And that’s the end of the date, goodnight folks

A well-dressed, good-looking man comes in to the bar. Based on his awkward stance, I assume he’s waiting for an internet date. I’m right. Points for me.

She’s cute, but she’s wearing sweats. She looks like she came straight from the gym. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. This date is over. They only get further apart until I can almost put another bar stool between them. There is no smiling. I assume this is a one drink and everybody cuts their losses, but it’s my job to sell alcohol so I offer,

“Another round?”

Without conferring, she replies,

“Yes.”

I look at him. He nods his head kinda yes, kinda no, kinda ‘help me I’m trapped.’

Then they get a third round. They are still as far apart as ever and looking miserable. Is this an exercise in dating torture? Finally he puts his credit card down. She mentions,

“I was on a date once and the guy put down a Black Amex card.”

“What do you have to do to get one of those?”

“Have a lot of money.”

That’s an understatement. Wikipedia says the average Black Amex cardholder has 16.5 million in assets.

The guy turns to his date,

“So?”

“So what?”

“So he put that card down and you went home with him?”

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