Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?

I once went in a blind date with a guy that was so high, he started biting the metal railing that our table was next to. His name was Hugh. My friends never let me live it down.

 

This story actually won me a prize in a contest for bad date stories for that blog "Sex and the Ivy" that was pretty popular a few years ago. I'm just pasting it from a blog, so it's a bit long:

Spoiler

This was in Boston, when I was a Sophomore in college. It was a blind date, and the plan was to meet in Copley Square and then find coffee somewhere. As soon as he walked up to me, he started talking to me like we had known each other forever, which made me uncomfortable. I eventually managed to get a word in and asked

Me: Do you know of any good cafes around here?

Him: Oh, I don’t like coffee.

Me: Then…why are we getting coffee?

Him: I don’t know. Do you want to help me buy gloves?

Me: Uh….sure.

I started to wonder if he was drunk. Then I started to wonder if he was autistic. Then I started to wonder if he had A.D.D. It was that kind of date.

Since he didn’t drink coffee despite agreeing to a coffee date, we kind of just wandered up Boylston with no particular destination in mind. Well, I kept trying to figure out a destination, but he just kept blowing right past everything I was saying so he could prattle on about inane things, like the intersections of Boston and how weird they are. (Which I thought was really lame, but ever since that date I’d walk around Boston and notice, wow, the intersections here really are weird.)

Somewhere along the line, I made the connection that he went to Northeastern and we were currently walking with much purpose on his end towards its campus and, presumably, the dorms. I was not okay with that and started rapidly calculating an exit strategy. At this point, he was just a little bug buzzing around my head, so I have no idea what he was babbling about. So, it took me by surprise when he suddenly walked across the sidewalk in front of me towards a door, causing a collision.

It was right next to a little cafe, so I thought that’s where we were going, but then he pulled out keys. I surveyed the black metal door.

Me: Are these the dorms?

Him: Nope.

Me: …Is this your apartment?

Him: Nope.

Me: Um, so, what is it?

Him: *silence*

This is where I wish I could tell you that I turned around and ran. But I didn’t. Something wouldn’t let me move. I stood idly by while he unlocked the door to reveal a little entryway where there was another heavy door, only with more locks. I could hear loud music coming from behind the door and all I could think was, “I’m going to wind up on the news tonight. Clearly, this is some kind of underground sex club where a bunch of businesmen are awaiting me and I’m going to get gangraped and then probably murdered.” Instead I said:

Me: “No, really, what is this place?”

Him: “Oh, this is just my underground lair.”

I swear to god, those exact words came out of his mouth. This is where I really wish I could tell you that I turned around and ran. But I didn’t.

The door opened and we walked down a flight of stairs, the music getting louder. There were more doors along a hallway, each with a collection of locks on them. He walked up to one and started unlocking it. Finally, I got a bit of sense back. “That’s it, tell me what this is.” He turned to me with this confused look on his face like, “I don’t get it. Why would she be uncomfortable at this situation?” and told me that these rooms were rented out to musicians so they could practice without any noise complaints from their neighbors.

It explained a lot, but I still wasn’t feeling too safe. Here was this guy that I had known for approximately a half an hour, taking me to this room alone behind three locked doors with some guy ripping on his electric guitar in the next room over so loudly that no one would be able to hear my screams.

I stood right in the doorway as he flitted around the room, still talking away about god knows what, and picking up all the instruments and playing them for me. He kept coming back over to me and telling me to relax and not be so scared and sit down on the couch. I kept on saying “I’m good right here.” Meanwhile, I texted my roommate and asked her to call me in five minutes.

It was the longest five minutes of my life. When the phone finally rang I picked it up perhaps a bit too eagerly to be coy.

Me: Hello?

Roommate: Hi, I’m calling you.

Me: Hello? Roommate?

Roommate: Uh, yeah? What’s up?

Me: Hello? Hello?

Roommate: …….hi?

Me: I can’t hear you. Hold on one second.

Me, to the guy: I’m sorry, I really need to take this, I’ll be right back.

Him: Oh, I’ll come with you.

Me: NO! I mean, no. That’s okay. I’ll be right back.

I kept my cool walking up the stairs, but then I got to the front door. And this is where I get to tell you that I fucking ran.

I can only imagine what the group of people congregating outside the door must have thought. One minute they’re loitering, and the next this frazzled looking girl comes bursting out of a metal door and goes sprinting down the street, all the while yelling into her phone “I’M RUNNING! I’M RUNNING!”

Retrospectively, I’m sure the guy was basically harmless, just a bit misguided, but at that point I was so caught up in this serial killer mindset that I was convinced he was coming after me with a machete and a roll of duct tape. I was winding around all these back roads and making circles and back tracking and hiding in doorways like the kid was a bloodhound and I was trying to confuse him with my scent. I kept forgetting to explain to my roommate what was going on, so all she could hear was my heavy breathing. Eventually I sputtered out “bad date. But I don’t think he’s following me. Will tell you later.”

I had gotten myself totally lost and was wandering around trying to find a street or landmark that I recognized. All the while, I was fully expecting him to leap out of the shadows and drag me back to his lair. Eventually, I found a T station and made my way home.

When I got back, I had an email from him. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t the type of guy you were looking for,” it said.

Yeah, dude, that was the problem.

 

I went on a Match.com date years and years ago with a girl who lived on the far northside of Chicago. She suggested we meet up at a pretty "college-y" bar, which I thought was odd, but acceptable. On the date, she admitted that she was 20 and a college student at Loyola, not a 25-year-old elementary school teacher as suggested in her profile. I was only 24 or 25 at the time, so it wasn't really such a big deal from an age perspective. Except for the fact that she had one drink and got absolutely shit-faced.

I took her home at like 9:00 and told her roomates to put her in a straightjacket. I was pretty convinced that she was drugged, because I had never seen anything like it. She went ape shit in her apartment when we got back. Literally smashing bags of chips all over the place and knocking over furniture. It was awesome.

I kind of figured this would be the last I heard from her, but I was wrong. She called me the next day and had NO recollection of what had happened. We went out for drinks again the following night, and she was completely fine. We went back to my place and hooked up afterwards. She wouldn't have sex, but insisted that I eat her out. Which I did. For like 45 minutes.

That was the last time I heard from her. Man I used to rule.

 

In high school, a friend of mine decided to set up a blind date between me and her friend. I had been single for a while at that point so I decided why not? Well, there were several dam good reasons why not. She was a very large Mexican girl whose idea of dressing up for a date was a long plain white t-shirt and jean shorts. I met up at the theater and as soon as I saw her I knew I had to get out of there somehow. I hardly made it through the previews for the movie before I came up with my brilliant excuse. I told her I forgot that I had made an appointment to give blood at a local blood bank and I had to leave.

I haven't gone on a blind date since.

 

Back in 1999-2000, GHB and Rohypnol were getting thrown into girls' drinks at clubs left and right, especially bars where lots of people were doing ecstasy and the like, since if they looked fucked up they wouldn't stand out.

One of the first nights I was working with a new security company at a very popular bar in town, one of the guys I was working with caught a guy slipping a liquid in a small vial into a girl's drink. My co-worker went track star across the dancefloor, and smacked the drink out of the girl's hand. The fucker tried to casually walk away while I explained what happened to the very confused and startled girl, but my co-worker (who is 6'9" and slightly less in width) grabbed the guy- by the hair- and dragged him out the back door on the floor kicking and screaming. They took him out back, and I watched as they slipped a metal trash can over the top half of his body and four of them punted it about a dozen times apiece. He looked like hamburger afterwards.

Even during this chaotic brutality I didn't even wince once watching. I just took quiet pleasure in watching a rapist get taken the FUCK to school.

 

There's a certain irony here in trying to detect date rape drugs in your drink when you've already specifically requested the #1 date rape drug be in your drink in the first place.

 

A while back I was going through a serious dry spell, but my buddy was turning up every other weekend with a different, smoking hot girl, and most of them seemed pretty nice too. I even hit it off with one of them when I bumped into them at a restaurant and ended up becoming really good (platonic) friends with her. Where was he meeting all these amazing women? Some free dating site (sadly, I forget which one, which as it turns out is probably for the best). At first I called bullshit, but then I figured what the hell, maybe he's onto something. So I sign up and end up chatting with some woman who claims to be 35 and has a picture that shows off her figure (not bad) but cleverly obscures her face. Now that's a definite red flag, but I have odd taste in women anyway, so what might have seemed a deal breaker to her may well have appealed to me. And hey, at least she was in good shape. I figured, worst case scenario, I could use the old "bag it and tag it" method. We agree to a date. When I pick her up, she looks like she's closer to fifty, the last 49 and a half years of which have been spent laying in the sun, smoking crack. And she stutters. AND has a limp. I swear to fuck, I know people in the industry and for a few minutes I honestly, sincerely thought that I was on some prank show. Then, she spent the entire night talking about all her romantic conquests, while shaking so much (nerves? detox?) that she could barely eat. Of course when we got back she dimmed the lights, after telling her son (who looked to be about 22) to stay in his room because "Mom has a friend over". I swear, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Fuck dating sites.

 

I'm sure everyone here has seen the "couple" at the nightclub. The two that are so into each other out on the dancefloor it is creepy and makes most people uncomfortable. That's my friend and anyone she brings to the club. Whenever I see her dance, I swear I think she is trying to break skin with the denim of her jeans and honestly, I feel sorry for the guys because I know they are going to have to go home and apply fuck loads of lotion and wonder why the fuck they agreed to go out for the night.

One of my favorite encounters was freshman year on the way back from some house party. At my campus there is a late night bus called the P2P which is always inhabited by a number of drunken folks coming or going from some sort of party. I was with two friends and we started chatting up these three girls. One fat and loud, one skinny and cute, and one fairly regular looking. It was early in the night, maybe 1:00, so we mentioned that we had some alcohol back at our dorm that we would share if they cared to partake, you know typical freshman trying to hook up with girl move. They agreed, but decided that we should go over to their place, since it was closer. Sounds good, they wouldn't invite random people they met on the P2P over to their place if they didn't want to hang out and possibly hook up, would they?

We get to their dorm and they turn around and ask us if we want to build a fort in their room. What. The. Fuck. I make eye contact with my friends and we give each other a bewildered stare, but figure hey, if we can get laid because of it, lets build a fucking fort. We get their blankets and things and continue talking with them as we assemble some sort of roofed blanket fort. Halfway through, the fat one mentions that she hasn't seen the Lion King in a long time, and that we could stay with them and watch Disney movies all night. Last fucking straw. My friends and I felt like we were trapped inside a 3rd graders dream night. I don't know if they were celebrating being away from home, but this night was the most brutally awkward night of hanging out with girls I had ever been through. I faked a phone called saying that we heard of a "closed" party that a friend could get us into, but he told me I could only bring "a friend or two."

They claimed they understood and we Usain Bolted out of that room. Only 1:30 and we still had some alcohol left, so we ended up getting fucked up and watching TV. Gotta love college.

 

Well I am a guy, 6'2" and 250. I have been drugged........twice. As far as my alcohol tolerance goes, it is usually reserved for Irish dock workers. I was in a fraternity at Chico State for crying out loud, we drank 3 nights a week so there is no way either of these stories are from me having the tolerance of a tit mouse, because I still have plenty of stories of me getting blacked out and doing dumb shit.

The first time was in 2005 I was 20 years old and I went to a house party where we were going to college with 4 of my friends. There were 10 kegs and 5 Gatorade coolers of Jungle Juice. I have never been much of a beer drinker, I like whiskey and vodka. So 2 of my buddies go to the kegs and another buddy and I hit up the jungle juice. After I finish my first cup I am trying hard to stand up the whole room is spinning. I duck into the nearest cab blacking out on the ride home and make it into bed. My other buddy ends up getting dragged home and is violently throwing up and slept until about 4PM the next day. I don't know wtf happened, if they just assumed all the guys would only drink beer or what, but it fucking sucked.

The second time may or may have not been roofies, maybe just a bartender giving us everclear or something in our drinks. We go down to UC Merced, to install a brand new chapter of Sigma Chi on campus there, 2 of my brothers and I drive down there from Chico. So we start setting up the whole ritual for the morning, and all the events for that night of initiation. We go get a huge BBQ dinner and have a bit of time to kill so we head to the college bar and grab a couple drinks. When I say a couple, I mean we had 2, the bartender is this HUGE bitch, I mean she dwarfs me, she had to be 6'9", we are wearing our fraternity gear just grabbing a drink before we have to get back to do this initiation stuff. Anyways, we have our two drinks and the only thing any of us remember is leaving the bar. It gets pretty interesting as we head back to the place where we are doing initiation.
My buddy proceeds to tackle and wrestle the guy who is in charge of all of Northern California, I grab the brand new ritual book for that chapter from some guys hand and drop kick it across the room, then I drop trou and take a shit behind a couch, my other buddy is just rolling around on the ground yelling. We basically just ran around like blacked out baboons on crystal meth until we passed out with no recollection of the incidents.

 

I would totally build a fort and watch Disney movies with a cute chick and a regular chick. The fattie would have to pull guard duty outside though.

 

I met my first husband at a house party where he was on a blind date with another girl. I asked my friend why that guy was with that homely girl and apparently she told him what I said. He promptly brought the girl home, came back to the party, and talked me up all night. We went out the following night and started dating shortly thereafter. I always felt bad because he never called that poor girl again.