This morning, for some reason, I got to thinking about the worst date I've ever had. I dated a lot of guys back in the day (yes, I was quite the saucy minx!), so as you can imagine, I have lots of fodder for this topic.

When I was about 21, I left college and started working full-time at Vanguard (the mutual fund company). The guy who was my on-the-job trainer for my first position there was named Dave, and he was pretty cute. He was from Trinidad, made reggae music on the side as a hobby, which fascinated me, and was really funny and sexy.

The attraction between us was pretty evident, and one night a bunch of us went out for happy hour after work. As the night (and alcohol consumption) progressed, he became more and more flirtatious. Around 10 p.m., everyone from our group went home, leaving us by ourselves in the bar. We decided that we wanted to go dancing, so we drove down to a club on the Philadelphia waterfront and stayed out until 2 a.m. We had an awesome time.

The following week, he asked me to dinner after work at another local restaurant. We got there and started drinking right away. I was a little nervous, because I really liked him, so I drank a LOT in a short period of time. I guess he felt he had to keep up with me, so within two hours, we'd each had six or seven cocktails. We were pretty blitzed, so we hung out until I was sober enough to drive him back to work, where he had left his car.

We left the restaurant and ok, I admit it, started making out furiously in the parking lot. Just kissing, really, so no big deal. But then I broke away and said that it was time for me to go, because it was a work night and I was tired. I told him I'd take him back to his car at Vanguard, and we headed to my car.

I got into the driver's seat of my car, started the engine, and leaned over to unlock the passenger door for him. He walked around the front of my car, but instead of coming to the passenger side, he stopped dead right in front of my headlights (which were already turned on, by the way), dropped his pants, whipped out his little friend, and began peeing. In the middle of a crowded, well-lit parking lot, further illuminated by my headlights.

I honked my horn but it didn't seem to faze him. He gave it a little shake, tugged his pants back up to his waist, and staggered over to the passenger door, at which point he fell into my car and promptly threw up. All over the interior of my car. Lovely.

Then he passed out.

And I couldn't wake him up. I drove around with this schmuck passed out in my car for nearly two hours, until he was finally able to stay awake. I dropped him back off at his car and told him I'd see him the next day at work.

The following morning, he passed me in the hall. I winked, grinned at him, and said, "Rough night?"

His face was steely and he didn't respond, just walked right past me. For the next two months, until he left Vanguard, he never spoke another word to me. In fact, he could hardly bring himself to look me in the eye after that incident.

Poor guy.

Labels: college, funny stuff, memories, Philadelphia, work