OK, the third in my series of my Top 5 Bad Dates introduces you (and me) to a little thing called the "E.Spat Go Ahead And Have Five Zima's Because This Guy Is A PSYCHO" Doctrine.
Bad Date #3 was named Gene, unlike the other two, I remember Gene's name because he turned out to be such a complete freak. After writing this story I feel like I have to add a disclaimer: I would NEVER, EVER put up with this kind of crap today. Ever. I got married at 19 to my high school sweetheart, so as a young 20-something, dating was kind of rough for me. I felt like when men asked me out I *had* to go because I didn't want to hurt their feelings, and it wasn't until I went in the Air Force that I learned to really control situations and just tell people who were trying to take advantage of me how it was really going to be. Anyway, just thought you should know that this story is, while funny, also scary to me now that I look back on it, and you should know that I have an appreciation for the fact that this guy didn't turn out to be Ted Bundy.
Gene worked for the same company as me, he made the paychecks. I'm not sure exactly *what* he really did, some kind of accounting thing, but every Friday it was my job to drive over to his office in another building across town and pick up the paychecks. And so, after my divorce (the first one) he kind of started hitting on me. Gene was much older than me, like at least 10 years, and probably more like 12. Gene LOOKED like a guy who sat in his office doing math all day. He wore Dockers with pleats in the front and sweater vests and all his long sleeve button down shirts had the company logo on them. He was normal sized though at least, and had a kind of boyish smile and seemed shy, like he wanted to ask me out but was afraid or something. It took maybe 6 months of excruciatingly awkward moments for him to ask me to dinner.
Gene took me to Chili's...swear to God. At dinner there were long.....awkward...pauses in the conversation. I am naturally a total blabbermouth and usually I feel bad because I ramble if I get nervous or anything, but with Gene it was turning out to be a godsend, because he was basically drinking beer, staring at his burger, and looking a little weird. Finally dinner is over and at this point I'm seriously wondering how to get out of this situation because Gene is starting to seem less *shy* and more *quietly considering how to kill me and add me to his trophy collection.* But, because I was so much more naive back then, I didn't want to be impolite, so when Gene said he had this grand date plan, I played along (seriously, Chili's was part of the plan?).
After leaving Chili's we went to some kind of street fair downtown. It was free to get into and I remember it was freezing cold and you had to walk around and there were booths with people selling things like apple butter and homemade soap. What a great first date choice, nothing makes me like a guy like freezing my ass off (I think at one point it started snowing), having sore feet, and dealing with a crowd of people who are belligerently stoned and drunk out of their minds. I was being a big enough bitch about the street fair that Gene suggested we go to a movie instead. Yes. I love movies. So, we drive to the theater and nothing is playing, so, and this is where the whole thing turns really bad, Gene suggests we go to my place and rent a movie.
I have no idea, to this day, why I said yes. I think I just felt sorry for him and thought that it would be easier to just go through the date and then never talk to him again. So, we go rent a movie and head back to my apartment, a very small studio. Gene wants to cuddle. I want to scream. Gene starts telling me about his daughter and how he got custody of her in some kind of protracted custody battle with his psycho ex-wife and not only "warns" me about how crazy his ex would get if she knew he was dating someone (um...we're not dating YET Gene!), but tells me he can't wait for the summer so I can go to Disney World with him and his daughter and how we're going to get along so great. By now I'm seriously stressed out. I'm 23, I don't have any desire to be on THIS date with Gene, let alone get to know his creepy kid, and I've been stupid enough to let this guy into my house and he doesn't seem to want to leave because he's too busy planning our future together. So, just like you'd expect, I start having a drink (or five) to try to calm down.
The problem with this plan is that now Gene is laying on my bed (note to self: burn sheets) watching the movie (remember, it's a studio) and I am basically sitting on the floor close to the kitchen and guzzling Zima, which at that time in my life, was the only thing I had in my fridge. Then Gene wants some Zima. So I am drunk, now Gene is drunk, he's in control of my bed, and it's snowing and he lives up in the foothills, so his ability to drive home is getting more and more compromised. Finally, it's so late that I can't stay awake, and Gene still hasn't left. I keep asking him when he's going to go home and he keeps saying he just likes me so much and thinks I'm perfect for him, etc. The Zima seems to really be working for Gene because now, instead of a shy accountant, he's a raging sex maniac and is trying desperately to get me to do it with him. Finally, after maybe an hour of me avoiding looking him the eye, and him practically begging me to get up on the bed, he gets down to what he really wants. And it is straight-up dirty sex. And I am just not going to give that to Gene, so now we're in a standoff. The best part is that now I would call the police, but at the time I actually felt like I couldn't kick him out because he was so drunk and it would be irresponsible to let him drive in that condition, especially given the weather situation.
Gene finally passes out. I sleep on the other side of the bed, far away from any grabby hands, and with one eye open. At this point in my life I was getting up at 4:30am to run every day, so at 4:30 I was like "Time for you to go, get out!" and Gene STILL is operating under the belief that I secretly like him and am just hiding it really, really, really well. But, he leaves, after a whole bunch more talk about all the great times we're gonna have now that I'm his girlfriend.
The next night, a Sunday night, I hear this pounding on my door around 2am, BIG POUNDING, like you would expect if your neighbor was dying and desperately needed your help. I didn't have a little fisheye thing, so I (stupidly) opened the door. Gene was leaning against the door, so drunk that I could almost smell him THROUGH the metal door, and he just fell into my house...literally. And passed out. On my floor. Every few minutes he would wake up and mumble something about how much he loved me (creepy!) and so I just left him there. On the floor. I couldn't move him. I still thought I shouldn't call the cops because I worked with this guy. I couldn't call my ex-husband because he would have killed Gene. And it was 2am, so everyone else was pretty much out as well.
The next morning I kicked Gene and woke him up when I got up, and it was early, probably 5am-ish, and he sits up, starts to cry and says that he came to my house because he NEEDED TO BE HELD and I was such a bitch for not helping him when he needed it and why didn't I take care of him in his drunken state? I pointed out that I could have called the police, and that he should go away, never come back, and if we saw each other at work he should just pretend like he didn't know me. And he did call a couple times trying to apologize and get me to go out with him again (now we have an appreciation for why Gene was still single).
About a year later our two buildings merged into a new building and who did I see at the copy machine one morning? That's right, Gene the Pyscho Machine. And he goes "Gosh, I hope this won't be awkward with both of us working in the same office" and I go "Well, I guess if you think it's awkward that everyone in this office knows the story about what you did, it might be." Thankfully, about a month later I left for Air Force Officer Training School, and never saw or heard from Mr. Psycho again. And now, I'm not nearly as nice and trusting...that shit would never fly these days.