#94 THAT TIME WHERE I SLEPT ON A DATE’S FLOOR: TRYING TO MAKE MY FUTURE HUSBAND JEALOUS
Shitty job fairs, toxic traits, wine on an empty stomach, and despair
It’s 2016 and I’ve been in England less than a month. I’m already on the apps looking for my next dating victim partner. I’m also trying to sort out this NARIC thing, which is some kind of certification that you pay for that will supposedly tell UK employers that my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees from the US are equivalent to BAs and MAs from the UK.
I’m chasing down my National Insurance number and my NHS number and applying for a bank account in the UK because I left England at the age of ten and there’s just so much bureaucracy and paperwork to live back in the country I was born in after most of my formative years in the US.
I’ll tell a shortened version, but before I left Minnesota, I’d applied for a bunch of jobs, and this one for a tech company seemed really promising. They gave me a few phone interviews. At least four. Then, when I arrive in England, I must have had a couple of in-person interviews.
It’s for a tech writer job at a software company, and I don’t understand GitHub or any really technical stuff. The job is about sequel servers and something to do with the cloud, and I’m still as clueless now as then, but I think I can be trained to do anything.
The job pays £30k back in 2016, and that seemed like a lot lower than I was used to living on, but something, anything. (Spoiler, I didn’t earn this and above until many years later in England.)
I’m desperate. Despite all this effort, test bits and in-person interviews and a technical sit down with some tech guy and having to pay for the train into Manchester when I’m on a fixed £500/month from my ex for a year, which he feels is incredibly generous, as a sort of divorce when I didn’t even have a solicitor.
Read here for details if you even can bother.
They do not give me a job. I keep trying to email the HR lady and just get a yes or no, and they string me along and eventually say no.
So, I feel happy when I get some salesy call from some young man who is inviting me to an interview at this place called Pareto Law or something. Is it a legal firm? What do they do? I have no clue. I think they are a recruitment agency for sales jobs. I’ve barely worked in sales, but I like the idea of base plus commission. I don’t have the bullshit levels or sparkle for a sales job.
What it turns out is another expensive waste of time, but this time a whole fucking day. I have to get a train to Manchester Victoria and then to Manchester Picadilly to some arse end of Cheshire I’ve never heard of (Wilmslow, I think) and do a day of excruciating activities with about a hundred other hopeful suckers mostly graduates.
As someone who is twenty-nine at this point, with far too much job experience, I think what the actual fuck is it legal that they make people waste a whole day of their time for what turns out to be five sales jobs, which they reveal they already selected the sparkling, young, hot successful applicants in the first hour of the day.
Then, for the rest of us as they are conducting the ‘real’ interviews the rest of us victims don’t know about, they ferry us through team building tasks, excruciating group share activities, and worst, some kind of fake interview where you have to pitch yourself with notecards to two bored teenagers in a room for five minutes.
By this point, I’m shattered.
I meet some nice hopefuls, but at the end of the day, when I realise what I’ve been scammed into, I feel infuriated and powerless.
How can such companies prey on young people desperate for jobs after finishing university? How can people be expected to waste a day of time, travel expenses, and whatever else when they have already made up their minds early on?
I absolutely hate when society preys on those with less power, less experience, and less economic security. #firstworldproblems of course.
I want so desperately to go home to my Dad’s house and crawl back into bed, but what has my genius brain done?
I’d scheduled a date with a man I thought looked like the much less attractive version of Victor Krum except tallish and lean instead. (Harry Potter reference and sorry because I know JKR is cancelled and I definitely support all rights, including trans people, but it’s a reference, hopefully most people will get.)
This guy, we’ll call Victor, also probably thinks I’m way more into him than I am because pre-date he texts me something very sweet and flattering like, “You’d look good in a bin bag” and I send him a flirty mirror selfie with me wearing a trash bag which is probably too suggestive and absolutely too stupid.
The bin bag is barely big enough to cover my labia.
After my first husband making me feel absolutely disgusting and unattractive, I am lapping up all of this male attention. From anyone. It’s pathetic in hindsight, naturally.
Meeting Victor at the station
After I tell Victor, I’m on my way back from the excruciating ‘interview day’ – I should have just said I’m too tired and need to decompress – I see him waiting by the doors of Picadilly Station.
He looks so hopeful, like a puppy, but I pretend I don’t see him so I can chat to a group of people from the horrible job fair day. One is particularly hot, but a few years younger, and I wish that I was going for drinks with him instead. I even add a few of them on LinkedIn.
Thankfully, we are all employed now, years later! Maybe only minorly scarred from this shit event.
Eventually, reluctantly, I go to meet Victor and do the usual kiss exchange. It’s also a hot as balls day in the UK.
I’m wearing a black or navy Calvin Klein suit and an H&M top, I’ve had for years – purchased on a trip to the UK one summer with one of my childhood English best friends, Joanne, when I thought that H&M was so exciting because we didn’t have one in Georgia, USA.
I’ve always been a bit self-conscious of my arms, but I just have to get my jacket off. I have only eaten lunch.
Victor takes me to the old trusty Wetherspoons for cheap drinks. He doesn’t offer dinner.
I barely have enough money I bet to pay for a bread roll.
I must have drunk at least two or three glasses of red wine, and the room is practically spinning. I’m sure I have to buy at least one round I can’t afford.
How the date is going
To be fair to him, Victor is interesting-ish. He’s just moved back from China and he worked in tech or education or something or other and had his own business there.
He’s a nice enough man. He’s really into football, which is a detractor in my eyes.
I keep thinking of Michael.
I had a first date with Michael at the beginning of July. It’s only mid-month, and here I am on another date with Victor.
Probably to make Michael jealous.
I text Michael drunk pictures of myself whilst Victor goes to the toilets.
Why was I such an arsehole?
I think somehow Michael and my cousin Pam are texting, and they are worried about my life choices. I don’t realise I’m making toxic life choices. I think everything is a great idea at the time.
I mean, I’ve been on a few dates with an absolutely lovely, sexy man (Michael), and here I am thinking that going on a date with another man will make him think I’m some kind of hot commodity he needs to snatch up before the offer runs out.
Thank fuck he was patient with me and not the jealous type. No idea how this man is such a saint, but he is.
Even when he thinks (years later) I’ve probably had sex with Victor, which I haven’t, actually.
But I am drunk enough to make out with Victor. He takes me to another wine bar. We sloppily make out there. I’ve now missed the final train back to Todmorden.
Wonderful planning, of course.
Michael tells me that when he’s on a date in Manchester, he always sets an alarm so he can make the last train.
I seem to have the effect on men where they want to ‘father’ me, take care of me. In 2016, I still have a father, so I always find it inexplicable.
Victor’s house
What’s a girl to do? I can’t sleep in the train station. I can’t afford a taxi home. I can’t ask my relatives to pick me up at practically midnight, so Victor invites me back to his place.
He says he has a spare room.
I have no idea how we get back. Taxi? Bus? Was he driving?
His house is a nice semi-detached house in a cul-de-sac. His house is decorated like a man would decorate, but it’s impeccably clean. Barely any things.
He does not suggest I sleep in the spare room as promised.
He wants me in bed with him.
I’m hot as fuck (not attractiveness level like the weather is unbearable) so I strip down to my underwear at which point he paws me like Mr Octopus (see previous post below for that story) and I realise you can only sleep somewhere your body feels safe.
Don’t get me wrong, Victor was not in any way trying to force me to have sex. He was just handsy. I’m angry at myself for leading this man on because it’s really not his fault. I spend most of the time on the floor of his bedroom, feeling rather tearful, but not crying.
I’m sure Victor falls asleep.
I’m sure he gives me tea and toast the next morning. He’s a nice enough man.
I just don’t feel attracted to him yet I’ve come back to his house and made out with him and he offers to give me a lift home which is quite a drive and I’m at this point tired and I should just say I’ll go by train but I have him drop me off at the bottom of my Dad’s hill.
I feel shitty for having him drive me home, wasting his time in a way, putting myself in that situation, and then I angrily text Victor about some bullshit self-righteous WhatsApp about making women feel safe and not to do that with women. (Read on for the text.)
In hindsight, whatever I said was unfair to him. I was tired and frightened, and I’d never gotten myself into this close of a call before. Not that Victor had ill intent, but he could have, and I realise that.
I realise that I have been reckless with my body.
That time something bad almost happened
Back in uni, I’m very lucky with all the inebriated situations and blackout drunkenness, I never got myself into a hairy situation. It almost happened one time.
I got shitfaced drunk at Creekside (a bar in Valdosta, Georgia) with my friend Darcy and Dr Luke (a friend I’d slept with once or twice) and her new colleagues. One of them, a ‘short king’ (as the young people say) who was hot (why are so many short men super hot?), I flirted with relentlessly.
I didn’t have intention of fucking him but here I was. No idea on the timeline of who I was sleeping with or pining after at the time, but I’m sure it was a distraction. Darcy and her friend drove me home in his convertible. This guy was there, too.
Darcy and the friend were helping me into my house. Darcy placed my ID, my keys, a glass of water beside my bed. I was practically crawling into my house, and I only vaguely remember that Darcy and the friend stopped this guy from staying over.
The friend said something along the lines of my being too drunk.
They understood consent on my behalf.
I don’t think this guy had ill intent either, but he was as drunk as I was, and I could have had a situation where I wasn’t sure what was happening.
I’ve always been lucky. It is pure luck. And kindness from friends who always protected me back then from this happening.
Texts to cousin Pam
I texted my cousin, Pam:
Had awful date. Met for drinks in Manchester. Had too much wine on empty stomach and slept over at his house because missed train back (no sex thanks to period and wouldn’t have wanted to) but it was hot as fuck and he wouldn’t stop touchhing me and it was really fucking annoying so I got zero sleep becuase I didn’t feel safe (not like he was rapey but you know gotta feel safe to let yourself get unconscious). He would’ve been a nice guy if not for that. Fml.
Sent virtually the same message to Michael, and he said, “You and transport! Even with my 12-hour date, I sent an alarm for the last train. That was an awful situation to put yourself in, and like you say, I would never have taken advantage of that situation. That’s just creepy what he did.”
Apparently, I told the date I had a headache, and he tried to give me a pill, and I said I wouldn't take it because it was unmarked. I said to Michael I don’t think he was date rape creepy but FFS read body language.
I don’t know what I was playing at? Trying to get Michael to choose me? Michael wasn’t even dating anyone else… He was already choosing me. Sigh. Even after pulling this shite. (More than once.)
What happened to Victor
I can’t remember Victor’s name. We are connected on LinkedIn, so years ago I saw that he’d moved back to China, started another company similar to what he did before, and married a beautiful Chinese lady. I do hope he’s happy.
Okay, so I had to go to my almost 600 LinkedIn connections, and scroll back to people I met nine years ago to find his name. Victor is now an ‘award-winning managing director’ at some recruitment company that hires English teachers to teach in China. He founded the company.
His profile picture is of him running a marathon. Why people do that, I’ll never know. Age has made him better-looking, so good for him.
After Victor drops me off, I text Michael a picture of myself in bed, hoping to see him after I’ve woken up from my nap and after a bath, washing the memory of the day off my skin.
I’m sure a couple of days later we play house at his Mum and Stepdad’s when they are away for the weekend, so all is okay in my messy world. Michael even cooks for me in his underwear. I still can’t get over his abs.
Message to Victor
Finding Victor’s IRL name allowed me to find his messages.
At 11.35 pm, Victor asks me where I am. Maybe thinking I’ve ditched him out the window of the toilets, and I text that I’m ‘a little sick.’ Am I puking up? No recollection.
Close to midnight, he tells me we can get a taxi.
A full two days later, I’ve ghosted him and he messages a nice message saying he enjoyed meeting me, looks forward to catching up, hopes I enjoyed the gym, good luck on the job front, and I reply an hour later.
My day is okay, and I felt okay once I’d caught up on sleep but not sleeping one night threw my day off the next day. I should’ve taken the train home and been more responsible.
I don’t think I’d like to see you again – not because you didn’t seem nice overall, but because you were too handsey on the first date.
Pot calling the kettle black? I mean I’d flirted and made out with the guy and said I’d go home with him and got shitfaced. Sigh.
The other two people I have been dating were really respectful on our first date and one only kissed me and the other hasn’t even done that yet after five dates.
Guessing that was poor Archie.
I had said I was exhausted. I had had a very long day and you didn’t let me sleep and you kept touching me innappropriately for the situation – after you said you’d make the spare bed – which made me feel distrespected, uncomfortable, and unsafe.
Sigh!
I do appreciate that you took me home, so thank you for that.
He replied to me:
I respect your wishes. I do not realise how drunk I was. I wish you all the best for the future. Thi type of behaviour was out of character; however, no excuse for this type of action. Take care.
He ended with a typed smiley face, and that was that.
I was a bit of an arsehole to all involved really. I had had men treat me much worse.
Now he’s going to see me looking at his LinkedIn profile, and if he even vaguely remembers who I am, I’m sure he will be very puzzled.
Michael tells me I’m ‘too intense’
After this date with Victor, Michael does not run away and continues seeing me.
Now I know about Michael’s anxiety and how when he cares about people, he truly cares, he was probably worried for me because he is a nice man – also he’d only known me not even a month – rolls eyes – how much commitment should a totally normal human make?
The answer is none but I was a toxic, crazy fucker. (Not to insult genuine mental illness and all that.)
I mean I’d like to think circumstances made me that way, but FFS.
Michael and I exchange messages where he says ‘I’m intense” (which I was), and I claim that I’m trying to heal from my broken marriage, I’m not trying to rush in, etc. I clearly am trying to rush in, but my brain is scrambled, and I think I’m being justified and logical, obviously.
Michael was trying to set boundaries. He doesn’t have lots of long-term dating experience. He needs training wheels.
He tells me he felt like we’d had some perfect dates. He was relaxed and happy around me but probably also needed time to himself in the week – the one good thing, though, despite me being a bit batshit, was we did communicate from the get go – Michael said how he felt and I reciprocated.
Did we just get in a relationship?
Michael and I did have this weird exchange where Michael says he thought we were in an ‘unofficial relationship.'
I was trying to say (to protect myself) we were FWB and in the past I had a FWB that was about six months long (the red haired sex god) and it didn’t become more and blah blah and more unhealed shit. I want him, and I am also pushing him away.
Poor Michael was trying to catch up with my weirdness and parse it out, this being the only experience he had with wanting a girlfriend.
I was saying shit like – not direct quotes – I’m so healed and self aware and open at communication.
Fucking laugh out loud at my delusion.
Okay, I don’t think I said I was healed, but ‘open’ and ‘honest.’ And I guess I was speaking my very delusional truth, but give the poor man a break.
I was chasing him to commit to me too early, but then pushing him away and saying no, we can be all cool and casual, it’s all good. And he’s like, “Oh are we not moving towards a relationship then?”
And I’m like, yeah, we can maybe. I like you a lot. But also, like, I totally don’t need a relationship if you just want FWB, etc, blah, blah. I’m sorry, what?
I clearly was into him and wanted a relationship but couldn’t ever date anyone like a normal fucker.
I had to have lots of options on the go because I couldn’t possibly be vulnerable and get hurt and not have someone to tell me I was pretty. I couldn’t just wait and see where things were going.
I was still in the era of reeling from what the fuck just happened ot my first marriage, questioning why he’d ended it all, and why the rug had been pulled out from my life. I thought I’d had a happy, comfortable marriage, and he’d ended it out of the blue.
Obvs it turns out it was sort of mentally abusive and it was fortunate that he’d decided to end things, but mid-2016 me didn’t know that.
Healing and moving forward
But thanks to therapy, I forgive that crazy 29-year-old me. Girl, you were a bit fucked up, but it all worked out. It’s okay, love, you can relax now. Your nervous system is in a better place.
You can be calm and stay, and you’re happy and healthy, and all is going well. Thanks to Michael, you actually are healed, and you’ll forever be grateful to the man who stuck it out, despite his probably early misgivings.
Gainful employment
It took me over a year to land my first UK job, thanks to arriving in the country right before President Donald Trump was elected (the first time) and the Brexit vote happened.
I had three childhood best friends: Joanne, Ruby, and Kate – and Joanne’s friend Jade had very kindly lined up an informal meeting at the recruitment company she worked for (Harvey Nash, maybe) in Leeds. I’d been staying with Grammy at the time and had no work appropriate attire, so rushed to Matalan to buy trousers and top (asking ex-husband to pay for them, which he kindly did) and I made my way into the city centre offices, met with a nice besuited man, only to be told there was a hiring freeze.
I can’t say what is it with English jobs and false hope in interviews, but this had been a favour and a kind one at that.
I never did get into recruitment but since Jade had been very successful and earned quite a lot of money, I thought I’d love to do that (i.e. the money not the job). I’m glad I found my editorial calling because although I’d have loved the money of sales, I’ve never been a salesy type.
Why I behaved this way
Anyway, in hindsight, I was unfair to Victor and Michael. I was clearly into Michael and shouldn’t have gone on a date.
Tbf, Victor was probably a nice man, but I gave him the wrong signals by making convenient choices.
I should have had one drink, said I was tired and drained from a shit day, and gone back home. But, thankfully, I have been lucky. I’m sad for the women who have not been lucky because I know violence and sexual assault against women is more common than we think.
To try and explain my nutso behaviour, I think I fancied Michael so so much yet past experience told me that people only fancy me for short periods and then fucked off when they got bored of me as had happened to everyone ever except HSS and even including my first husband who I’d thought had loved me so that did a number on my head but all I can say is thank the universe above (insert your deity) that Michael was patient as fuck.
It has taken years of constancy and Michael’s quiet and unspoken reassurance that I am loved. I am safe. I am with someone who is delicate with and worthy of my heart.
Coming up next, the most embarrassing admission yet – and seriously, don’t spit out your tea – that time I thought I could moonlight as one of those Sugar Babies (aka have a Sugar Daddy) and met a lovely, rich man who actually knew celebrities (or at least said he did).
Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety-three chapters. Go back to the first chapter of why I’m writing Why We Met and look out for some “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.
Have you ever made a regrettable dating choice? Or, on the other hand, had someone be very patient with your heart?
P.S. My Substack recommendation this week is
. She makes having three children sound simultaneously cute, exhausting, and hilarious.
"And other soppy shite" – excellent caption work, hahaha. Loved this piece, looking forward to reading about your turn as a sugar baby (I considered it too, once. I'm not approachable enough to have pulled it off)
Thanks so much for the shout out, it means a lot xo
haha mr octopus turned the table on you?! crazy