Thursday, January 10, 2013

Scott Free

His name was Scott.

I feel that it is important to mention upfront that I change the names of almost everyone in this blog to protect the innocent (and more so, the guilty!) There are only three names I've never changed, but I'm telling you right now, his name was Scott.

Although to be fair, he lied about everything else. He probably lied about that too.

We met on the train while I was heading into NYC. I looked particularly cute because I was going in for a date. Technically, I suppose I was going on a series of dates --- speed dating just doesn't get old for me! Still, it's not like I was tied down to any of the men I hadn't even met yet, so why not flirt with the very cute train conductor for 42 minutes?

It was a packed Saturday. Standing room only. Of course it had to be one of the few times I wore heels! Standing for 42 minutes on the train, walking 8 blocks and 3 avenues over to get to the place, walking all the way back, I knew my poor little feet would hate me by the end of the day. Yet even when a seat opened up halfway through the trip, I didn't take it. Scott was fun and flirty and overtly interested in me! I felt my tummy flip flopping around and I knew it was more than just the motion of the train cars.

When we pulled into Penn Station, he'd left the carriage I was in, but one glance up the platform told me he was searching for me too. His head was out one of the little conductor windows, frantically looking up and down until he spotted me. "Hey," he said, a big smile creeping across his face, "I thought I'd lost my chance to talk to you. Was about to work overtime figuring out which train you'd be going back on!"

In a particularly bold move (shockingly unlike my normal self) I pulled out a Sharpie and a napkin to write my name and number down. He made me laugh and feel sexy and I loved that rush. Surely, he was worth taking a chance on?

"Awesome," Scott replied when I handed over the napkin, "I am single and ready to mingle! I'll call you."

"Single and ready to mingle" --- who actually says that??? That's like the cheesiest sentence on the face of the planet. I was starting to doubt my decision.

True to his word, Scott texted me later in the day and we chatted back and forth for a few hours. I'd warned him of my plan to date 25 guys in 3 hours and he promised to come save me if need be. "Anyone who wears boots like those deserves to date a man who appreciates her in them!" he assured me. "Your ass looked HOT in those jeans!"

"Hmmm, I guess you noticed me walking away?" I asked him

"Baby, I noticed a lot of things about you."

I remained undecided as to whether this statement was cute or creepy so I just kinda let it slide. We made plans to meet up the following day. Scott texted me when he'd be available and where we could meet.

The place he chose was a seedy dive bar next to the highway in the middle of a pass-through town. The kind of place I'd driven by a thousand times in my life and never even noticed before. The kind of place you wouldn't necessarily want to stop in and check out. The kind of place men take women who are not their wives.

He was waiting at the bar when I walked in. There were five other patrons spread out around the bar. None of them were speaking to each other, just drowning their lives in lukewarm beers and bowls of half soggy pretzels. The three huge flatscreen televisions were each showing a different sport, and all of them were on mute. The whole scene was eerily quiet. In walks a very tall blonde girl with knee high boots, a low cut sweater, and admittedly tight jeans that make her ass look amazing. All five heads turned, all five men stared, but as Scott stood up to kiss me hello, the other four just sighed and swallowed more Coors Light when they realized I was not up for grabs.

He was already two beers into his evening, positioned at the corner of the bar where he had optimal viewing of all three screens (and possibly me.) We made some polite conversation but it was stilted at best and he eventually offered to buy me a drink when the bartender approached us. I ordered a Cosmo (my usual) and he did some sort of weird double take. Like he'd never been out with a woman who drank anything but beer before. Ever.

"Are you sure you want that? Don't you just wanna grab a beer?"

"I'm sure. Thanks."

The bartender actually seemed relieved to do more than just grab a bottle from the ice chest for once in his day. Maybe it broke up the monotony of loneliness for him. I'll never know. What I do know is that Scott looked at me and my pink drink rather sideways when it arrived, simply muttering "Fancy."

Things I learned about Scott that night:

He was not, in fact, mid-30's as he told me. He was 48 years old. The grey hairs showed through a lot more without his train conductor cap on.

He was not, in fact, divorced as he told me. He was "technically" still married and she still "technically" lived in his house because he "just didn't feel like moving out yet."

He was not, in fact, single and ready to mingle as he told me. He "technically" had three kids he was responsible for raising, including coaching his sons' baseball teams and chaperoning his daughter's high school dance.

*Please note: I am all for dads doing great things for your kids, unless you're hiding your kids. And also, your wife. This is a dick maneuver and I am unimpressed. Sort your shit out.*

By the end of my Cosmo and two more beers for Scott, I'd had enough. He'd turned cocky, arrogant, and uncomfortably forward. He paid the drink tab (I didn't even offer) and said, "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Yes. Yes I do. So very badly.

Scott walked me out to my car and as I thanked him for a nice night (read: deleting his number the moment I get home) he suggested we go home together.

Excuse me???

"I mean, I think we had a great time, and you're really hot, and I don't wanna go home right now anyway. We could grab a place across the street. You don't have to stay all night if you don't want to. There's a room at the motel I put a reservation in for. Just in case. Come on, it'll be fun!"

M-M-Motel? As in, not even a H-H-Hotel? You thought you could buy me one drink at a seedy dive bar and then fuck me in some rented room by the hour to avoid going home to your wife and kids?

Oh honey no.

I'm taking my hot ass home alone thankyouverymuch.

And that is how I got off, Scott Free.