Bad Date #30046

Dear Neiman Marcus,No Puking Sign

I went on a date with one of your fashion designers the other day.  He’s primarily worked in the New York office but more recently relocated to Los Angeles where he’s just getting settled and designing for one of your prominent stores there.  We met through a mutual friend and hit it off pretty quickly.  He’s from Brooklyn which is one of my favorite cities, he likes to roller skate, read, see Broadway musicals and is willing to try anything new and exciting.  We danced and talked throughout the course of the night.  A couple times he offered to buy me a drink but I was drinking water and not quite as quickly as he was heading up to the bar to refill his Jack and Coke.  At the end of that first evening we exchanged numbers and promised to try and get together sometime over the course of the next week.

That Friday we finally caught up with one another and arranged to meet at a fairly familiar bar in Melrose the following evening.  Saturday comes and we meet up.  As soon as we sit down at the bar and the bartender comes to take our drink order she recognizes me,

“Sunny?” She asks excitedly.

It’s an old friend from high school I haven’t seen in years and after we hug and exchange pleasantries she takes our drink orders.  He orders a Four Horsemen and I order a glass of Merlot.  When he makes the order my high school buddy raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything so I turn to him,

“Four Horsemen? What’s that? What’s in it?”

He shrugs and turns back to the bartneder who is preparing his drink with a heavy hand, “I just know that I like it, what’s in it?”

She answers, “Tequila, Jagermeister, Peppermint schnapps and Bacardi 151.”

I nod my head in acknowledgement and turn to him.  We make small talk for a little while, the getting to know you conversation that occurs in the intimacy of a first isolated encounter with a person you hardly know but have committed to spend the next several hours with.  The music is good and a couple times we laugh at different couples who have made their way to the dance floor and we chat with the bartender for a little while who comes back and makes him a second Horseman drink while I’m still sipping on my first glass of Merlot.  He seems nervous at first but loosens up as the night continues.  At one point we leave our jackets on the barstools and make our own way out to the dance floor, lightly bopping around and laughing gently when our rhythms never quite sync up with one anothers.  We sit back down and make superficial conversation for a while longer and when he goes to order another drink I just ask for a water and head upstairs to the bathroom.

When I come back he has really relaxed and is laughing more and talking more freely.  It starts to be more of a good time and we make our way back to the dance floor again, this time dancing to the upbeat music easily and involving others on the dance floor who are dancing until we’re all dancing and laughing and just having a good time. When they make the call for last call he asks me if I want anything and I gesture my decline and stay out on the dance floor dancing.  He orders his drink and we end up dancing and laughing until the lights come on.  I go to pick up our jackets from off the stool and as I approach the bar my friend the bartender asks,

“You drove right?”

I look at her quizzically, “I drove myself, yes.  But we met here so he has his own car and I have mine.”

“Oh Sunny, he is in no condition to drive.” She warns me, “If you don’t give him a ride home I’m going to have to take his keys and call him a taxi.”

She shrugs at me apologetically as I groaned and threw back my head.  That would be so embarrassing for him yet I would really have to finesse convincing him to let me take him home.  I didn’t even know where he lived but I guess I was out of options.  I glanced towards my friend one more time as he graced the last step and began ambling towards me.  Yeah, I guess he really was quite drunk.

“So, hey, how about I give you a ride home? I have to come back out this way for church in the morning so I can drop you off at home and then tomorrow pick you up and drop you off at your car before I go to church.”

I brace myself for an argument but he readily agrees and we head out to my car.  It turns out he lives in Calabasas and so I jump on the freeway heading North towards the beach roads that will lead to his house.  As soon as we get in the car he begins nodding in and out and eventually passes out on the seat next to me.  I continue to drive and there’s only two exits that head towards his town so as we’re approaching the first one I gently and then roughly rouse him out of his drunken stupor to ask which exit to take.  He vaguely points so I just take the first exit which turns out to be a spiral exit.  As soon as I go around the first curve he jerks upright in his seat and begins fumbling around on the side of the car searching for the button to power the window down.

As the lurching of his body begins and he starts to gag dread fills my entire being as there is only one option for what is about to happen.  See, the thing I love most about my car is that it’s manuel.  Stick shift, arm powered windows and manuel locks.  I pride myself in the simplicity that radiates from my car.  Until this exact moment.  He’ll never find the button to push the window down because there isn’t one and I’m driving down a windy beach road so I can’t pull over, not to mention if I lean over and roll the window down I place myself right in the line of fire.

So, it begins.  He forgoes his attempt with the window and leans directly forward in his seat and begins vomiting all over himself and the floor of my car.  I roll my own window down to keep from joining him and whether it was seeing my action or him seeing the handle when he leaned forward he suddenly realizes how to roll the window down and does so.  Then, as I continue to the bottom of the canyon he leans his bile covered self against the door of my car in order to stick his head out my car window and vomit all over the outside of my car!

I pull into the very first gas station at the bottom of the canyon and lurch myself out of it and several feet away from the car. Panting in the fresh air I hold up a very stiff arm of reproach as he, having cleared his system, begins making his way towards me with apologies.

“I’m good, just get the squeegee and start cleaning my car up as best as you can.”

I wish I could tell you the story ends there Mr. Neiman Marcus but unfortunately your employee continued to shock me with his drunken behavior.  I’ll have to finish telling you the rest tomorrow.

Love Always,



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