Op-ed: My Horrible Date With Roger at the Drive-thru

One man chronicles nearly every gross, disappointing, awkward, and embarrassing date he's been on for his second book, 44 Horrible Dates.



I got in the car, and he didn’t even acknowledge being late. So fucking annoying. Anyway, I decided to forgive him, because he was just about the hottest person I have ever been that physically close to. He was acting kind of rushed, fidgety, and in a frenzy, which I thought was adorable — kind of his way of nonverbally apologizing for being late. So I was prepared to start forgiving him. I would let him make it up to me by paying for dinner (which would be news to him when the bill came).

We proceeded to drive away, at which point he suggested we should just hit a drive-thru instead of going out to dinner, since the movie was starting at 9:30. I said nothing, because I was just trying to be easygoing, which at that time I was not. Plus, since he was late I had already eaten a brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tart. (Okay, I really had four.)

The next thing I knew, he swiftly made a left turn and drove to an In-N-Out Burger. In all of our telephone conversations before the date, we had talked about the fact that I am a vegetarian. So, on top of everything that was about to occur, he’d never even listened to me.

I said, “What are we doing here?” He started acting rushed and jittery like when he had first picked me up. However, now he was fumbling with the radio, rolling down the windows, rolling up the windows, opening and closing the sunroof. I asked him if he was okay. He wouldn’t sit still. I said, “Hello, are you okay?”

Roger then told me he had hit a bump on the way over. I said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that why you were late? Is your car okay; are you okay?”

He looked at me and said, “No, stupid. I said … I did a bump.”

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

I asked him and he just looked at me. Finally I demanded he tell me what that meant.

He said, “You know, a bump, rhymes with stump,” and as he said this he grabbed his crotch and then he licked his lips. Then he said, “My mouth is so dry I need a drink.”

Then he burped.

Believe it or not, I still had no idea what he was talking about. What the hell was wrong with this dude?

Finally he told me I should “calm down” because a bump meant a “bump” of cocaine. And he said it with such arrogance, as if I was an idiot for not knowing what he was talking about.

So here I was, at the In-N-Out Burger drive-thru line, with a guy who was 45 minutes late for our date, with a cocaine high in full effect, and driving me around town on drugs. So I did what anyone with no common sense and no plan, but a lot of pride and self-esteem, would do.

I got out of the car and started walking home down Sunset Boulevard.

His car was blocked in by other cars, so I knew he couldn’t chase me down. I walked down Sunset with total pride, like I had just won an Olympic gold medal. He did his bump. I did the dump. Buh-bye.

Until I realized — I’d left my house keys in his car. Fuck. I had no intention of going back to grovel for my keys. I had a set of house keys hidden in the bushes at home, in a white-trash fake rock. So I kept walking.

I saw him on campus a few weeks later and walked the other direction.

To this day, I never leave my keys in anyone’s car.


Leave the tale of your absolute worst date in the comments below. Author Eddie Campbell will pick his favorite story, and the winner will receive a signed copy of 44 Horrible Dates.

Tags: Commentary