Les Than Impressed
I woke up Saturday morning, hung over.
At 11:15 my phone rang.
"It's Les. I just wanted to let you know I'm here."
"You're at the restaurant? Aren't we meeting at noon?"
"Yes, but I didn't know about traffic, so I allowed plenty of extra time."
"Uh, okay, but I won't be able to be there until noon, like we said."
"Oh, that's perfectly alright. I'm wearing black jeans and tennis shoes and a yellow and black striped shirt. I'll be watching for you...I know you have red hair, right?"
"Uh huh. I'll be the one waving to everybody there. See you soon."
As I closed the phone I thought, "He's forty-five minutes early and from the sounds of it, dresses like Charlie Brown. I wonder if he lives with his mother."
After drinking about a gallon of water and standing under a hot shower for twenty minutes I was ready. I figured I had an hour to assess whether or not this was someone I'd like to hang out with. I prepared my "I wish I could stay longer" excuse.
As expected, it was a total wash. I mean, I had a sandwich and a tomato-basil bisque which was very good, but I was so not into him.
Here's the thing: Les was so gay. And not gay in that good way that gay men have of being totally fun and secure in their sexuality or the way that bisexual men have of knowing how hot it is that they suck cock and eat pussy.
No, Les was gay in the discomfort-inducing way that in-denial queens have when they buy sports cars, talk tough and overcompensate for what they're terrified everyone might discover. I got a creepy feeling from this guy.
Les could definitely use something in his ass. To dislodge the piece of coal transforming into a diamond as we spoke.
All through lunch I kept thinking, "I'd really like to see this guy get fucked like a prison bitch." I, however, had no desire to be the one to do it.
Then came the last straw.
Our server was a very cute young man who, while taking my order, made a sweet remark, not flirtatious, just sweet. From that moment, Les was rude, demanding and condescending to him.
Have I mentioned that I used to wait tables?
After paying with his AmEx Platinum and leaving a one dollar tip on a fifteen dollar check we got up to leave. I conveniently forgot my sweater at the table. When we got to the door I said I'd be right back, and went to retrieve it.
I padded the tip.
What an asshole.
When I returned it was starting to rain.
"What would you like to do now, dear?"
Ew. Please don't call me 'dear' or 'honey' or 'baby' unless we have a history.
"Well, I'm sorry I don't have more time, but I promised my mother I'd help her prepare for a party tonight."
"Oh, you have to leave? I was hoping we'd get to spend some time together. You remember how I told you I love to satisfy women?"
Sure, Dr. Kildare.
"I do, but I'm going to have to take a raincheck."
"Speaking of which, where are you parked? It's really starting to come down!"
I was just down the block and he was several blocks away. I offered a ride to his car.
You know that Volkswagen commercial where the guy's leaning out his window into the megaphone saying, "Because I'm compensating for my shortcomings?" It was sort of like that. Tiny and red and obviously more car than he knew what to do with, I had to try very hard not to a) laugh or b) groan.
"So, when can we get together? Can you see what you can make work next week? And call me!"
"I'll let you know. Thank you for lunch, Les."
I drove home in the rain, composing my 'so long' email to him. Three minutes into the drive he rang my cell phone. I didn't pick up. It was raining and I was driving and jeez, relax, man.
Over the next twelve hours he sent three emails, four text messages and called a total of four times. He was the second dude to freak out and turn girly and emo on me that day. I'm not even going into the second one. Suffice it to say it was a first.
I don't have time to worry about what I say or don't say and how it's going to affect someone who is clearly not mentally stable. The gracious email I'd drafted to Les became a pointed request that he stop contacting me.
Thank god I had a date with Thomas that evening.
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