Vomit is the New Black

At least the facilities were nice…

I met Aaron on Hinge, my new favorite dating app. For those unfamiliar, Hinge sets you up with your Facebook friends’ single friends. It’s awesome because it feels less random than other dating sites. After all, you already have a friend in common!

Anyway, Aaron seemed normal enough, and he was Facebook friends with a guy I’d gone on a Birthright trip with. According to his brief profile, Aaron worked in finance, had attended a good school and was pretty darn cute. We didn’t talk long online before he asked me out. We agreed to meet for drinks on a Monday night, but hadn’t decided on specifics.

On Monday morning, I dropped my phone on the way to work and it went completely black. Without access to Hinge, there was pretty much no way to get in touch with Aaron. I made an appointment at the Apple Store after work. The geniuses fixed it almost immediately, and I signed on to Hinge. Of course, I had a couple missed messages from Aaron asking if we were still on. I apologized profusely for ignoring him and we decided on a spot for a couple hours later.

When I was on my way home to change, I started to feel sick. I was lightheaded and a little nauseous. I stacked it up to the fact that I hadn’t slept much the night before and got ready for my date. On my walk over to the bar, I started to feel worse. I thought about calling to cancel, but I felt too bad about ignoring him all day, so decided to suck it up.

I greeted Aaron with a pasted-on smile and a hug. We ordered a few beers, and started to chat. Turns out, he wasn’t exactly my dream man. He said he’d been working as a “manny” for the last few years and had just gotten a job that paid a little more in finance. He said it was extremely boring, but he would just do it for the next 35 years, so he could retire. “I’m not the type of guy who needs to really enjoy what I do for work every day,” he said. I couldn’t relate. The sick feeling got worse.

He was struggling to make conversation and I probably wasn’t helping. “So what else should I ask you?” he asked.

“Whatever you want,” I said.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m bad at conversation,” he said.

Too late. That’s when the sick feeling got really bad. I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

I think I was in there vomiting for about twenty minutes.

I found out later that I had a virus contracted from eating chicken that had been sitting out too long. (Thanks, Gigi Cafe.) At the time, I had no idea what was going on. When I walked back to the table, I must have looked a hot mess—hair up in a messy pony tail, mascara running down my face. I apologized and told Aaron I thought I had the flu. His response: “Oh shit, but you hugged me. Did you get me sick?!”

That was the least of my concerns.

Aaron never reached out to ask how I was feeling or if I wanted to go out again. And I’m OK with that. I’m actually considering faking food poisoning on future bad dates.

—Raz, 26, NYC