say goodnight, gracie
At 2:00 am, I was sitting in the back of a white limo, winding my way through Central Park, listening to an angry Albanian’s rant about white women whoring themselves for “bling” and thinking, “This is why. This is exactly why.”
I’d finally caved and allowed Gracie to introduce me to the man behind one of the many photographs she’d shown me. “He’s like us,” she’d said, touching up her eye makeup in the ladies’ room mirror.
“Like us?”
“Yeah. He’s got… personality.”
“Oh jeez."
He picked us up in midtown and by the time we arrived for dinner and drinks at a Cuban joint in the East Village, I was wondering why I’d been so hesitant. He was nice. Normal. Funny. We ate, drank and met up with some of their friends to go dancing. I was doing a very convincing Sloth (Heeeeeey you guys!) and he was dishing out the sarcasm. Things were going well.
And then, they weren’t.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when the evening deteriorated. We’d gone uptown so that I could change into club-appropriate attire (what was I thinking? On a school night?). And then back in West Chelsea, we mwah-mwahed our way through the velvet rope into Cane. It was nothing short of a human safari. I grabbed a drink and wandered up to the railing ready for some people-watching. But then somewhere between the vodka and the tonic, my date had squired himself into a corner with some other girl. Then his friend grabbed my ass. And someone spilled scotch down my chest. Enough.
“Say goodnight, Gracie,” I said and reached for my purse.
“You’re going? Where’s Joe?”
“Over there.”
“Oh my god. What’s he doing? I’m so sorry!”
“Honey, it’s no big deal. I got bigger fish to fry… which is why I’m gonna head home.”
Gracie frowned and made stabbing motions in her friend’s direction.
“Goodnight Gracie.”
I hugged and kissed and then ducked out of the smoky club. As I headed for the line of taxis, a man stepped forward and extended his arm toward a white limousine.
“Miss? Where you headed?”
“86th… but, I’ll grab a cab.”
“Please, allow me. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
What’s the harm? I climbed in, was offered champagne (which I declined as I didn’t want to pay any higher a price when I woke up in a few hours) and was only a few blocks up the west side when I realized what exactly the harm was.
“American women are whores,” the driver said angrily. “They see a nice looking, well dressed white man and don’t give a shit. But for the cocaine and the crack, they will spread their legs for a monkey.”
Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.
I spent the rest of the ride clinging to my cell phone. “This is why,” I thought. “This is exactly why I’d rather stay home in my pajamas cleaning my stove with q-tips.”
YOW! What a night!
At least it can't get any worse
I would like to follow Rafael's 'YOW!' with an 'EEP!' of my own.
That evening COULD have turned out better though. Which is why you went in the first place, huh? It could have been fabulous. And some nights will be...but some of them won't...
I'm glad you got home in one piece.
Ah yes... a quintessential NYC night out - jeez. Sorry luv. At least you had a harmless adventure in the end?
I'm thinking that today, after work, we go entertain the ladies at Coco's. You in?
Oh my gosh, are you insane?! Ok, I probably would've gotten into the limo, too, but be careful!
I am so glad you got home safe. :-\
It's stories like this that make life diffcult for nice guys everywhere. Accepting an act of kindness turns out to be a nightmare. I'm going to have to disagree with Rafael, it could have been much worse. But I beg, don't let that sour you on accepting random acts of kindness, cause if you do the creeps win.
Very sorry about your evening. It would seem that the universe is interesting in smashing a sense of perspective into your head. "Published in England? Try this lousy night for a change!"
"...they will spread their legs for a monkey." Well, I bet he's up for Customer Service Specialist of The Year.
All charm, that one.
This is a good reminder of why I enjoy being married.
There are good men out there. Normal men.
He will find you when you least expect it. It will be one of those moments when you bump into someone at the coffee shop or at a book store.
(God I hate people like me who spew that rhetoric. But honestly, it's true.)
Sounds eventful! Remind me never to allow Grazie to hook me up. ;)
Crap. why can't i meet any of those american whores?
wow, thankfully nothing physically horrible happened while i'm sure that mentally that must have been a real scare. completely agree with coelecanth though, can't let this one thing sour you on all of us (not saying it has or anything), although i guess you do have to be weary.
It is stories like yours that keep me content to sit in my studio and make furniture all day and all night long. Yup maine is the way life should be. I love New York don't get me wrong. I also love the zoo. It is those women on the hunt that sound the alarm in us "normal" guys.
Good luck
Oh, you totally left us hanging! So how did you make it out of there unharmed? Flash some "Fish charm" and get away?
Wow, two charmers in one night. Sounds like you hit the jackpot. Glad to hear you escaped with nothing more than a sore head the next day.
Next time--hopefully you won't do this again--make sure you can open the door as soon as you get in. Also, as soon as the car has reached a reasonably high speed you should open the door--kind of like I am just making sure my seat belt is not sticking out of the car or my skirt is hanging out beneath the car door. I had to do this recently in a foreign country when I accepted the 'kindness' of a stranger. It worked; the fellow stopped and let me get out when I said "I want to get out here."
Holy crap, it could have gone much worse. Look out next time! Sorry about your shitty night, but, it happens.
Speaking as a rehabbed former City Girl, I have to say, "b" is right: Maine is the way life should be.
Or, at the very least, if you lived in Maine it would have been socially acceptable for you to chuck a bottle full of chew-spit at your loser date.
-LG
I randomly saw your link on another blog and the name caught me from a long list of links. I recognized the quote from the U2 song. (It's only the second blog I've ever read). This was when Ben was guest editing for you and I was a little confused. Then it all came together with your article and now I'm hooked. Thanks for entertaining me during my long days at work!
I am your oldest reader, I'm sure, and I have a single daughter your age who lives in a large East Coast city. She does not tell me much (I would assume to avoid comments like these), therefore I read your insightful journal (since NYT article), and project your common sense onto my daughter. But, I am having palpitations re getting into that limo....so, this is your generic mother telling you to please be careful....
Okay, the limo ride was horrible and dangerous and you were lucky to escape with your life. I agree. I'm glad that this fish escaped to write another blog entry and to entertain us with her wonderful prose, especially while I'm at work.
What really caught me though was the "blind" date. How could such men exist? Is this simply a New York thing? No, certainly not. I suspect I have friends who act/have acted like the ones you describe. Being a semi-long term reader of your blog though I find myself screaming, "You fools!" I mean who could resist the undeniable charm that is Fish? Even if I did not read your blog I would have to say that any man who treated another human being in such a deplorable fashion should be castrated for humanity's sake.
Morons.
And as far as the limo driver is concerned, maybe he just watched one to many episodes of HBO's phenominal series, "Taxi Cab Confessions."
In the date's defense: he thought I wasn't interested. Which is fair, I suppose. We'll give him another shot.
Well, if you're going to give him another chance, perhaps you should do so -- oh, I don't know -- within walking distance of your apartment?
Whew! That was scary. It reminds me of one time in New Orleans when some guy tried to force me to take a "free taxi ride." And when I refused, he started calling me a whore and saying I'd never get anywhere. Thankfully, I hadn't gotten into his cab and the bus was seconds away... but it's a wonder when guys who actually aren't sociopathic killers (apparently, since he let you go) think this kind of talk is okay. How does someone like this not know he's scaring the crap out of someone? Or is that it; he likes scaring the crap out of someone? Probably part two.
Glad you're okay!
Bwa-hahaha. That was fabulous! I could feel that guy's insanity oozing out of your post.
And, Kim...that crazy freak was partially right when he said: YOU'LL NEVER GET ANYWHERE.
Well, duh..I'm not taking your cab, so...I guess--temporarily--you're right.
Hmmm. . . he didn't think you were interested? Sounds, questionable. But given a second chance under the threat of possible castration, this may be the man you end up marrying. Good luck. Ride a bicycle too and from. (they are fabulously exciting modes of transportation if you are drunk on the ride home).