Uber and Out

Last year, when I was in New York, I was playing on Grindr and hit up a profile that read "ex-frat jock." The guy's age was 26, and his profile sounded lowkey, straight-forward and somewhat normal.

After exchanging half a dozen pics, I stil had no idea what the guy looked like. My pics were hi-res enough for a dermatologist to biopsy the mole on my neck. His were so grainy I couldn't determine his ethnicity, age, or gender.

He offered to send me better ones on his phone. So I gave him my number. But before he sends anything, he discovers we've met, roughly eight years prior when I lived in Chicago. I couldn't place him, and not just because I still had no idea what he looked like, but because he now goes by a different name, and he lied about his age, which would have made him 18 back then. He was currently 36.

We continue texting, and it finally dawns on me who he is. I remembered him being young and a bit on the wild side. We had met at some fashion show back in Chicago, not exactly the type of event that signals "frat" or "jock." We hooked up one night a few weeks after the show, after which he informed me he was in a relationship with a guy 23 years his senior.

He's ecstatic to have reconnected like this now, and wants me to come hang out at his place. He insists on sending an Uber to get me. It was already 1:00 AM on a weeknight, but I decided to go anyway. It's always fun to reconnect with people, right?

When I arrived at his apartment complex, I didn't even recognize him. This was partly because I'd been drunk every time we'd hung out in Chicago, but also because he looked nothing like the millenial in his grainy Grindr pics. He was out of shape, unkempt, and dressed like my Greek uncle, with knee-high white socks and a low-cut ribbed tank that had never seen the inside of a gym.

I go into his place and we catch up for a bit even though he immediately wants to get naked. He puts on some porn to watch, hoping that would get me in the mood. I kept saying I was tired, and I just wanted to catch up. The truth was I couldn't have been less turned on. I even took a Viagra on the way over just in case. Still nothing.

I finally - as gracefully as possible - made my exit. I called my own Uber this time and went back to my hotel and went to bed.

In the morning, I woke up to find a $10 invoice in my PayPal account, demanding that I reimburse him for not putting out. I debated ignoring the message or responding to it. I decided to block him instead.

Later in the day, I decided blocking him wasn't the most emotionally intelligent thing to do. So I unblocked him, and apologized that there was a misunderstanding about our expectations the previous night. I was wanting to catch up and didn't realize it was contingent on prostituting myself. I attempted to laugh it off.

He was not amused. He was so unamused that he sent 11 irate texts criticizing all of my life choices of the last eight years, how lame I was, how I have no taste, how I'm directionless, and how I was a loser for attending university without pledging a fraternity.

I apologized again for the miscommunication. And I decided to be honest - that I wasn't physically attracted to him, which I'd have been able to discern if he'd bothered to send me a clear and recent image.

He retorted that he was hotter than me, and that was scientific fact.

At this point, I blocked him.

And immediately get another eight messages from a different cell number, proclaiming that if I keep blocking him, he can keep changing his number. Then he called me delusional. And pathetic. And unappealing.

I blocked him again.

And I'll be damned if I'm going to reimburse him for the Uber ride.

Have you been taken for a ride?

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