I went on a day date with Cooper. We met at a bar on a Saturday night and we went for lunch the following weekend.
All of his messages were the best. He was witty, funny and sarcastic. Really great banter.
He would message me in the middle of the day with a joke or anecdote and always managed to cheer me up or make me laugh. Such comical value via text is hard to find.
But there was a catch, I had no idea what this guy looked like. I had wandered away from my pack of pals at the bar and I had met him in the smoker’s area while having a cheeky drunk cigarette. All I could remember was him lighting my cigarette and me joking that we were in some kind of a French film (obviously my banter skills were off). He thought I was charming, got my phone number said some other things, who knows what. Then I went back to my friends and forgot about him.
Until a few days later when I got his text.
The best thing about going out with your friends is that if a guy asks you out, you have a bunch of other memories to recall the incident the next day. No one could back me up, I didn’t even have a blonde or brunette memory.
So I went on this date totally blind. More blind than any kind of dating app on your phone or a friend of a friend set up that you could find on social media. I didn’t have a last name; all I had was Cooper and hilarious chatter.
When I arrived he waved at me. So lucky. He was sitting in the beer garden at this pretty Mexican place with colourful walls and twinkle lights. All the water was in recycled tequila bottles and the waitresses wore hoop earrings. I loved it.
It was packed with people lunching and celebrating birthdays and big family functions. I actually love a packed restaurant, other people think the vibe is ruined, but people watching is my jam. Who doesn’t want to just stare at others and guess their life stories?! Amirite??
He was medium height and medium build and tattoos on his neck. There were also a few poking out at the ends of his sleeves on his wrists and as his shirt was buttoned up the whole way, I could only imagine that his whole chest was covered in them and I mentally imagined what kind of designs he might have. He was in the music industry, worked with a few up and coming bands as well as booking some established names and doing their promo work.
His life was just one big hilarious anecdote, he had jokes about trips and festivals and drunken nights out and embarrassing storied on stage or with tour managers and singers fucking up. Everything and it was all brilliant. I honestly had such a fun time. He was the kind of guy who loved to be the centre of attention, and he had mine undivided. It was one of those dates where you don’t want to finish you meal because it might have to end.
We shared a HUGE (seriously fucking big) bowl glass thing of margarita and I didn’t really realise how strong it was until I got up to go to the bathroom. Mega tequila buzz. I was only sipping it, but Cooper was guzzling it down. He had a few beers too with his meal and when I sat back down at the table I realised that he was kind of being really loud. Actually fuck that. He was shouting his stories at me.
I was totally unsure of how to tell him that his story about the coke that the guy in the band did of the stripper’s tits on tour, was seriously inappropriate for the five year old’s birthday party sitting at the table next to us.
His stories had also intensified from funny anecdotes to very fucked up situations that he thought were hilarious. It was no longer, that time his mate got drunk on stage and threw up on the guitarist, but had escalated to that time they were all fucked up and nearly drove off a cliff and crashed into the side of someone’s house and fled the scene. Ha ha right?
He lit his third cigarette white telling me about how they nearly killed their friend after forgetting they locked him in the boot of a car for a day in the forest, when a woman from the table next to us asked him if he could please not smoke around her children.
Oh my god. The guy lost it
“It’s not my fucking issue if you choose to sit in the smoking area.” He rolled his eyes at me like I was a part of his crazy rudeness. And then turned his back on her and lit an excessive 4th cigarette of his 3rd butt, intentionally blowing his smoke in their direction.
So then her husband comes over and he tried to reason with him.
“Look mate, we know we’re in the outdoor area, but it was the only table large enough for us, would you mind smoking a little further away” the guy politely smiles and points to a vacant area a few meters away. “My friend is pregnant.” He adds with a grin pointing to a smiley pregnant lady and for emphasis I think.
Cooper is fucked off. Like really angry. So he starts a loud conversation with me. While smoking, not acknowledging the guy and his pregnant friend, or his wife, or the kids who are all now watching.
“If that fucking clown comes over her one more time & tells me how to live my fucking life. You don’t see me telling him he’s fucking over populating the planet with all his fucking kids do you? What a fucking faggot.” This last line was so loud I think I actually flushed as red as the pretty red Mexican wall behind me.
Everyone in the area was staring at us. And I was a baddie! I was sitting with the fuck head so I was lumped in with this fuck heads bigotry and stupidity.
So this father, husband, guy is angry now. He’s gone from being really polite to going to speak to the manager of the restaurant.
Cooper is still going on about what a fucking fuck face that fucking guy is. And I am packing up my stuff. Phone in the bag, purse, jacket on. I’m trying to give the family apologetic looks, the kids are still starring the adults are all horrified and pissed. They’re not really making eye contact, I can’t blame them, I’m associated with this dick.
Just as I’m getting up to leave and Cooper is obliviously slurping the giant margarita, the manager comes over to speak to us about our behaviour. I’m getting close to tears because it’s just such a big scene and everyone’s looking and Cooper is getting angry. So I just put money on the table I mouth “I’m sorry” at the first woman, try and apologise to the manager but he’s in dispute with Cooper and I just leave. Then he actually, like in a movie, yelled at me across the restaurant.
“IVY, WHAT THE FUCK?”
So I just kind of ran walked the last few steps out the door and then burst into drunken tears in a lane way a few blocks down the street. It was one of the most traumatic dates of my life. It was such a giant shame, he had seemed so normal.
It turns out I had just been on a date with some kind of tequila fiend, with no morals and a dirty mouth. Who hates babies and people who procreate and gay people?
Cooper called me, no joke, 17 times that night. Sent me multiple texts and left vicious and scathing voicemail’s until I eventually blocked his number and never went back to the bar I met him at for fear of ever running into him again.
I did however, go back to that restaurant, had great food and shared a bunch of margarita bowls with a group of friends for my birthday later that year. So thank you for the restaurant recommendation Cooper and go fuck yourself.