(photo by Jack Slomovitz)
Him: I’m sorry I’m late.
Me: Stop it, you look gorgeous.
Him: Ha. Thanks. So what’s your deal?
Him: Yeah, so you make these pies or what?
Me: Oh. My site. Yeah, I make a lot of pies. I got good at them and it’s taken me a lot of places.
Him: So, what? If I start dating you you’ll just be obsessed with pie the whole time? You’ll just bake pie and feed it to me? I get to eat all the pie? Where is it? Did you bring pie here?
Me: We’re taking a walk in the park in the middle of the day.
Him: I’m joking, stupid. I thought you said you do comedy?
Me: Um. I do.
Me: You’re a buyer for Macy’s?
Him: Yeah, I decide what does and does not go into Macy’s. I have so much power. Just kidding.
Me: I bet you have a certain amount of power.
Him: Not really.
Me: Oh. Okay. Admittedly I don’t understand it. So…
Him: So what is it? I’m confused. You’re giving me all these different stories here.
Me: What’s what? Huh?
Him: You bake pies?
Me: Is this a real conversation?
Him: No, yes. But you said you write music and do comedy. But which is it? Who am I talking to right now?
Me: Me? My name is Michael?
Him: But what do you… which Michael am I speaking with? The comic or the baker or the guitar player?
Me: I don’t… All of them? None? How am I supposed to address that?
Him: I want to hear your music. Is that your guitar?
Me: No, this is a baritone ukulele. I just came from practice.
Him: Ukuleles are smaller than that. That’s almost a guitar.
Me: Okay then, it’s a small guitar. But the guy who sold it to me said it was a ukulele.
Him: I want to hear a song. Do you have a recording?
Me: Yeah, there’s recordings of us singing, but I could just sing something for you now. Nobody’s around.
Him: Oh God no. No. I’d like to hear a recording. Alone.
Him: Well, if it’s terrible, what am I supposed to say?
Me: Yeah. If I play you a song, and it’s awful, you lie and say it’s great.
Him: Why would I do that?
Me: Because, we live in something called a society. It doesn’t work unless we lie to people about certain things.
Him: I’d rather hear a recording.
Me: I’d rather you did too.
Him: Ew! You just said you don’t want to play for me anymore.
Me: That’s correct. That’s what I just said.
Him: Ew. You’re supposed to convince me that you’re good.
Me: I am?
Him: Yeah. You’re supposed to convince me that you’re worth listening to.
Me: I don’t think I am going to do that.
Me: Look at it from my perspective: I meet a guy online. He thinks I’m cute. He invites me to meet him for a walk in the park. I say yes. When I get on the date he seems annoyed at my choice of professions. He even fringes on ridicule. Then he cringes at the thought of listening to a song that he, himself, asked about. Then he challenges me to convince him that I’m not terrible before I sing to him, because he’s so incredibly sensitive! He couldn’t possibly be called upon to dredge up a compliment for my shitty, shitty song….
Him: Ew. You make me sound bad.
Me: It gets worse. You then try to make me sell myself to you, and convince you I’m not terrible, before you will deign to hear me play.
Him: That’s your job as a performer.
Me: My job as a performer is to perform. I have put the work in. I have written and re-written and performed. And performed. And you know what? After more than a decade here in New York, it’s finally my job.
Him: I guess you’re sensitive about that?
Me: I guess I am. Are you sensitive about your job?
Him: Not at all.
Me: Really? It was a shitty line you sported this spring.
Him: NO IT WAS NOT.
Me: No. It wasn’t. But you just proved my point.
Him: Hey, buddy… my taste is superb. You don’t just get this job i have randomly…
Me: Right. And you don’t just get the one I have either. So next time…
Have some fucking respect.
6 thoughts on “Saturdate:”
Wow, you meet some real clods! My condolences, but then it’s all blog fodder so carry on!
The couple’s picture in Union Square … is that Gregg Araki? Or his improbable lovechild? Gregg Araki looks younger than his lovechild, incredible.
I must admit, i feel like you’re a little too harsh on some of your “dates”. Most of them are just socially awkward and probably are nervous around you, so they say some inappropriate things at times.
This one though, truly deserves to be called a jerk.
Thanks for the feedback.
lol, I know the guy you were talking to
finally, written proof how much of an idiot this guy is
Isn’t that where the homeless and the people from New Jersey shop? it’s at the bottom of the retail food chain.
anyone can work as a buyer for Macy’s. I’m surprised he’s not ashamed about working there. he goes on and on in public about how great it is. i can’t believe he tried using that to his advantage in a intimate conversation. He is a “purse buyer”. which means he decides which god-awful coach or betsey johnson handbag will hit the floors in some hideous color/fabric at any god forsaken month before heading to the clearance rackes a week later.