The “Angry Coffee Guy”

When I first joined Tinder I was moving around and I didn’t really get a chance to meet up with people. I started talking to this Aussie guy who seemed completely hilarious, so eccentric but just had such a positive outlook on life. Probably a bit too positive…

Eventually we arranged a meet up and I was really looking forward to it as we’d hit it off so well. It was baking hot in London so we agreed to meet at a rooftop bar in South Bank to enjoy the weather on a Sunday afternoon – lovely (you’d think).

I turned up in a nice summer dress and flats while he for some reason (bizarrely) opted to arrive in head to toe black denim. It was incredible. Keen not to be rude and so judgemental after we had hit it off (you can steer guys towards buying shirts right?), we went up to the bar and grabbed a drink. Sitting down we started to chat. He was a lot more shy in person but it seemed sweet so I carried on prompting him with questions and smiling, eventually getting him to relax.

Finishing up we talked about grabbing some dinner as well but first we’d take a stroll along South Bank river. We sat down, carried on chatting and I started asking about his friends and family back home. This was the moment he chose to reveal the coffee story.

“Back in Australia”, he told me, “I have a friend who is going to be world-famous for making coffee”.

Naturally, as this is quite a statement to make, I had to ask for clarification.

“Yeah, he’s going to make coffee and be famous for it”.

So his coffee-house is going to be famous?

“No he is”.

How, I politely asked, although let’s be honest in my accent I’m pretty sure I always sound sarcastic.

“You know how people recommend wine with meals?”

Yes…

“Well he’s going to do that with coffee”.

I had to pause here and think, sensing I had to tread carefully after he started trying to get me to brain storm launch plan ideas with him to make his friend famous in the UK. One of these involved a competition to guess the number of coffee beans in a pot. No.

Instead, I slowly introduced the theory that, quite a lot of people don’t drink coffee with dinner, they usually have it after or with breakfast. Perhaps he could have a group of coffee houses across the world, rather than being a “coffee sommelier” on TV. It was at this point that the eyes of the whole of South Bank were on me as a very angry Aussie started screaming at me.

“YOU ARE THE MOST NEGATIVE PERSON I HAVE EVER MET” (something which I know most people would certainly not refer to me as). We then sat in silence for a further ten minutes looking around, me looking quite dazed as he seethed with his arms folded. It was quite unusual.

After feeling like it had been awkward enough I thought it was time to part ways. Thanking him for a lovely afternoon I stood up to leave.

“GREAT! SO NOW YOU’RE NOT EVEN GOING TO GO FOR DINNER WITH ME!”.

No, not today but let’s chat about another time. We walked slowly back to the bridge in silence where thank god we were getting on to two different underground lines (I would’ve got on an opposite one if he had gone anywhere near mine just to avoid the awkwardness).

As we turned to say goodbye, I again, said thank you and we’d catch up soon. He only the other hand shouted (again, in a very public part of Waterloo Station),

“NO WE WON’T! THIS IS OVER ISN’T IT”, and stormed off.

So that’s Angry Coffee Guy…

The “Political Guy”

I can’t blame my bad experiences all on tinder and before I share my stories and current escapades I just wanted to share my first post break up pre tinder date.

My “picker”, as they call it, has always been off. There was the typical Popular Guy (absolutely gorgeous but 110% boring AND miserable) who tortured me with his misplaced self-esteem issues, there was the Rugby League Guy where we were on and off once every two months for three years (joyous), and then there was the Serious One.

After two years he was jetting off to another continent. Begging me to stay with him, I incorrectly agreed, enduring long waits for Skype calls and numerous disappointments. With the promise of a transatlantic flight and the potential of moving out with him (as he kept asking me) I hung in there, wanting to believe that nothing had changed. It was shortly after that when it came to an abrupt end (via text on my first day of work. That’s right – text is now an acceptable form of communication to break up with someone you’ve been with for two years).

Heartbroken I left it a year until I dated again, convinced that I would be one massive train wreck and anyone who encountered me would find some snivelling mess (which was a totally valid evaluation of the situation for a while). It was then that my friend suggested setting me up with her boyfriend’s friend.

Naturally if it’s coming as a recommendation you assume that they’re going to be a decent human being. Do you know the best thing I ever got taught by one of my old bosses – NEVER assume, because it makes and ASS out of YOU and ME.

Political Guy was…sort of presentable. A little too “old country for me. The blazer and the shirt were nice, but the cardigan around the waist was a bit first-school-esque and the holes just looked a bit naff. Still, I’d been assured he was nice, gentlemanly and hey – isn’t that what every girl wants?

We sat outside with a drink having a chat. He hadn’t quite cleared up what he did but some people don’t like to talk about that upfront (it’s now one of my pet hates in London – the only thing people want to know is what you do, i.e. how much money you own. Yawn, next question). We covered a few different things, from the comments he made it seemed like he was keen. It was an ok date…UNTIL…finally when asking him what he liked to do in his spare time he revealed he was…campaigning for UKIP. That’s right, actually voluntarily working with the UKIP political party.

After this little revelation I sensed that I was no longer coming across as relaxed as I had been, and talk and conversation became a little intense about meeting up again some time. I should note this was in between a particularly heated debate about their policies, at which point I was told “they’re just like the conservatives – only they say what they really mean”. After I highlighted one of the party members had actually stated that if he got a seat he’d do everything he could to make it legal for men to rape their wives he shrugged and said, “every party’s got to have the crazy ones!”. Sure, some crazier than others I guess?

Finally we called it a night and he politely walked me to the tube station. I was going in for the cheek kiss as you do, when his head turned and he caught me on the lips. I froze, awkward and uncomfortable, pretty sure my eyes were still wide open. As we moved away, he said he was looking forward to me again. Dread.

Naturally after your first date after your huge break up you drunkenly get in touch with your ex…”I had a really crap date and he kissed me and it was the worst kiss ever”. He loved this of course and promptly let me know he’d be home visiting in a few months if I wanted to catch up (erm, no).

It wasn’t until the next day that I truly realised how much of a small place the world really is. From speaking to him at 9am Hong Kong time, to 10am UK, I had a series of vicious messages from Political Guy letting me know what an awful person I was, and that if the first thing I did was text my ex that I had an awful kiss then firstly, I hadn’t judged him properly because he can kiss way better than that, but I am an awful person! Turns out I had told my ex, who had told his colleague, who knew Political Guy very, very well.

We went out once more as friends but unfortunately things got a little heated due to his opinions on single mums which prompted me to call him a cock in public (I don’t like scenes – I don’t normally do things like that) and storm home on the tube. Needless to say I have blocked him and never spoken to him since.

Back to the beginning

So after I thought I had finally come to the end of my disastrous dating history (part of which I actually have tinder to thank for), I was rather unceremoniously “dumped”. Or not? I’m not sure someone after 8 months not picking up the phone counts as being dumped or just “losing touch”.

But either way, here I am again. Giving it another go. And thinking back over the past 18 months and how many true horror stories I managed to collate in that time, I figured I may as well give more than just my friends a laugh. When you’ve got stories like these ones you are definitely lucky to be the one that got away.