Playing With Matches

I told my friend C. about my date who kept shaking.

She didn’t think he had much game, but she didn’t think he sounded so bad.

I told her I’d introduce her.

Objectively, he’s a good looking guy — and they both share a love of travel. (Still, I could barely stand being with him for an hour. I spent most of the date deciding what I wanted for dinner. I narrowed it down to General Tso’s chicken from the Chinese place by my house. Then ended the date and called in my order as I walked to the metro.)

They went out last week — to the same coffee shop where he met me.

I didn’t get the shaking, she said. But I got the spitting.

What?

He spat on me the entire time. Just a constant stream of spit.

The guy just went on a junket to Hawaii. He told her about all the free things he got, and exactly how much they cost.

Did you feel like you were on the Price is Right? I asked her.

He also told her (like he had told me) about his condo burning down, and itemized how much money he got in gift cards from various people. (He was really pissed that he and his roommate got the same $100 Target gift card from the Red Cross, even though it was his place and he lost more stuff than his roommate. He was also upset that one of his uncle’s called him, but didn’t send a check.)

This is why people hate the Jews, she said.