Sometimes I think my life is funny.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

That Time I Went On a Date with a Med School Snob

Alright, you know the story: a guy messaged me on OKCupid. He was semi-cute, a med student, and spoke in (almost) complete sentences. Despite the fact that he overused “LOL” like it was his job I agreed to go on a date with him because he is from New York, so I thought he might be 3000 times better than all the other guys I’ve dated in Miami. After all, I’ve quickly learned that the Northeast produces a lot more quality guys than Miami.

We decided to meet at a restaurant in Brickell that I keep calling Pinecones, but I’m almost positive that is not the real name of the place. I got there a few minutes early so I went to the bar for some wine while I waited. When 8pm came and he still wasn’t there I was annoyed.

Rule 1: Girls are allowed to be late, boys are not.

He finally came 10 minutes late. Rude. Then the moment he sat down at the bar next to me he started asking me questions about my disability. Umm, I barely know you and you’re late. How about you start by apologizing for making me wait for your ass? No? Okay, just start giving me the third degree about my standing v. wheelchair using abilities.

I give him this look like “you for real, bro?” and he says, "I’m a med student so I’m legitimately curious.”

“I’m your date, not your patient.” I told him.

 “I know, but I’m going to be a doctor, so I can’t help but wonder,” he tells me like that’s a valid excuse for prying.

“Didn’t you tell me you’re going to be a cardiologist?” I ask.

“Yes,” he responds.

“Well, my disability has nothing to do with my heart, so I guess you can stop wondering now.”

Wow. Not even ten minutes in and this date is awesome. Good thing I had a large glass of tolerance juice (wine) to help me get through this.

When we got to our table I tried to make conversation because dammit, I came here for pasta and you bet your ass I’m not leaving until I get pasta, no matter how rude you are.

We started talking about how he was applying for residency at hospitals around South Florida. Then, out of nowhere, he decides to tell me how upset he is that he’ll be getting paid “almost nothing” during his residency.

Rule 2: Talking about your income on the first date is never classy.

“Well, technically you’re still learning, but I’m positive it will all be worth it when you’re a cardiologist.” I told him without sympathy.

“Yeah, but it’s going to be almost impossible to live through my residency with barely any money,” he continued with his pity party.

“I’m willing to bet you’re going to be paid what most families of four live off of in America” I said while I rolled my eyes.

“Can families of four live off of $50,000?” he asks.

ARE YOU SERIOUS? KICK YOURSELF IN FACE.

“Umm… many families live off of much much less than that.” I told him as I tried to breathe deep and stop myself from slapping him.

Maybe he sensed my lack of sympathy, so he tried to make his situation seem even more desperate.

“Listen, I have a lot of bills to pay. Probably more than families have.”

“I’m sure student loans for med school aren’t cheap, but I’m pretty sure you can defer them or get income-based repayment, so I think you’ll survive.”

“Oh, I don’t have any student loans. My dad paid for my school.”

WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT BILLS DO YOU HAVE IF YOU AREN’T EVEN PAYING FOR MEDICAL SCHOOL?!!?

“Listen. You’re not getting any sympathy from me. I’m in deep in student loan debt but I’m surviving just fine. You don’t even have to pay any loans so I think you’ll do just fine too. ” I said, completely deadpan.  

“Yeah. But I’m sure you make a ton of money now that you have a job at a law firm. You don’t understand what it’s like to live off of nothing,” he insists.

“First, $50,000 is not even close to the category of ‘nothing.’” I tell him as I sit on my hands to prevent me from shoving my fork in his face. “I come from a family of five and my parents raised us on a lot less than that. Second, let’s be clear – I do civil rights law. I work for a not for profit disability rights organization. So whatever you think I make, divide it in half, take off a few zeros, and add a pack of Skittles. That’s what I make.”

That was a lie. My boss never gave me Skittles. He has given me bagels, Hershey bars & kisses, milk duds, suckers, and a few cheeseburgers though. 

“You must be lying. There’s no way you could survive with student loans and bills and still have nice things” he said in disbelief.  

“I do this thing, it’s called ‘budgeting’ and sometimes I rely on the loot my sister gets from her extreme couponing.”

Here's the latest extreme couponing loot my sister gave me. 


And then he looked at me like I was the scum of the earth. First I have a disability that I refuse to explain to him and now I’m not rich. Shit. I’m clearly not worthy enough to even talk to this charmer.

At this point I’m just waiting for the waiter to box up my leftovers (aka my next three meals), so I try to end on a happier note. I decided that we should talk about Justin Bieber, because honestly, how can you talk about the Biebs and not be happy? (Stop judging.)

“I’m in the Justin Bieber fan club. I even have a JB hoodie” the snob tells me as I light up.

“REALLY?!” I gush.

“Yeah, my friend signed me up as a joke for my birthday. Now I get Justin Bieber stuff delivered to my house every month. I don’t even know what to do with it.”

“Well, it’s $100 to join the fan club.” I told him (yes, I know the membership price, stop judging me you jerks. I have no shame in my Bieber love.) “That’s a pretty expensive joke gift. If you don’t know what to do with it why don’t you donate it to one of the many little girls in Miami who love Justin and would never be able to afford anything like that because their families make less than $20,000 a year?”

Check out all the swag you get in the fan club!

“You’re being ridiculous now. No one makes less than $20,000 dollars a year,” he said, and I think he was serious.

Apparently he’s never heard of minimum wage workers.

After his brilliant claim, my pasta came and I got up to start leaving because I just couldn’t handle this guy anymore. However, no joke, he insisted on being a “gentleman” and walking me to my car. I’m not sure how he thinks he’s a gentleman after he spent the whole date complaining about his “next to nothing” paycheck, but whatever.

So he walks me to the parking lot, I give the valet my ticket, and they pull up my car.

“That’s your car?” he says, and I can hear the disgust in his voice.

Oh, sorry I only drive a Chevy. I’m sure you think your car is so much better than mine especially since that’s probably the only thing you have to pay for. But you can shut your snobby mouth, my car is gorgeous.

“Yeah.” I said as I pushed by him and got in my car.

“But how do you drive it with your legs?” he asks.

And that’s when I shut the door and drove away.


Lessons Learned:

1. There are people out there that can’t comprehend that people live off of minimum wage
2. I’m jealous the Snob is in the Bieber fan club.
3. Not only is my ability to sit and stand confusing, but my ability to drive is too. 

1 comment:

  1. Wow. How did you not smack him? Your self-control is amazing.

    ReplyDelete