The Blind Date Debacle

“The Blind Date Debacle” By Edward J. McCoul

It all started with a text from my friend, Amy. “Jess, you have to meet this guy. He’s perfect for you!”

In retrospect, I should have known Amy’s dating advice was as reliable as an umbrella in a tornado. But after a year of disastrous online dates, I was willing to try anything. She described him as “charming, adventurous, with a great sense of humor,” so when she set up a blind date, I decided to give it a shot. I figured, what’s the worst that could happen?

Turns out, I was about to find out.

When I arrived at the restaurant—a trendy little bistro where everything on the menu sounded like it came from a science lab—my date, Ryan, was already there. From across the room, he seemed…okay. Not a knight in shining armor, exactly, but decent enough in a button-down shirt and jeans. He stood up, waved with an enthusiasm that bordered on frantic, and jogged over to pull out my chair.

“So nice to meet you, Jess!” he said, grinning wide.

“Likewise,” I replied, taking my seat. I was barely settled when he dove right in.

“Before we start, I need to tell you something important,” he said seriously. “I’m on a high-protein diet.”

“Oh. Um, okay?” I said, trying to imagine how that was my business.

“It means I need a lot of meat,” he continued, leaning in like he was revealing state secrets. “Like, a LOT of meat. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Meat, meat, meat.”

“Right. That’s… great,” I managed, hoping this wasn’t his version of small talk. But Ryan wasn’t finished.

“I brought my own jerky in case the menu doesn’t have enough protein options,” he said, patting his coat pocket proudly.

“Good to know,” I replied, resisting the urge to check the time.

The waiter approached, and Ryan pounced on the menu. “Can I get a triple order of the steak, but just the steak? No sides, please. Oh, and could you cook it in butter? Thanks.”

The waiter raised an eyebrow but scribbled it down without comment. I ordered a salad, trying to keep things light, and hoped the night would improve.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, it did. Ryan launched into stories of his “adventurous” lifestyle. He’d gone bungee jumping, skydiving, and deep-sea diving. As he spoke, I started to see why Amy thought we’d be a match. I liked a little adventure too—granted, my version involved Netflix documentaries and the occasional hike, but still, I could appreciate his passion.

Then the food arrived.

Ryan’s steak platter looked like a protein mountain—three massive slabs stacked like pancakes. The smell hit me like a freight train. And that’s when he pulled out his jerky.

“Do you want some?” he asked, ripping open the package and shoving it toward my face.

“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” I replied, trying not to gag.

As he tore into his steak and jerky combo with the intensity of a grizzly in a salmon run, a piece of meat flew off his plate and landed smack in the middle of my salad.

“Oh, sorry!” he said, unfazed, plucking the rogue steak piece from my lettuce. “It’s a high-protein night for you, too!”

I laughed nervously, thinking surely this had to be the low point of the evening. But no.

As we finished dinner, Ryan’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got the best idea for dessert. But we have to leave right now.”

I blinked, thrown off by the abruptness. “Leave? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, winking. Before I could protest, he was up and halfway to the door, leaving me scrambling to grab my purse.

Outside, he gestured grandly toward his car—a bright orange Jeep with oversized tires and enough mud splattered on the sides to suggest it hadn’t seen a car wash in years.

“Hop in!” he said, climbing in like a kid about to hit the playground.

I hesitated. “Where exactly are we going?”

“It’s a surprise! But trust me, you’re gonna love it!”

Against my better judgment, I got in. He revved the engine, sending a cloud of exhaust billowing into the cold night air, and we sped off with all the subtlety of a monster truck rally.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to… a gas station.

I frowned, confused. “Is this… the surprise?”

Ryan grinned like a mischievous kid. “Nope, just a pit stop. Be right back!”

Before I could ask what he was doing, he sprinted into the gas station, leaving me alone in the Jeep. A few minutes later, he returned carrying two giant slushies, a bag of Funyuns, and—of course—more jerky.

“Thought we’d need some road trip snacks!” he announced, handing me the neon-blue slushie.

“We’re going on a road trip?” I asked, mystified.

“Just a short one,” he replied with a wink. “You’ll see.”

As we pulled out of the gas station, I took a sip of the slushie, the icy sweetness flooding my mouth. I’ll admit, it was kind of fun—ridiculous, but fun.

We drove for what felt like an eternity, leaving the city lights behind as we headed out into the countryside. Ryan kept talking the whole way, launching into stories about his favorite road trip pranks, complete with elaborate impressions. I couldn’t help but laugh, even if I was slightly concerned about where we were going.

Finally, we pulled up to an open field, bathed in moonlight. Ryan parked the Jeep, then turned to me with an excited grin.

“We’re here!”

I looked around, bewildered. “What exactly is ‘here’?”

“Stargazing!” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Now, I’ll give him credit—stargazing sounded romantic. But when he pulled out a set of lawn chairs and a telescope that looked like it hadn’t been dusted off in a decade, I started to wonder if he’d done this before.

“Come on, help me set this up!” he said, handing me the telescope tripod.

As we fiddled with the equipment, I tried to keep my hopes up. Maybe this would be the turning point of the evening—the moment we’d laugh under the stars, finding common ground in the vastness of the universe.

But when he finally pointed the telescope skyward, he frowned, muttering under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing… just, uh, can’t quite find the stars,” he replied, squinting into the eyepiece.

I looked up at the clear, starry sky, my hopes deflating. “You mean you don’t know where to look?”

“No, I mean, they’re just not… showing up,” he said, his brow furrowed.

He twisted a few knobs, squinted harder, then sighed. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. We don’t need a telescope. Let’s just enjoy the view.”

So we sat there in silence, sipping our gas station slushies and gazing up at the stars… or at least, I was trying to. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ryan pulling out his jerky again, chomping away like a horse with a fresh bale of hay. Just when I thought things couldn’t get weirder, he reached into his pocket and pulled out—wait for it—a harmonica.

Without warning, he started playing, the notes piercing the quiet night air. And it wasn’t “Silent Night” or anything remotely romantic—it was some offbeat polka tune, fast and loud.

“What… what are you doing?” I asked, caught between disbelief and hysterical laughter.

He paused, grinning at me. “Just adding a little atmosphere. You like polka, right?”

“Uh… sure,” I managed, laughing harder than I’d laughed in months.

By the time he’d finished his “song,” we were both doubled over in laughter, and I realized something unexpected. Yes, the date was a disaster by most standards. But I was having a ridiculous amount of fun.

As we drove back to the city, Ryan turned to me, his expression sheepish.

“I know I’m not exactly Romeo,” he said. “But, hey, thanks for coming along. I had a blast.”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Honestly, me too. You definitely made this the most memorable date I’ve ever been on.”

He chuckled, looking relieved. “Well, maybe we can do it again sometime. But, you know, with a real dessert. And fewer gas station snacks.”

“Deal,” I replied, feeling a strange warmth in my chest. Maybe he wasn’t the perfect match, but he was a breath of fresh air—a reminder that dating didn’t have to be so serious. Sometimes, it could be downright absurd… and that was okay.

As he dropped me off, we shared an awkward but sincere hug. I watched him drive off, his Jeep disappearing into the night, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

It may not have been the love story I’d imagined, but it was a date I’d never forget—a ridiculous, laughable evening that made me feel more alive than I had in a long time.