We were still waiting for the server to get back with our beers when the words came spewing out of my date’s mouth.
‘Those women are all whores,’ he began. ‘They sleep with anyone and teach other women that that’s OK.’
The women he was speaking of? Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha — the main characters from the popular HBO show, Sex and the City. I was stunned.
I was still in college, deep into my women’s and gender studies and feminist anthropology courses, but I’ve been an equal rights activist for as long as I can remember.
By that point in my life, I’d already learned any man who could use the word ‘whores’ in such a manner was frankly not one I wanted to be around. It wasn’t even the first red flag of the night. So when he finally said this, I knew I definitely couldn’t smile politely through our dinner.
We’d met on OKCupid, before the era of swiping.
He was a law school student. Good looking. Seemed smart enough. After a few days of messaging, we decided to meet in person.
I was fairly fresh out of a four-year relationship, and still testing the dating waters. I was a little nervous but figured I had nothing to lose.
If I were to compare myself to anyone in Sex and the City at that time, it would have been a blend of Carrie and Samantha.
I was ‘on the prowl,’ as one of my girlfriends put it. And while the show had already concluded by then, I was still watching the reruns and hoping to enjoy my newfound singledom.
When we met, he was wearing a white collared button down and slacks. Not bad, I thought to myself.
That was soon about to change.
As we walked around the plaza, we passed by a couple sitting at an outdoor cafe, loudly speaking Spanish.
‘God, why can’t they just speak English?’ he said to me, half rolling his eyes.
Being Latina and a Spanish-speaker myself, I was taken aback by his statement. I told him I was also bilingual, and that there was nothing wrong with that.
He walked it back a bit, saying he just didn’t understand the language and was still getting used to hearing it so often, after moving to a city where Latinos make up over half of the population.
Red flag one. But I figured maybe he didn’t really mean it in the bigoted way it came off.
I should have run.
So, How Did It Go?
So, How Did It Go? is a weekly Metro.co.uk series that will make you cringe with second-hand embarrassment or ooze with jealousy as people share their worst and best date stories.
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We made our way over to a fancy burger bar, placed our orders, and kept chatting.
It was all relatively inoffensive until the subject of television came up. He asked what kinds of shows I liked. Girls, Greys Anatomy and Sex and the City, I replied.
That’s when he let it out.
‘Sex and the City is so trashy,’ he went on. ‘Those women will sleep with anyone. Bunch of whores.’
I was surprised a young, single man would take issue with the possibility his date might be someone who wouldn’t be opposed to sleeping with him without the need for a marriage proposal. I also immediately knew this would not work out.
At that point, our server came by with our beers. Not a moment too soon.
‘Need anything else for now?’ she asked, smiling, oblivious to the conversation happening.
‘Yes, actually. I’m going to need you to make mine a to-go order. And then I’m going to need you to bring the bill, and give it to him. I have to get going, thank you,’ I told her.
My date’s jaw dropped.
‘Wait, what?’
‘Between what you said earlier about wishing people wouldn’t speak Spanish, and now calling women whores, I’m done with this date.
‘I appreciate the meal, but I’m not going to waste my time here,’ I said, proceeding to chug my beer while he stared at me.
‘Are you seriously mad I insulted fictional characters?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly, but if that’s what you think of even fictional women who are OK with having sex on their terms, there’s nothing left for us to discuss.’
At that moment, the server came by with my food, all bagged up.
‘Thank you!’
I finished my beer in silence, set it down, and walked away.
It was the best feeling in the world. The minute I got to my car, I deleted him off my phone and texted a friend, a fellow Samantha-Carrie hybrid.
‘Want to grab a drink? I just had the most ridiculous date,’ I said.
As I recounted the story to my friend over another round of vodka tonics, I felt a little like Carrie. And that’s definitely not a bad thing.
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