{ a continuation of Mr. Pretentious Part I }

There’s a wonderfully quirky bar in West Hollywood called Bar Lubitsch; inside that bar lurks a not so wonderful gentleman named Mr. Pretentious.

Once we arrived from the jazz club, he ordered another martini and I elected to nurse a Stella since I had a long drive back to West LA. Since Bar Lubitsch was noticeably quieter than the jazz club  he took this as his chance to ask such insightful first date questions as “When was your last long term relationship?” and “They say a person makes a judgment about another person within 5 seconds. So what did you think of me?” As I was starting to lose my patience, I informed him of the truth that I hadn’t been in a long term relationship in 4 years and what the hell was with that handkerchief.

After the handkerchief mockery, the conversation got very awkward and I realized maybe I should attempt to be a little nicer to even pretentious guys on a first date. I asked why he was running for local office. He in turn gave me the most ridiculous spiel about how nothing ever gets done in politics because too many old people are in control and they don’t care about making a difference anymore and are too lazy to push changes through. My cynicism reared its ugly head at this point and I told him that in my opinion he was being naïve. I said he’ll get into office and realize how much red tape there is and how difficult it is to actually get anything done, and that is why the people currently in office seemingly get nothing accomplished. He retorted it would not be that way for him and he’s here to legitimately change things.

That was my cue to use the bathroom, check the time to ensure that I would get back to my car at midnight when the garage closed, and text multiple girlfriends that this was the night in Hollywood Hell. Upon my return, 2 lemon shots sat on the table. I glared at them and announced, “I’m not drinking that.” So he drank both and then suggested we dance. Since I had 20 minutes and a beer to kill, I acquiesced and then bore witness to the worst thing ever: this man on a dance floor. Imagine a robot with a broken hip but this robot thinks he’s sexy. It was still worse than what you are imagining.

11:30 was my cue to get back to my car before it turned into a pumpkin at midnight and as much as I attempted to leave him in his lemon drop haze at Bar Lubbitsch, he insisted on ensuring I make it back to my car safely – right after he pounded his last martini. The following series of events took place between 11:40 and 11:47 PM on this Friday night:

11:40 PM: Taxi pulls up to garage and the gate is closed and there is no sign of escape for my car.

11:40:20 seconds PM: I get angry.

11:41 PM: “I’ll handle this, don’t worry” he slurs. His version of handling it consists of him screaming at the gate “Is anyone there?”

11:42 PM: politicians can’t get anything done, but I sure can. Just as I’m iPhone googling the parking garage management company (I can read signs, apparently Mr. Pretentious cannot), a nice gentleman in a car pulls up and says he works in the building and he can buzz me into it and I can get my car out that way.

11:44 PM: I get to my car and Mr. Pretentious is still somehow beside me. Now I’m not sure how he would get out of the locked garage so I let him in my car and say I’ll drop him at whatever bar his alleged friends are at. He says to just drop him at the corner at Sunset.

11:45 PM: Corner of Sunset. Of course he won’t get out of my car. 2-minute conversation ensues of the following, “Get out, I’m going home. Unless you want to be dropped off nearby, get out.” “Wait, are you serious” “Yes.” “Wait, you are seriously telling me to get out of the car?” “Yes.” “What?” “I’m going home, I’m tired, I have a long drive home, get out.” He finally opens the door and glares at me – “Is this seriously happening right now?” Me – “Yes, get out!” he throws his hand up at me in anger, exits, and slams the door.

The last martini must have been a mind eraser for Mr. Pretentious because at 7:30 the following morning, he texted “Did you have a nice night last night?” I ignored him and my instincts to write back “Were we on the same date?”

I did wind up getting back to Mr. Pretentious eventually and wishing him good luck on his campaign. After all, he’s just what Washington and Los Angeles need in office – another douchebag.