(Part II of the anti-Semite alcoholic story started here)
She proceeds to describe both of her brothers-in-law. First…
She started in, “My youngest sisters, she married an awful man. He’s really pushy. Really disrespectful.”
Then the first brick fell loose in the wall that was our date.
“He’s an arab.”
At this point, my oddness senses were ringing a little louder.
Really loud in fact. I mean, I guess you could describe someone as an arab but most normal people wouldn’t. It’s a very weird way to describe someone.
Then she came out with the doosie of the date. The thing that puts the “bam” in the date.
“I really hate the other guy my sister married. He’s terrible. So pushy. So opinionated. And cheap. Really God damned cheap.”
I think you can see where this is going.
She rested her nearly finished vodka martini on the bar. Leaned in to make sure no one else could hear. She spoke in hushed tones.
“He’s a Jew.”
At this point, my oddness senses were screaming. The date was over. She may not have known it yet but it was over in my mind.
The she leaned back, took a final sip of her vodka martini and said inquisitely, “You’re not a Jew are you?”
“Um. No I’m not.”
She couldn’t leave it well enough alone. “I have nothing against Jews mind you. I mean I think they’re God’s chosen people.”
I just want to summarize and put on the table what issues she had revealed at this point:
- Problem with alcohol and/or discomfort with it.
- Dislike of arabs and a desire to label people based on their ethnicity.
- A love/hate relationships with Jews. She thinks they’re cheap and obnoxious but God chose them. If she really did feel they were God’s chosen people, one has to ask why she wasn’t a Jew. (Don’t think about it too long. It will hurt your head.)
One last gift of weirdness…
I really just wanted to be polite at this point and speed through the rest of the date as quickly as possible. I paid for drinks. We were about to head out for La Jolla Cove when she asked, “Do you feel comfortable with me driving?” (Again with the drinking.)
“Sure. You know if you’re ok to drive.”
She: “Oh yeah. I drive best when I’m drunk anyhow.”
My head almost exploded. WTF?
Me: “I’m driving.”
I made sure our jaunt to the cove lasted 10 minutes and I vowed to never see her again.
This was in the days when I thought giving unasked for feedback was a good idea. It isn’t and I wouldn’t do it again. But foolishly I wrote her an email explaining how her constant tension over alcohol made me uncomfortable and also how her anti-semitism was very disturbing.
Her note back: “I’m sorry you misunderstood my comments on drinking and Jews. I think they’re God’s chosen people so I don’t bear them any ill-will.”
Wow. Wow. Wow.