Last weekend, I met a girl we’ll call Stacy. She shared with me a horror story that I’ll now share with you.
Once upon a time ... just kidding. This story is no fairy tale.
One night out, Stacy met a guy named Adam on the light rail. Although she’d drunkenly given him her number, she had already decided she would probably never see him again, so she ended the evening with friends. A week later, though, he asked to take her out. “I couldn’t remember if his name was really Adam at this point,” she said, but she agreed to meet him.
The two went to Cowfish — a great first date choice by the way, although I tend to judge those not adventurous enough to try sushi. A first time for both, they didn’t realize they would be waiting for an hour. Naturally, they hit up the bar. By the time they were seated, they had drank more than their fair share of martinis. Oh, and she had confirmed his name was, in fact, Adam.
Stacy said she didn’t remember much about the conversation, but assured me it was meaningless. Overall, though, she was enjoying his company — not to mention he was starting to look much more attractive than she remembered.
After dinner, they decided to grab a couple more drinks at the bar. Mistake. Before she knew it, the PDA began, and they headed back to his place. You can imagine what happened next.
The next morning, Stacy woke up in an amazing apartment Uptown overlooking the city. Just when she was trying to decide whether she should escape to the bathroom or find something in the fridge to eat, she heard Adam walk into the bedroom. She laid still, hoping that would deter him from talking to her as memories from what now seemed like a miserable date rushed in. Nope.
“Hey, um, I kind of have to work from home today,” Adam said to Stacy. “So, are you going to be here much longer?”
Stacy looked at her phone to find that it was dead. She asked Adam if he had a charger that she could use so she could call for a ride.
“I can call you an Uber, and I’m sure there is a charger at the front desk in the lobby,” was his response.
Without a word, Stacy gathered her things and left. Awkward. After a lackluster night with Adam and currently embarking on the “walk of shame,” she was relieved when she was able to not only charge her phone but enjoy a couple cheese danishes while she waited.
As you can see, hookup culture is alive and well in the Queen City. The standard hookup usually involves way too many drinks, a pinch of PDA, a cab ride to someone’s apartment, a rendezvous that’s meh, remorse the following morning and, alas, a walk of shame.
You don’t have to go far to get an all-too familiar taste of it either. For example, you can find it thriving at places like Dandelion Market, Prohibition or, for those who wait too late in the night, Uptown Cabaret. On a typical weekend, from my experience, these are oftentimes the places many people end up after they’ve already been to one or two other spots downtown. At Uptown Cabaret, you can get a cheap breakfast buffet and a “show.” These dark and often sweaty atmospheres combined with great drink specials lead to lower inhibitions and more hookups.
And that, my friends, is just the way it goes. You would think after the good ol’ days of college, we would all miraculously become more mature and engage in meaningful conversations and relationships. But Stacy’s story proves that sometimes kissing the frog after a few drinks will not lead to him turning into Prince Charming or living happily ever after. Sometimes it will just lead to having to charge your phone in the lobby of an upscale apartment complex with smeared makeup and bad breath while sporting the same outfit you had on the night before.
Whatever your dating habits are in the Queen City, keep in mind there are many Stacys and Adams out there. So if you do end up being “that guy” or “that girl” getting kicked out or taking a walk of shame, just know you’re not alone. And if there is a free danish, you better eat it.
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