As if it wasn't obnoxious enough that today's specimen answered her cell phone in the middle of our date last night to talk to her friend, she began to insult me too. She didn't know I knew she was insulting me - until I let her in on my little secret.
We sat in a Cafe on the Upper West Side, and had fairly polite, utterly chemistry free conversation for maybe twenty five minutes before her phone rang. She looked at the phone and said, "Oh, it's my friend. I have to get this." There was no explanation as to why she had to get it. No fake excuse about a grandmother in the hospital, no mention of an urgent work related incident -- nothing. She just had to talk to her friend - like they had so much catching up to do, and it needed to be done in the middle of our date. Her lack of proper dating etiquette aside, I welcomed the distraction. I needed a break from the anemic dialogue.
It was a relatively quick conversation -the topics of which, as I could determine from the side of it that I heard, were (in the following order):
1. The Sex and the City Movie - apparently the friend didn't like it, and was telling my date not to bother seeing it.
2. Some sort of party over the weekend. They were arranging a time to meet for dinner before they headed to the party, and my date asked her friend if she was okay with the fact that "Ronnie" was gonna be there.
3. Me. -- She told her friend that I wasn't for her, and she was hoping to be done with the date soon. The main reasons for her dissatisfaction with me: I'm not dark enough, and I need a haircut.
Now she's entitled to her tastes. This wasn't the first time I was told I was pale, and the truth is, I do need a haircut. But why would she say this in front of me?, you may be wondering. Well, that's where she fucked up. When she got off the phone, she said, "Sorry. I had to take it."
"Yeah, you mentioned that," I responded.
"My friend is going through a tough time."
"No kidding. Because of Ronnie?"
"How do you know about Ronnie?," she wondered.
"I heard a guy's name mentioned. I just assumed."
"No. I speak Hebrew," I said smugly.
"That's nice," she retorted. She must have thought I meant I knew how to say "Shalom," or something, because her reaction wasn't that of someone who just got busted talking about someone else in another language, not knowing that person understood every word.
"Actually, I'm fluent, you miserable bitch! I understood every mother fucking word you said! It's bad enough you interrupt a date to talk about Sex and the fucking City, and some douchebag named Ronnie, but you insult me too?," I said -- minus everything after the word "fluent."
Maybe she doesn't know what "fluent" means, or maybe she was so embarrassed she didn't know what else to say, but she didn't apologize or so much as stutter. She just stared at me like the bitch in headlights that she was. I actually felt a little bad for her. This was about as awkward a moment she might have ever experienced. But just when you start to feel a little sympathy for someone, they give you a reason to dislike them again.
"Why didn't you tell me you spoke Hebrew? It's kind of rude to let someone go on like that without letting them know you understand," she said.
Now it was my turn to stare. There were so many things I could've said to this asswipe like, "When was I supposed to tell you I understood you? Before or after you insulted me?" Instead, I decided to follow the principle of Occam's razor, and opted for the simplest of solutions to the problem.
I got up, dropped some money on the table, said, "Shalom!" with a big smile, and walked away. As I left the cafe, I caught one last glimpse of her. She was back on the phone - no doubt telling her friend that the pasty faced, messy haired asshole had just walked out on her, but that she was happy the date was over because he was a loser anyway.
This wasn't the first time I had an incident with an obnoxious Israeli chick, but it will likely be my last.
My vow for the future: No more obnoxious Israelis, and to get a haircut.