Soup Can Man

13 Nov

A little while ago I went on a second date with a guy named “Brad.”  Brad referred to himself as a “rising star of Manhattan real estate” and also fancied himself a singer of songs.  One of his profile pictures was a headshot (which if you’ve ever read my blog you know I always steer clear from), but I remembered him having a nice head of hair… so I agreed to go out with him a second time.

When I got to the bar, Brad texted me that he was biking from Manhattan to Williamsburg and running late.  Twenty minutes later he burst through the door, bellowing “You lookin’ for me?” at me from thirteen feet away.  He smelled as if he had just emptied an entire can of Axe Body Spray all over himself to cover up any biking-related odors.  I tried not to sneeze/vomit from the overwhelming fumes and surveyed the rest of Brad’s person.  He took off his coat and replaced it with a crumpled pinstripe blazer from inside his backpack.  As he stuffed himself into the jacket, I noticed something distressing hanging from his neck– not one, but TWO necklaces.  I was instantly reminded of the traumatic day that I made out with a Canadian wearing a leather choker several months prior.  Brad had on some sort of dark gothic cross necklace and a long red string with a large geode tied to the bottom of it.  The rock was bigger than a golf ball and I wondered how he biked around the city with that giant thing jangling against his chest.

Brad was cute, but naughty.  He was loud, southern, and made a lot of strange faces and poses.  At one point, I paused to send a quick email to myself (some notes on Brad for later reference) and when I looked up, he was standing and staring with pouty lips, leaned against the bar with his arm behind his back and hip jutted out– almost in a full side bend.  Brad was one of those people who flirt by teasing, and throughout the evening he made fun of my hair, my outfit, words I used, etc.  However, he didn’t know what he was getting himself into because I am the queen of comebacks.   He tried to assert himself by pointing out my insecurities… but I wasn’t the one fidgeting with straw paper and making nervous creations out of napkins.  By the end of the evening he was drunkenly slurring “Why don’t you wanna be my friend?… Why don’t you like me?… Why did you scream when I tried to kiss you?”

We hopped around to a few different spots, then Brad announced he was hungry.  He had the attention span of a baby wildebeest and I felt like we changed locales every fifteen minutes.  After having a light meal at some Japanese place in Williamsburg (where Brad was titillated when an old Asian lady told him he “look like the Brad Pitt!”) we ended up at The Levee.  Naturally, Brad felt this was a good time to bring up religion and was flabbergasted when I told him that I don’t associate myself with one.  He said “Surely your parents were raised religious!  Your grandparents?!”  He finally calmed down after I told him I think my dad’s sister is Lutheran… “Oh thank god” he sighed, “I’m Lutheran, too.”  He complained that every other girl he had gone out with on OKCupid lied about their weight and ended up being twenty pounds heavier than they were in their profile pictures.  He described various escape plans he was forced to carry out after being seized by these larger ladies.  He told me I looked exactly like his ex-girlfriend, which was creepy, but apparently his first compliment of the evening.  It pains me to admit it but I think we made out at the Levee.  I hate it when people make out in bars.

I went back to his place with him because it was close to the bar and I wanted to call a car service to take me home.  He had just moved into a four bedroom apartment with three other girls whom he didn’t know.  The living room was bland and small, but the real shock was his room.  I have never in my life seen a bedroom so messy.  Clothes and garbage were strewn all over– empty vodka bottles on the desk, plates and cups on the floor, and discarded soup cans with moldy soup remnants on his bare mattress.  I couldn’t decide if I was more surprised that this was the bedroom of Manhattan’s “rising star of real estate,” or by  the fact that he apparently ate soup straight from the can.

I wouldn’t say we “hooked up” per say… it was more like nudging a salted slug with a stick.  He tried to get me to spend the night but I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.  On my way out, I thought it would be funny to sprinkle the free condoms we had gotten from the bar on the couch in the living room (Brad was in his room and missed this mischievous moment).  I then left the apartment, silently giggling to myself and simultaneously knocking a large wooden parrot off the wall in the hallway as I closed the door.  I tried to re-hang the bird to no avail and ran out of the building before my antics were discovered.  The next day I got this text from him:  “So what’s this I hear about condoms on my couch?”  Apparently his roommates were not amused when they discovered my condom deposit, and had left him a series of passive aggressive post-it notes about respect.  Oops.

Despite my prank, Brad invited me to watch a movie with him a few nights later.  “Where?”  I asked, “In your trash heap– I mean bedroom?”  He wrote back “You got me all wrong, baby.”  Ok, so despite his disgusting bedroom and caustic personality, Brad was mildly amusing for some reason…  But how do you tell someone you can’t hang out with them again because the smell of their body spray makes you physically ill?


7 Responses to “Soup Can Man”

  1. mike and brandy November 13, 2012 at 10:11 am #

    wow… just wow. just don’t respond to him. he’ll get the message.

    • WhatsInTheBoxBlog November 14, 2012 at 6:22 am #

      Haha that seems to be the general consensus on how to deal with this one. Thanks!

  2. lionatnight January 17, 2013 at 12:00 pm #


  3. sweatysweetie March 7, 2013 at 8:18 am #

    This is sooo freaking hilarious!!! :)


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