We exchanged witty and thoughtful emails back and forth and seemed to share common interests. The deal maker: he loved to cook. And I'm not talking flipping a few burgers on the grill. He made me salivate with tales of his intricate culinary creations. It was settled...I could not wait to meet Mr. Perfect.
Napa was less than sold on this particular suitor. Napa aptly acquired her nickname from her love affair with wine, along with the fact that she lived in California for a while. She had been known to order a glass of wine at dive bars when everyone else was drinking $2.00 beer specials. Needless to say, she is a woman with good taste. "I don't know, L.A." she cautioned, "I've dated doctors before...and I'm not sure you are going to be impressed. I really think you need to have a phone conversation with him before committing to a date."
"Ugh" I wined, "I just hate talking on the phone, especially to strangers! It just feels so superficial. I'm much better in person, where I can read facial expressions". I was like a 2 year old stomping my feet, but I knew she was right. After all, I was the one who decided to commit to meeting people on-line. I was going to have to get used to doing the footwork of screening my dates.
The next day, Derek called me. It wasn't long before I noticed that he sounded like a 21 year old frat boy instead of a 28 year old ivy league doctor. He seemed to struggle though the conversation and trailed off a bit on occasions. Maybe he was nervous, or maybe he wasn't the idyllic man that I had made him out to be in my mind. Had I prematurely titled him "Mr. Perfect"? At the end of the conversation, he asked me to dinner. I pushed my reservations to the side, and said "yes".
I broke the cardinal rule of on-line dating: I met him at his apartment (sorry, mom). I did, however, ensure my friends had the address and contact information for my whereabouts. They were prepared to call and check on me should I fail to provide them with hourly text message updates. I pulled up to a modern-looking apartment complex. It was the kind of place that had taken advantage of the warehouse trend and was able to charge twice the rent for exposed brick walls and metal ducts hanging from the ceiling despite the fact that it was new construction.
Derek walked outside to meet me. I immediately noted that he was about 20 pounds heavier than his profile pictures portrayed. "Was this going to be a trend?" I wondered. "Well, at least he is really 6 ft 1", I justified. As he ushered me through the hallways and into his apartment, he did not have much to say. He seemed a little uncomfortable, which did not put my nerves at ease.
"How about a glass of wine?" he asked as soon as we entered his apartment. I was relieved at his offer, and decided it would be a great way to calm my nerves. I noticed that he had several bottles of wine in a rack above his cabinets, a sign that he drank wine often. I have come to realize that there is a difference between a wine guy and a beer guy. A wine guy usually appreciates fine food and nice restaurants. A beer guy is typically fantastic at corn hole and shooting pool. My ideal match is a mixed drink kind of guy, classy and badass all tied into one little cocktail.
As we sat on Derek's leather couch and drank wine, he loosened up a bit. We mostly talked about the culture of the hospital he worked at, and why he tried not to date co-workers. He described the dating scene as a real life Grey's Anatomy. He seemed most energetic when talking about work and the social environment within it. It started to become clear to me that this man had been socialized in a hospital. It was difficult for him to relate to much else.
When we arrived to the restaurant, I took note of the swanky surroundings. "He has good taste" I thought to myself. This was a vast improvement from the sweaty walk I had been offered on my first blind date adventure. He sat down, and I excused myself to the ladies room, where I freshened up and sent "I'm alive and well" texts.
I returned to find him with a glass of wine and the menu in his hand. "They have a great special on a four course meal!" he informed me. "I think we have to do it!" he decided. I told him I wasn't sure I could finish an entire three course meal, but he continued to insist. I finally conceded, but with the agreement that he would finish whatever I could not.
As the bread arrived to the table, Derek grabbed the basket to take a roll. He buttered it and promptly began to eat it without offering the basket to me. "Well, he must be hungry" I thought. As we chatted about our family structures, our salads arrived. I cocked my head in awe as I watched him break the world record for fastest salad consumption. As a precaution, I ran over the steps for the heimlich maneuver in my head.
"Have you ever tried claims?" he asked as he interrupted his salad shoveling momentarily.
"No, I haven't. Remember how I told you I don't like seafood? I answered. The thought of slimy clams was enough to kill any appetite I had left. "I have a mental sea food allergy" I joked, making light of his question.
"Well they are fantastic! You really have to try them." He gushed, clearly not listening to me. Before I could protest, he stopped our waitress to add on yet another course to our meal.
"You know you still have three more courses coming, right sir?" She cautioned. Even she was concerned about his over-zealous food ordering.
"Oh yeah. I can handle it!" He proclaimed. It became clear to me where these additional 20 pounds had come from. Food had become his vice outside of work.
As his clams arrived, followed by our soup courses and entree courses, I realized that he was not simply competing in a food 5K, but a full marathon. After finishing the clams, his entree, and my plate, he tackled his desert with full enthusiasm. After all, isn't that when runners have to give their strongest push? At the very end? Following in the spirit of the night, he finished off my desert as well.
As we waited for the bill, he sprung a surprise on me. "I usually don't tell people this right off the bat" he said as he played on his iPhone. I began to think of all the things he might be on the verge of confessing to me. Had he been incarcerated? Did he like to dress in women's clothing? Did he have terrible planters warts? "I am on a reality show coming out soon" he said with a smug smile on his face. "They followed me, and some other doctors around while we were in our first year of residency" he said as he handed me his phone. There it was: an article with his picture and name describing his role on the show.
"Yeah right he doesn't show this to people he meets right away" I thought. "Wow that is fantastic!" I encouraged.
As we drove home in his batmobile, I listened to him tell me all about the filming process and his reality show experiences. He interrupted his stories to ask if he could drive me by the townhome he was in the process of building. I was sincerely exhausted by the "Derek Show". I was having a hard time continuing to seem interested in all of his pretentiousness. "Sure. That would be great!" I fibbed.
After listening to him describe, in detail, the custom finishes he was planning for his home I was officially zoned out. It is one thing to appreciate the finer things in life, but quite another to brag about your fortunes incessantly. I wondered if Derek thought I was impressed by his fancy meal, the Dr. in front of his name, his reality TV star status, or his flashy new home.
I will admit, I was impressed with Derek's resume. However, his interview showed a lack of humility, personality, and perspective necessary to fulfill my expectations. He simply would not be hired. As I drove away, I decided Mr. Perfect had been exposed as Mr. Pompous.
