The date was going badly – it got worse when he gave a random woman a wedgie

How my worst date ever didn’t end with an assault charge is something I’m still in shock about.

It all began when I enrolled in a six-week-long bartending school class in the mid-2000s.

James*, was the instructor. A bookworm, I had to be the one with the right answers, so I barely noticed the extra attention he paid to me at first.

When he asked me out when the course ended, I probably shouldn’t have ignored the red flags – like his age difference, his abuse of the student/teacher dynamic, or the fact that instead of working in a real bar, he slung mocktails for students and out-of-work actors.

But being 21 and lacking a fully-developed prefrontal cortex, I did. 

Plus, I’d suggested we make it a double-date. How badly could a night go, with my best friend Gina* in tow…? 

So we agreed to meet James and his buddy, Frank*, at a tiki bar in LA to start the night off. 

It was a small venue and usually had a 45-50 minute wait to get in, so when James and Frank informed us via text 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet that they’d be late, it wasn’t an ideal start.

My stilettos were already cutting mercilessly into the tender flesh of my feet and I desperately needed to sit down.  

James and Frank finally arrived drenched in Drakkar Noir aftershave about five minutes before it was our turn to be ushered inside.  

Yet, did these gents allow us to go in first and relieve my aching arches when the doorman said only two of our group could go in? No, the ham-fisted meatheads barged ahead of us.

‘You’ll be in in no time,’ they assured us as they disappeared into the cosy setting. ‘We’ll get you a drink.’ 

When we walked in 20 minutes later, they were each enjoying the establishment’s signature tiki rum cocktail – with nothing ordered for us.  

I avoided Gina’s piercing gaze as we ordered our own. One of the drinks was called ‘Chuck’s Catastrophe’. Frank sniggered and said, ‘Catastrophe? More like Chuck had an abortion in a glass!’

As we sipped our drinks, the conversation refused to flow

I’ll never forget the horror and disgust on Gina’s face at the crass joke. We’d known each other since school, so we shared the ability to communicate with merely a glance at one another. This look told me that her b******t meter was running on empty and I owed her… big time.   

As we sipped our drinks, the conversation refused to flow. The bar was standing room only, except for the eight or so coveted seats, which our two gents refused to vacate, despite my hints that my feet felt like they’d been strapped to razors.  

To her credit, Gina tried to have a legitimate conversation with Frank, she really did, but to each topic she brought up, whether that be current affairs or work, his responses were along the same lines of his earlier witticism about what Chuck may or may not have done in a cocktail glass.  

Eventually Gina buried herself in her phone. Beside me, James was growing edgy: I could tell he felt the success of Frank’s match with Gina precluded the success of his own match with me.  

And the odds were not in his favour.  

Feeling responsible, I did my best to correct the course of the night and suggested we meet another couple of our friends at a different bar to change the dynamic. 

Refusing to read the social cues, when we arrived at the next place, James made Frank and Gina sit next to each other in a dark corner. 

Have you ever put up with a bad date? Have your say in the comments belowComment Now

Denise and Harry*, our friends there, could instantly sense the tension and as they observed our gents’ less-than-suave behaviour, they raised more than one eyebrow in my direction; a gesture not lost on James.  

The bar we were at was known for its Singapore Slings and, to be funny, Denise took the garnish out of her drink (a long wooden toothpick loaded up with pineapple slices, several maraschino cherries, orange slices and mint leaves), and set it on top of Harry’s drink. 

Harry then set it on top of Gina’s drink, who continued the awkward game of pass-the-parcel – because we literally didn’t have anything to say to each other – by placing it on top of Frank’s beer.  

Not in his beer, on it. 

To everyone’s astonishment, Frank screamed, ‘Bitch! Imma pour beer in your lap!’ And to our horror, he emptied the contents of his pint onto my friend’s lap as we all watched, stunned. Wordlessly, she marched to the bathroom to clean up while I turned to James to demand an apology. 

‘You guys was ostracising my friend!’ he exclaimed, stunning me with his proper use of such a big word, despite the fact it wasn’t true.

I could hardly believe I was seeing it – his hand plunged down her trousers, grasped her thong and he pulled

It was 100% clear to everyone that there was no chance of rectifying the evening but James insisted we have one more drink before leaving. 

Dear reader, I have since grown a backbone and, should this ever happen to me again, I not only would not have stayed for one more drink, nor begged my friend to do so as well, but I would have told James and Frank to get lost and blasted them on social media to warn other women.   

Harry and Denise ditched us after Gina emerged from the toilets, citing an early morning, so although Gina was fuming, I persuaded her to have one more drink. ‘Why do you even want to stay?’ she asked me, stunned. ‘What are you doing?’   

I didn’t have an answer at the time, but looking back, I realised I didn’t want to make James angry. I didn’t know what he’d do if we just left. 

As Frank retreated to the bar by himself, Gina regaled the tale of how he had dumped a beer on her to a random woman nearby. This woman then, full of moral outrage, marched over to him to demand he apologise. 

But Frank, superior specimen of a man that he was, was not one to let anyone with lady-bits tell him what to do. ‘F**k you!’ he roared. 

As she screamed back, a bouncer announced if we didn’t calm down, we’d be kicked out.

By this point, even I had to admit the night was a failure, so I sat down with James to break the news to him: I wouldn’t be seeing him again.

He acted like he was listening, bobbing his head up and down, but I realised he was moving his hand backwards, towards the outraged lady, who was still talking to Gina behind us.  

Then suddenly – I could hardly believe I was seeing it – his hand plunged down her trousers, grasped her thong and he pulled. Not tugged, but pulled, so hard it lifted her up.  

James, brute that he was, gave this total stranger a wedgie on our date.  

She yelped and threw her drink in his face, and the two meatheads laughed raucously as we were all booted out of the bar. 

As Gina and I walked toward my car in stony silence, I heard James issue one last desperate mating cry into the night: ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Can I call you again?’

Dear reader, I had finally grown a spine. ‘No,’ I yelled back. ‘Hell no!’ 

*Names have been changed

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