Blame It On The Alcohol (Part 1)

Posted on May 16, 2012


Yup, I’m just sitting at this bar by myself.

This story is from Kate, a 24-year-old merchandising assistant in NYC, as told to Raz:

When Simon, my coworker, asked me out, I didn’t even hesitate before saying yes. He was so hot. Like Ryan Gosling hot. And I got nervous and giggly just thinking about him. Plus, he didn’t even work in my department, so I wouldn’t be breaking any office rules.

We met for drinks at a bar in the theater district. At least, that was the plan. I showed up, and 30 minutes later, with only a few vague “I’m almost there” texts of explanation, he showed up. By that point, I was two drinks in and beyond frustrated. He was panting. Clearly he’d run there.

“I’m so sorry,” he exhaled as he sat down. “I got the time of my acting class wrong.”

“It’s fine,” I said, putting on a fake smile. He ordered us a round of drinks.

“We’re watching videos of all the scenes we’ve been working on today, and then analyzing them,” he went on. “Actually, I feel so bad that I left in the middle. We haven’t even watched my scene yet. My teacher’s going to be so mad at me.”

Was he trying to make me feel bad for keeping him from his class? He was the one that invited me out!

“You can go back,” I offered, not thinking he’d actually do it.

“Thank you so much!” he said as he gulped the last of his drink. “I’ll be 30 minutes tops. Order whatever you want.”

So I waited. Two drinks later, he was back, panting and apologizing again. And I was sloshed. But had he gotten hotter over the last hour? When we started talking again, I realized how truly boring he was. Turns out, he was training in method acting and just loved to talk about method acting. He was somewhere in the middle if a story about how he prepared to play a war vet who didn’t have a leg (by soaking in a tub of ice for 3 hours) when I decided I didn’t need to hear him talk anymore.

“You want to get out of here?” I interrupted. Was I slurring?

“Yeah,” he said. “My apartment’s a couple blocks away.”

I downed the rest of my drink (number 7, I think), and we headed for the door.

I know what you’re thinking: What’s wrong with you, Kate? He kept you waiting for over an hour. When he was there, he talked incessantly about his weird acting methods. And he’s almost old enough to be your father.

I mentioned how drunk I was right? And how pretty he was? Plus, I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse. I was so wrong.

Things went very downhill once we got to his place… Stay tuned for more.

Posted in: Your Stories