated, charged his phone at his car, and sent me the WTF text.

So I explain what happened. My real date is gracious enough to meet me at the bar across the street from the Bulldog. I speed back and get there before him.

Luckily my real date is way hotter and more personable than the random investment banker.

We had a great time and at least left with a story.