Misdirected

Do I know you?

I was excited to meet Brian, a find on OkCupid. He was a dentist (a real job!), went to an Ivy League school (a smarty!) and he actually called me on the phone to set up our date (a gentleman!).

We planned to meet at Swine in the West Village, and on the day of our date I was a tad behind schedule. I practically ran to the train, and when I got on, noticed that the guy sitting across from me looked an awful lot like Brian the dentist. Of course, I’d only seen one photo of him online, but the resemblance was uncanny. Given how late I was, it didn’t really make sense that he would be on this train. Plus, he was looking right at me and didn’t seem to recognize me. Not him, I thought.

When it comes to the West Village, I’m clueless about directions, so I was dependent on my iPhone. I entered the address and started walking. Brian’s look-alike went in the opposite direction. Definitely not him. After I’d been walking for about ten minutes, Brian texted to say he’d just arrived. And I got the distinct feeling that I was going the wrong way. I reloaded Google Maps and, sure enough, my phone had calculated my current location wrong and sent me wandering in the opposite direction. Awesome. Now I was at least a 20-minute walk away. I sent him a long text back explaining what had happened and apologizing profusely for being so late. His response: “K.”

I speed walked to the bar. In the summer heat, I was sweating like crazy, my heeled feet were killing me, and I was completely out of breath as I approached the bar. That’s when I saw him waiting outside—Brian’s look-alike actually was Brian. Embarrassed that we’d been on the same train and yet I was almost 40 minutes late, I didn’t mention it. He didn’t either. It was awkward.

We sat and ordered a beer. I asked him about his job, and he mentioned that one of his assistants had been fired that day.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m really sad because she was my main source of entertainment.”

“You two were close?”

“No, but I really liked to make fun of her whenever she wasn’t in the room,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“She was Swedish and had a thick accent, so I would always imitate it for everyone else in the office. It was hilarious.”

“That’s awful,” I said.

“Usually my patients don’t really get the joke.”

“Wait, you made fun of her in front of your patients?”

“Most of my patients are Hasidic Jews,” he went on. “Hasidic Jews have no sense of humor. They’re so boring.”

Why was he telling me this?! My visions of the smart, sweet dentist had gone out the window. Plus I was sweaty and tired. And I don’t think he appreciated that I didn’t think his sense of humor was awesome. All in all, I was happy to call this one quits.

“Want to share a cab?” he asked as we walked out.

No! But it did make sense, and I really didn’t want to get lost again. We rode uptown in near silence.

—Raz, 25, NYC