Bad date confessions: vol. 4

Culture Events

To answer your first question, no: not all off these bad date stories are my own.

However, while I can’t take credit for every awkward hug, drive to the restaurant gone bad, or speedy bike-ride date, I can take pleasure in re-hashing these bad date confessions to make you, the reader, feel better about your own personal life.

Here is the fourth annual edition of the Martlet’s bad date confession stories.

Relationship crashes before it starts

I was still in high school, and going to pick a girl up for our very first date. And I know for a fact that on first dates you typically don’t meet your date’s parents. But more on that in a bit.

I remember picking her up from her house, and having this feeling that my stomach was lodged in my throat — sort of like I was going to throw up.

Thankfully, I didn’t, or that would have made this story a little different. Honestly, it might have made it less embarrassing. Scratch that, it  definitely would have made it less embarrassing.

Nevertheless, my date got into my car, and I drove soundly and safely to the restaurant where we underwent the typical awkward first date small talk. Trust me, I’ve never talked about weather patterns and schoolwork for so long.

So, as we were driving back, I was crossing an intersection when I got t-boned by another car. Thankfully, it was only a minor crash, and neither of us were hurt. However the impact was substantial enough that I ultimately had to write off the car.

As we were sitting on the sidewalk, with no other option to get home, I dialed the only two people I knew that could pick us up: my parents. We proceeded to drive in awkward silence to her house. I dropped her off, and we never talked again.

Getting off to a bumpy start

It was my first year at UVic and I was going on my very first date ever.

I picked her up at night to drive to a restaurant downtown. I had just got my ‘N’ driver’s licence the previous summer, but hadn’t practiced parallel parking since.

I remember arriving at the restaurant, and cursing under my breath that there wasn’t a parking lot to pull into.

So, I started to circle around the block of the restaurant about three or four times looking for a non-parallel parking spot, and I remember watching her eyes glance by the restaurant every time we passed it.

Ultimately, I couldn’t stand the awkward small talk and was getting so dizzy from driving in circles that I ended up facing my fear of parallel parking.

I reversed into the spot, and ended up banging the car behind me. Thankfully, there was no damage done to either car, but there was plenty of damage done to my ego.

A bike ride date or Tour de France?

I knew my date was an outdoorsy type, and when he invited me to go on a bike ride I thought this would be the perfect romantic first date. We’d slowly meander through trails, inhale the crisp fresh air, and sit on park benches overlooking the surrounding nature.

However, this was not to be, as the date turned more into a bike race.

I should’ve paid more attention to the red flag that went off in my mind when he brought one of his guy friends to the bike ride, the two of them both dressed in tight spandex bike attire.

We started the bike ride, and they both slowly started to pull ahead of me. I began to fall further and further behind them. Only when they turned around to see me huffing and puffing could I manage to ask: “Can you guys wait up a little bit?”

The racist Grandma 

My girlfriend and I had been dating for a while, and we arrived at the stage where we decided to meet each other’s parents.

A pretty big milestone in any relationship.

I was pretty nervous to meet her parents, since like any good boyfriend, I wanted her parents to really like me. We drove to her parent’s house, and her father directed me into the living room, presumably for some small talk before dinner. However, I didn’t know that my girlfriend’s grandmother also lived with her family, and was sitting in the living room when I arrived.

I distinctly remember her looking up, us locking eyes, and her eyes moving up, down, and back up again inspecting my body. She then opened her mouth, and uttered four words I would never have guessed she would say: “Oh, good,” she said. “You’re white.”

I released an awkward cough, and my skin tone became bright red from part embarrassment and part shock. I didn’t know what to say, and so I replied, “Thanks?”

If you can take a few lessons from this article, so you don’t end up having a story in Volume 5 next year: Drive safely, bike slowly, and avoid grandmas at all costs.