Mr. Duck Face :: Prost!

After a few minutes of deep self-evaluation, I have recently realized that perhaps my standards are too high. I certainly believe everyone has a “type,” but I don’t like how many women have a list of non-negotiables that a man must possess before she will even consider making eye contact with him at the bar. Quirky, tall men with big mouths certainly strike my fancy, but maybe I’ve been passing up too many Josh Hutchersons while looking for my Adam Brody. So when an average looking Hawaiian dude with an infamously tacky name messaged me a surprisingly interesting and thoughtful blurb, I figured I should give him a chance. As my roommate keeps reminding me, not everyone can be quick-witted via text!

The Bro Pros:
Exotic mystery
Full-time job helping others
Ability to talk about other topics than himself and his impeding erection
Sense of adventure – both in travel and food
Aesthetically “pretty” with nice eyelashes and lips

I’m basically impossible to please when it comes to dating, which probably explains why I have this blog. I love to control every aspect of the date – when, where, duration, etc. So when he semi-immediately suggested “How about we meet this Saturday at 6:30pm at Prost?” I was taken aback. Typically the male brain can only squirt out “Uhh wanna hang sometime idk??” Due to his eloquent Alpha-ness, I had no other option than to blindly agree to venturing outside of my beloved SE.

After a long Halloween-hangover and an even longer day at work, I drove up to Prost on Mississippi. It is a humble little building perched on the corner and very hard to miss. It is a bit of a sore thumb nestled between a residential road and a food cart pod. I, of course, arrived 30 minutes early and sat at the bar next to two middle aged men who were watching the Ducks game. The bartenders were extremely friendly and seemed slightly amused when I ordered a Jack and Coke when they *apparently* are a beer bar. The place was packed. There was a large group of coworkers mingling in the doorway (rude) and a larger group of yuppies cheering and doing shots for a 21st birthday (jealous).

The Bar Pros:
Great location for bar hopping
Friendly bartenders, overbearing waitresses
Clientele split between hot bros and old couples
Loud atmosphere for a mingle-less bar
Beer menu on table was relatively small, but unique

Our date began when I realized he had walked in unnoticed and had been sitting at a table for godknowshowlong. I hastily closed my tab (rookie mistake to start one. A girl’s gotta get her complimentary date booze) and met him at the table. It wasn’t awkward and he was pretty cute. He was dressed in a nice button down and had made an obvious effort to look nice, unlike myself who was still covered in glitter from the Halloween night before. Our conversation flowed smoothly, but he didn’t remember key points from our previous conversations – i.e. asking me how I liked working in marketing when I already told him that was my old career path – but whatever, that’s totally forgivable.

What was absolutely NOT forgivable was his habit of making a duck face in response to almost everything I said.

For example, when I said,”Hmm, this banana beer looks really good! But it’s autumn so it’s not exactly season appropriate, right?” His response was,”*duck face* *rolls eyes to the corner* *shrugs* Yeahhhh, I guess you’re right!”

“So, do you spend a lot of time on Mississippi or do you go downtown more often?”
“*duck face* *rolls eyes to the corner* I really prefer the NE, I guess. I dunno.”

I initially chalked it up to a nervous habit, but it just kept happening! Then he started adding flippy hand movements and laughing very exaggeratedly at almost everything I said – and even I know I’m not that funny.

The kicker came when he suggested we go for a walk in the 40 degree weather when I didn’t have a coat. I was hesitant but didn’t want to be boring, so I reluctantly agreed. It was miserable. I’m not sure if he was tired or bored, but he let me carry the conversation entirely. If I didn’t make a comment or ask him a question, there was radio silence. So understandably, when we neared my car, I started the end-of-date pleasantries. We hugged and then he, I kid you not, did a sorority squat and head tilt and said “Text me, maybe?” I haven’t texted him since.

I couldn’t give a flying fuck if this guy was gay. I care that he wasted my time if he’s physiologically not interested. I also don’t care if he’s straight. I care that he was overall shit at conversation and didn’t have an iPhone. Having long eyelashes can only get you so far in life, buddy. The banana beer was mediocre, as well. It had a slight banana aftertaste that was unnoticeable by the third sip. The waitstaff was pushy and kept repeatedly asking if we wanted something else, despite the bar being less-than-crowded. The food looked good, but there’s no way you can convince me to eat a German sausage on a first date. You know I’m all about those Jew boys instead.

Bro: 5/10
Bar: 5/10


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