There’s an episode of South Park where Kyle, Cartmen, and friends fight over voting for a turd or a douche for class president. A turd is a piece of shit, where as a douche is an asshole of magnifying proportions. Neither are good. Neither can make positive changes or choices. Much like a man who lies and cheats and a woman who enables said liar and cheater, the turd and the douche are really fucking wrong!
Wrong. This is how I felt when agreeing to go on a second date with Raymundo. The turd called me the day after our first date, reiterating his interest and desire to get to know me better.
“I want to build a strong and stable foundation with you. That’s why I was honest about my situation,” Raymundo explained, excusing his shitty actions.
“A strong and honest foundation is important,” I replied, unsure of what to do or say next. Yes, Raymundo was cute. And the fortune tellers prediction lingered in the back of my mind. But he’s unavailable, a little voice whispered.
Ah yes, his live-in girlfriend.
“Listen. This situation is complicated. I’ve been here before and I want no part of it,” I stated with unwavering firmness.
“That’s fair. So let’s go out…as friends,” he suggested. I thought about his proposition. I could use a new friend, someone to take me out and help expand my social circle. I’ve never really been friends with a white man before.
“Ok,” I said. “Out as friends.” What followed was Raymundo setting the logistics. He said he wanted to take me on a real date, a dinner date. Because friends go out on dates.
Second date day arrived and so did a text from Raymundo, stating there was a change of plans. Something came up at work, he said. And I believed the turd. So we rescheduled for the following day, where he text again, explaining he’d be working late, again.
“Do you want to meet me later on for drinks?” He proposed. From a fancy Italian dinner to late night drinks. Maybe he was more of a douche than a turd. “Sure,” I agreed. What can I say? I was bored and curious all at the same time.
Two hours later, I walked into his favorite bar. A dive bar where old, Irish men go to drink themselves into oblivion. I scanned the area, searching for Raymundo’s scruffy face, culito chin, and steel blue eyes, and realized I was the only pepa™ in the establishment. I instantly felt uncomfortable; a scene from The Accused flashed before my eyes. Before I dashed toward the door, he spotted me.
“Hey! What do you want to drink?” He asked with a beer in hand.
“A Bacardi and Coke,” I said with a peck on the cheek. He hollered the drink order to a gray haired, wrinkly man who grumbled something under his breath while grabbing the Bacardi bottle.
“He’s the best underneath all that negativity,” Raymundo commented, defending the pub owner. Or maybe he was defending himself.
For the next two hours, Raymundo and I sat at a round table, drinking the good stuff. I stuck with Bacardi and Coke while he stuck with beer. He also continued his smoking habit, leaving me at the table twice throughout the night. The first time he walked outside to smoke a cigarette, I rolled my eyes. The second time he walked outside to smoke a cigarette, I repeated what I said on our first date.
“I don’t like being left alone on a date. It’s rude.” He looked at me, smirked, and, instead of putting the unlit cigarette back in the pack, he called an elderly Asian guy from the bar and told him to take care of me.
When he returned from poisoning his lungs, I was livid. And not only because Raymundo disregarded my safety or feelings. He also pushed my buttons with arrogant comments about his greatness. His boastful words irritated me, especially when offering to help me and my brand. “I’m a great business man,” he bragged. Then there was the call. I sat there while he had an entire conversation with his girlfriend.
“A business meeting rang long. I’m still at the bar, Babe. Yeah, I’ll pick that up for you.”
That was it for me. Aside from his unavailable status, obvious douchiness, and shitty behavior, there was no chemistry between Raymundo and I. I didn’t even like him as a person!
“Ok, it’s time for me to go,” I said after his phone call. He stared at me, a puzzled expression on his face. “You just lied to your girlfriend, which means this is not as innocent as you claim it to be,” I fumed.
“Listen. I really like you,” he began. Oh, this again, I thought. He rattled on about how he would pursue me regardless, as if I were remotely interested in spending my nights alone at a dive bar, inhaling cigarette fumes while he patted himself on the back and called me “Babe.”
“And you know, I thought it was really big of me to tell you I had a girlfriend,” he declared proudly. My jaw dropped. I shook my head in disgust while shouting, “You’re such a scumbag! Just scummy. You shouldn’t have gone out with me on a first date to begin with!”
“Well, you’re not so innocent. You’re here again, aren’t you?”
Smack in the face. And though I wanted to crack a beer bottle over his head like a scene from a movie, I refrained. He was right. I decided to go on this second date, knowing he had a live in girlfriend. I was no better than this turd, this scumbag. As a matter a fact, I was kind of a douche. With that realization, I told Raymundo I never wanted to see him again. He mentioned not giving up. I swatted his comments away as I would a buzzing fly. We walked out the bar and The Turd decided he wouldn’t walk me home. “It’s kind of out of the way,” he said while we went our separate ways.
That was the end of Raymundo and I. The end of my dating unavailable men and enamorandome con los ojidos. Because, in the game of life, neither a turd or a douche can win.