Diary of a Gen Z Student: 'We should all be checking in on our single friends, they’re in the trenches'

Jane Cowan: "At one point I made the mistake of placing my glass down on the table in front of me. Before I could pull my hand back, he pounced on me, spending the next 10 minutes stroking my hand like it was a dying cat."

Do you want to know what is worse than the vague awkwardness of being on a first date?

Knowing that everyone around you in the bar or café or whatever, can tell that you’re on a first date.

I don’t blame the nosey onlookers. I wouldn’t pretend to be subtle about observing two fumbling singletons, hoping to hobble their way towards death with a companion.

On a first date, the tension is palpable. You’ll often see one person mindlessly chatting away about their stamp-collecting or whatever. While the other, silent and brooding is obviously taking in every detail, trying to decide if they’ve wasted their Thursday evening on a dud. With every joke the first person makes, the second is tallying up strikes for and against their potential soulmate. It’s better than any reality TV show.

Recently, I found myself in one such unfortunate situation. Sitting in a bar on a Thursday night, feeling the eyes of neighbouring tables burning into my soul. I had met this guy on a train. And maybe that should have been my first red flag. But in a world of apps and swiping, I thought it might be a nice change of tack.

I was incorrect. The date had a rocky start: I was drowning in deadlines for college, so I went straight from the library to dinner. It was also raining, so my hair was frizzy. Then he was trying to be so in control of the situation that he was walking from the restaurant to the bar, before I had even finished my drink. That was probably the high point.

The low points? They were numerous. Crossing the road to go for a drink after dinner, I feel the cheeky sod squeeze a hand around my waist. I had only known the guy about 30 minutes. And I was too polite to ask him to remove his slimy paws from my person. 

Jane Cowan: "In the middle of this quiet bar at 6pm, he planted a kiss on my poor, unsuspecting self." Picture: Moya Nolan

So, I gritted my teeth and hoped he’d pick up on my lack of enthusiasm. He did not. We sat down in the bar and ordered our drinks. The place wasn’t particularly busy, just enough so that there were plenty of witnesses to my discomfort.

At this point, I will admit that, while I am generally nothing but delightful, I was probably not being my best self. The second the hand landed on my waist, it was over for this smooth operator. One might think that my obvious lack of reciprocity would be enough to put the guy off. I wish.

At one point I made the mistake of placing my glass down on the table in front of me. Before I could pull my hand back, he pounced on me, spending the next 10 minutes stroking my hand like it was a dying cat. I felt like I was being held captive. 

The next time he moved his hand to take a sip of his drink, I whipped my hand back onto my lap. I swear I saw someone at the table beside us laugh at that point. I was playing a serious defence.

A few minutes later, he went to the bathroom. I hoped he was making a quick escape out the window. Alas, he was plotting his next oh-so-suave move. He comes back to the table and instead of sitting down, stands behind where I am sitting. 

Then in the middle of this quiet bar at 6pm, he planted a kiss on my poor, unsuspecting self. There was no time to swerve or to say I’d be telling my sisters on him.

You can’t just go around sneak-attacking girls with awkward kisses anymore. I thought that messaging had gone mainstream. Not mainstream enough, it seems.

So, I did what anyone would do. I made an excuse to leave. I wish I could say I came up with something good... my friend having a medical emergency, or a family member suddenly taking ill. But ‘Oh, I, eh…should probably get the bus — I need to let my dog outside’ was the best I could muster, under those circumstances.

Then I paid for the drinks (as if I hadn’t paid in plenty of other ways already), managed to swerve his second attempt at kissing me and scurried to Trinity, where I vented my frustrations to a few friends.

I wish I could say that I gained some wisdom from my own wasted Thursday night. Instead, I went home and ate Minstrels in bed to drown my sorrows. The grandest conclusion I can draw from all of this is that we should all be checking in on our single friends. They’re in the trenches.