The Interrogation - A Bad Date Story

We met at a show. She and I were standing at the bar, watching as the band weaved their way through a medley of The Beatles' greatest hits. While we waited for our drinks, we started to chat. She was very pretty and charming. She smiled with her eyes and this led me to believe she must smile often.

We exchanged some clumsy introductory phrases, a few poorly delivered punchlines and, eventually, our telephone numbers. A while later, she needed to leave so we said goodbye and she gave me an awkward kiss on my cheek that came dangerously close to the corner of my lips. We would meet again later in the week, she promised. Somewhere a little quieter where two people could become more properly acquainted.

Her name was Megan.

Several days of absent-minded text messaging passed before we finally settled on a venue to meet for a second time. It was a cosy bar which was seldom occupied by more than a small handful of introverts in their late 30s.

I arrived before she did, and I was a little nervous. I prescribed myself the customary remedy - a cigarette and a few generous sips from a pint of pilsner. As I felt a short lived adrenaline rush begin to taper off, she arrived. Another awkward kiss on the cheek (this time, almost landing on my left earlobe), and she was sitting beside me.

And this, is when she began asking the questions.

Her first inquiry was with regards to the half empty glass before me, and the stick of tobacco in my hand.

"How many drinks have you had tonight?"

"Oh, this is my first one. I just needed to calm my nerves before you arrived", I explained.

"And the cigarettes? How many of those?" she asked, with a jarringly serious tone.

"Also my first," I replied, laughing. "I'm trying to quit."

"You drink and smoke quite a lot, don't you? I hope you're not an alcoholic."

I was unsure if I was supposed to answer. After a moment, it seemed her mood lightened and we were back to enjoying some frivolous and cheerful conversation. But it didn't last.

"What do you do for a living?", she probed, running her finger gently along the rim of her wineglass.

"Well, I'm a musician. I write jingles for TV and radio commercials," I explained excitedly. I had only just assumed this role and was rather proud to be one of the only composers I know with steady, full-time work.

"I see. So when do you think you might drop the music and get a real job?"

Ouch. That one cut quite deep. But then, Megan wasn't the first person I'd met to say such a thing. I've heard similar things my whole life, although that was mostly BEFORE I got this job. Nevermind, I thought. She'd come around if she got to know more about what I do.

"I'm an accountant," she had once again reverted to a more serious tone. "I've been very busy completing end-of-year reports for my company. Have you reported your income yet?"

"You mean, have I done my taxes? Yes, I have but..."

"Good. It's very important that you do," she sternly interrupted before I could finish my sentence. "And tell me," she continued, "where do you live?"

I described the location of my humble, but sufficient living quarters, making sure to emphasise the convenience of a nearby train station and some lovely parks.

"I wasn't asking about the train. I was asking where you live. The name of the suburb would have been quite enough."

Needless to say, I was feeling a little uneasy with the direction our conversation was going. She was speaking to me like a disapproving parent. I needed to change the topic, and fast.

"Do you like dogs?" I offered. "I have a beautiful dog named Butters. Let me show you a picture!"

I was searching through my phone, trying to find a suitably adorable photo of him to impress Megan. But before I could find one, she had already started the next demoralising quiz.

"Do you bathe him regularly?"

"Of course, yes. I keep him very clean and..."

"Do you let him sleep in your bed?"

"Oh, absolutely. He's my little buddy! My special man. Of course he does. He..."

"That's not very hygienic! You really mustn't let that continue on. He should sleep on the floor."

In that moment, I learned something about myself. I learned that there are very few things that will raise my temper. Particularly when I'm in the company of new or unfamiliar people. In less than half an hour, Megan had implied she was worried I was an alcoholic, had told me I didn't have a 'real job', and even expressed concern about whether I had filed my taxes! But none of that mattered. I had smiled and nodded and taken it all on the chin.

But at this last question, I made an excuse to leave. I apologised to Megan, placed some money on the table for our drinks, picked up my coat and marched out the door.

It turns out I had discovered my limit. The one thing that has, to this day, ever caused me to end a date prematurely. The one subject about which I simply refuse to be interrogated.

Say what you want about me, I thought to myself as I waved down a taxi. But my dog, Butters? He is off limits.