Remember Jorge? If you don’t, make sure to read part one. No really, it’s important, don’t skip ahead.
*~*~ SPOILER ALERT ZONE~*~*
Well, for some unknown reason* (*he was really hot) I gave Jorge another chance after he left me stranded on the side of the road without a car. Which technically was not his fault or responsibility so I couldn’t hold that against him, could I?
Of course this time I was obviously without a means of transportation, so I told him to just come over to my house. He agreed and said he would bring drinks. Sweet, it sounded like the recipe for a great night.
When he arrived at my place, as soon as I opened the door he asked, “Do you have a backpack?”
Hi, nice to meet you, too? But… I guess I have a backpack?
He didn’t actually bring any alcohol because he drove a motorcycle and had no way to carry anything. So he said he would take the backpack to the liquor store and be right back. Okay… I was confused but I figured the most I had to lose was this random backpack if he turned out to be some weird backpack-stealing internet thief.
Just before he was about to leave, he hesitated and said, “You should come with me.”
Now, ya’ll don’t know me but I am not a gambler. I don’t buy lottery tickets, I never play cards with real money, and I sure as shit will never play with a Ouija board even though I don’t believe in paranormal stuff because on the off chance that it is real, I don’t wanna be THAT white girl responsible for summoning a demon.
So clearly, risks aren’t my thing. I told him, “even if I knew you were the best driver in the world, I would not get on that thing with you because I do NOT trust these crazy motherfuckers down here in South Florida.”
There ensued a full five minutes of him attempting to convince me to ride on the back of his motorcycle, sans helmet. Once again, this entire thing quickly devolved into a bad idea because he obviously didn’t even understand basic consent at this point.
Eventually, I suggested to him that we just grab an Uber, on me, over to another local bar since the liquor store idea was becoming really dramatic. He still insisted on taking his own bike. What the fuck ever.
I’m already annoyed at the start of this date, still partially blaming him for what happened to my car even though I know that’s kinda crazy.
When we got to the bar, we grabbed a couple of beers and sat down outside on a picnic table.
We made some small talk, but after chatting only a few minutes he decided to mention the fact that he’s still married.
COOL so now I’m on a date with a married man.
They were technically separated. But they still lived together. And shared a car. And were basically still 100% married. And for the next at least 2 hours, all he literally talked about was her, and how expensive the rent was in the area.
I think I had only one or two beers because I wanted to get the fuck out of there, but he stayed for SIX BEERS. I was still polite back then, before I lost all my fucks to give and would have just walked out.
When I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and my internal screaming had become too loud to ignore, I told him it was time to go. He asked me if I wanted a ride home.
ON HIS MOTORCYCLE. AFTER SIX BEERS.
I politely declined and requested an Uber faster than I ever had in my life. We never spoke or interacted again.