The Date That Turned Into a Public Safety Incident
...and why I now require a phone call before meeting anyone in real life.
First published Nov 04, 2025 | Terrance Carter
Updated Nov 04, 2025
44 views
First published Nov 04, 2025 | Terrance Carter
Updated Nov 04, 2025
44 views
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Dating is hard enough without adding public embarrassment, security guards, and a runaway train. But here I am, surviving to tell the story. We all know dating comes with risks. Sometimes those risks are emotional, sometimes logistical, and occasionally — like in my case — they involve a fully grown adult collapsing in public places for no logical reason. I had high hopes for this date. We'd met on a dating app, and she seemed genuinely lovely. Our messages flowed effortlessly — witty, playful, even a little flirty in the best possible way. There's something magical about those early conversations where everything feels promising, like this could be the start of something real. In hindsight, I probably should have insisted on a phone call first. That simple, four-minute conversation could have prevented what will forever be filed under "Worst Date of My Entire Life." But no, I was caught in the intoxicating trap of good texting chemistry. And texting chemistry… lies.
The day of the date arrives, and I do what every hopeful person does. I iron a shirt I normally only wear to weddings. I put on cologne that cost enough to qualify as an investment. I give myself that pep talk in the mirror — the one where you're 80% excitement and 20% "please God don't let this be weird." I arrive early, heart doing that hopeful little drum-roll. She walks towards me outside the station, and she looks exactly like her pictures. Not "kinda like," not "five years ago like," but actually like her photos. We hug hello, and I feel that spark — the one that tells your brain, This could be good.
Spoiler: my brain is an idiot... We start walking toward a bar — just a chill place for a drink and conversation. Except we never get conversation. We get chaos.
Not even fifty steps into the walk, she randomly drops to the ground. Just — down. Like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. I freeze. She pops back up, totally unfazed. "Oh, don't worry," she laughs. "I’m just really clumsy."
Clumsy?? Clumsy is bumping into a chair or misjudging a curb. Clumsy is not collapsing onto concrete like a fainting Victorian orphan. But okay. Benefit of the doubt. First-date nerves. Maybe she tripped. We continue walking. Collapsed again. And again. At this point, I'm wondering if I should call a doctor, a priest, or a hazard cleanup crew.
We finally make it into the bar, and I do the classic "first drink is on me" move. She asks for a small glass of white wine. Small. That's what she said. Cute. Controlled. Except halfway through this "small" wine, she transforms into someone entirely new: Loud, dramatic, overly sexual, and aggressively flirty in ways that would make a pole dancer whisper, "Girl, dial it down."
She leans across the table, eyes wild with mischief, and starts suggesting things — explicit things — and not quietly. The couple next to us has paused their conversation. A guy at the bar turns around. Even the bartender looks uncomfortable, and bartenders have seen everything. I am now starring in my own nightmare titled: "When a date behaves like a malfunctioning robot programmed for chaos and inappropriate innuendos." But I stay. Why? Because attraction is blinding and I was trying to be a gentleman. Also, part of me wanted to see where this bizarre train was headed. Turns out: straight into hell.
Second drink. More collapsing into suggestive poses. More boundary-less comments. People are staring. I swear I hear a bouncer mutter, "What the hell…?" Finally, I take charge. "Hey, maybe we should get you home." She agrees, or at least I think she does, because her words are no longer aligned with English sentence structure. I walk her back to the station — which includes two more collapses on the pavement, just for dramatic effect. People are now actively staring at me like I'm the villain in a true-crime documentary.
The train pulls in. I'm seconds from emotional freedom. She steps on board. I turn to leave. And then — in slow motion — she flings herself sideways and collapses on the train floor, limbs everywhere, blocking the doorway. The train staff rush over. "Is she with you? What happened?" I can feel strangers silently accusing me of drugging her. I'm sweating. Palms, spine, behind the knees. All of it. "She’s… clumsy," I say. The guard looks at me like, Sure, mate. And I'm Beyoncé.
After several chaotic minutes, they help her onto a seat. The guard promises to make sure she gets off at the right stop. The train doors finally close. I inhale sweet, pure freedom. Then I realize — I'M HOLDING HER HANDBAG AND HER SCARF. I panic. I sprint after the moving train, waving the accessories like a deranged flag-twirler. Miraculously, one of the guards opens a window and I shove them inside. The moment the train disappears from view, I feel it: Relief. Pure and absolute.
I walk away vowing never to text her again.
I expect a message from her — apology, explanation, something. Nothing. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I check her Facebook. And there it is, her status: “Had an amazing night last night! Head is banging today though”
AMAZING. Apparently collapsing in public, harassing me, nearly getting us thrown out of a bar, and causing a train delay counts as amazing. Meanwhile, I needed therapy, a nap, and possibly an exorcism.
Texting chemistry means nothing — if you wouldn't hire someone without speaking to them, don't date someone without speaking to them. A first date is not a rescue mission. If someone collapses three times before reaching the bar? Turn around. Immediately.
Dating is unpredictable. Sometimes you meet the love of your life. Other times, you meet a human earthquake. Both make great stories — only one is worth a second date.
If you're tired of chaotic dates, disappearing acts, and people who collapse for dramatic effect, try a dating site where people are actually looking for real connection. Sign up with Flirthut because dating should be exciting, not… a safety incident.
