Dub-less in Dublin: the dangers of a ‘wet floor’ caution sign

As I think about how to write about each of our experiences with dating, I realize that perhaps I hold antiquated views of what heterosexual dating ought to look like.  There are rules about dating to make women believe that chivalry isn’t dead, just long enough to lure her in before true colors are uncovered.  Those true colors being emotionally distant, unable to follow through, more concerned with ‘the boys’ than anyone else, oh…and probably some mommy issues.  So, it is particularly surprising when those initial rules of dating aren’t followed, making mommy issues not a possibility, but a given.

Which brings me to the story of Leonardo–please note that it is not Leo which was discovered when my friend asked if he had nicknames (Leo would be ideal because there is something so disgusting about an American saying the letter ‘R’ in Europe, we are very distinctly aware of how it makes us sound).  But no, Leo would not give her the chance to save face.

First, they were supposed to meet at this cute farmers’ market on the outskirts of Dublin. From our house it was about forty five minutes on the bus, and this day it just happened to be raining sideways. Still, my dear friend was not going to give up because there is no bad weather, you’re just poorly dressed. While she is sitting on the bus (which was, of course, late) she gets a text from Leonardo, hey, i think we should postpone because of the rain, wanna do dinner? or something to that effect. And at this point, what I’m hearing is that he doesn’t own a rain jacket…or can’t do a simple google search of coffee shops in the area, a safe alternative to a rained out farmers’ markets.

Well, dear readers, my friend is adaptable and takes setbacks in stride.  No worries! That sounds good, let me know where you’re thinking!  She went to the farmers market (which had closed by the time she arrived probably because of the rain Leonardo referenced), had a splendid time, got soaked, battled the Dublin Bus System on the way home, showered and got ready for her date in the evening.  She met our friend Leonardo in town for dinner.

As she walks up to the restaurant he told her to meet her at, she can pick him out of the crowd.  He’s leaning against the building slouched over his phone like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but he’s actually just a boy in his twenties already giving a girl the ick.  He is so enamored with whatever is on his phone that it takes my friend standing right in front of him and blurting out LeoNARdo in a very distinctly American accent for him to take notice.  He looks up, greets her, and they enter the restaurant–him nearly letting the door hit her on the way in, something I didn’t know was possible.

I use the term restaurant loosely here.  More like a fast food restaurant where you order at the counter and pick up at the next counter and then take your basket of food to a table that gets cleaned every couple of uses.  Standing at the counter, dear Leonardo asks if she wants to split a basket of chicken and chips.  Sure, she responds, noting that she will need a second dinner at home later.  And they get to the counter and he asks, do you mind if we split it?  So on top of the grueling weather and inconsistent buses she faced during the day for him not to show up, she now was going to owe him 7 euros.  Yes, he wanted the 7 euro to split a sorry excuse for a meal.  And I have no problem with restaurants like this, but sorry a basket of chicken and chips is not enough for me on my own…much less to share.

Yeah, we can split it, with what I can only imagine was a face of disgust, confusion, and absolute ick because my dear friend cannot hide her emotions.  She decided she would not ever bring up the 7 euros and see if he meant just split the meal, not the meal and the bill as was her sneaking suspicion.  The restaurant was full and Leonardo was struggling to hold a conversation, so when a table opened up my friend quickly made her way to it with the water (also an ugly word in an American accent) assuming he would grab the table number so their food would be delivered to the right table.  He did not grab the table marker and instead in one sweeping motion turned around and fell over the ‘Wet Floor’ caution sign.

He made it to the table safely (thank god, we wouldn’t want blood on our hands) as my friend realized he hadn’t grabbed the table number.  And, in what I can only imagine was not dissimilar to your mother angrily walking when you haven’t done a simple thing she expected you to do but it’s not worth saying anything out loud so she is just passive aggressive, my friend walked across the busy restaurant to retrieve the table marker as Leonardo rested his (probably…hopefully) bruised ego after tripping on the ‘Wet Floor’ sign.

Not much else interesting happened on this date other than my friend not having the opportunity to get a second meal because he walked her all the way back to Trinity.  Leaving her hungry, tired, and disappointed in the Dublin dating scene thus far.  But Leonardo either couldn’t read the vibe or felt oddly comforted by my friend’s ‘disappointed mother’ walk that he asked her out on another date.  My friend did not respond. In this house, we don’t have time for mommy issues.