February 15th 2025.
It had been a while since I had been on a first date. I was 22 years old and had just moved to New Zealand on a working holiday visa. Luckily, I had managed to snag a job at a magazine, despite the low pay. The perks were worth it though - freebies and invites to parties were a regular occurrence. My colleague and I took full advantage of these opportunities, including attending an after party for an awards ceremony one night.
At the bar, my friend and I struck up a conversation with a group of people, including a guy named Bryan. They were all fun and we were all a bit tipsy, making for a lively evening. I couldn't help but wonder if Bryan was someone famous, as there were a few TV personalities and minor pop stars in attendance. However, with just his first name and a quick Google search, I couldn't confirm anything. I did notice he was tall and had broad shoulders, leading me to believe he may be an amateur rugby player. So when he asked for my number at the end of the night, I happily gave it to him.
The next day, Bryan messaged me and suggested we meet up at a local tapas bar to continue our conversation from the night before. I couldn't help but feel excited - it had been a while since I had been on a first date. Little did I know, things would take a turn for the worse.
As I prepared for our date, I made sure to brush up on my rugby knowledge just in case. When we met outside the bar, I was relieved to see that Bryan was just as attractive as I remembered. We sat at a long bench by the window and enjoyed the last bit of summer sunshine. Surprisingly, we only ordered drinks, which was a relief in case the date didn't go well.
Bryan was a great conversationalist and we had a lot in common. He asked me about my home country, my job, and what I thought of New Zealand so far. The atmosphere was friendly and fun, and I felt myself relaxing into it. Just when I thought things were going well, Bryan leaned over and started eating the leftover food from the couple sitting next to us who had just left. I was in shock - did he just help himself to their food without even asking? I wanted to say something, but my British aversion to causing a scene kept me quiet. I offered to order some food for us, but he declined, continuing to eat the couple's leftovers.
The ick factor set in - that feeling of disgust towards someone you were previously attracted to. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. I later found out that Bryan did play rugby, but not professionally. He had attended the awards after-party with a friend who worked in TV. Despite this revelation, I was fairly certain that there wouldn't be a second date.
I tried to make an excuse to leave, telling him I had to work early the next morning. It wasn't the best excuse, especially on a Friday night, but it did the trick. I was disappointed that the date didn't go as well as I had hoped, but I had no regrets about leaving.
Later that night, I met up with some friends at another bar in the city. I was eager to tell them about my disastrous date. To my surprise, Bryan walked into the same bar with his friends. I tried to hide on the dance floor, but he eventually spotted me. He seemed annoyed and asked why I was still out when I said I had to go home earlier. I awkwardly explained that my friends convinced me to come out. He seemed to get the message and walked away. I never heard from him again.
Looking back, I'm glad I didn't try to justify or explain away Bryan's behavior. It wasn't until years later that the term "the ick" was added to the Cambridge dictionary. It's a universal feeling that many of us have experienced in our dating lives. But in that moment, sitting next to Bryan, I couldn't make sense of why he would do something like that. I never saw or heard from him again, and I'm thankful for that. I went on many more first dates after that, and luckily, no one ever tried to steal food off of someone else's plate again.
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