In-person dating horror stories

By: Serena Bains, Shangrila Plaza, and Paige Riding

Horror movie binge (by Serena)

When you live in Surrey, in-person dating means that going anywhere else is a date. It also means that overrated events like Fright Night at the PNE are the best date ideas within 20km. 

They’re so overrated that your date may drink half a bottle of vodka on the hour-long drive to the PNE, just to down the other half while their date looks for parking on a Saturday. 

The rest of the date plays out in the background like a Netflix movie you’re not necessarily interested in. The plot doesn’t really make sense at all. Once you start paying attention at the climax of the movie, everything is happening at once. Your date can’t walk straight, jumps a fence, and gets a concussion. Before you know it, you’re cleaning blood off of their clothes and the car. They don’t remember what happened. Then finally, you’re back in Surrey hoping you never see your date again. 

It’s me. I’m the date.

Kind of OK, Cupid (By Shangrila)

I met someone on OKCupid, figuring I’d give online dating a shot. And honestly? I think this person might be the one. 

I know we’ve only been texting for nine days, seven hours and 22 minutes, but I’m already in love. I’m thinking of surprising them with a video call for the first time. I’m in the best relationship in my life. 

This one actually respects my personal space unlike my ex-boyfriend, Josh. 

Josh always did things that annoyed the hell out of me like standing so close to me that I could feel his breath moistening the back of my neck. Now, there’s no more mandatory hand holding with sweaty palms, or having to deal with bad breath that makes Shrek’s ass smell like Dolce & Gabbana’s new Mediterranian fall fragrance collection. No more desperate face sucking in a Wendy’s washroom with nasty chapped lips, and no more unsolicited burps or terribly concealed transit farts. 

Going on online dates makes things less complicated. I don’t get stood up or left outside the theatre for two hours during a torrential downpour. Watching movies together with Netflix Party and starting music sessions on Spotify changes the game; we can listen to Lana Del Ray in sync as we both contemplate our existences to “Video Games” on our bedroom floors.

Our conversations are never dry thanks to emojis, stickers, and GIFs. You can’t really send GIFs that correlate with your mood when you’re talking face to face, can you? I mean, what better way to show your emotions, right?  

Love game (by Paige)

I miss the excitement of that one time I saved up money to fly down to see my long-distance boyfriend (remember flying and the little pretzels? Damn) only to have him ignore me the entire time for his League of Legends tournament. Fleeting moments of excitement would rush through my low self-esteem-filled body when he would finally break the nauseatingly awkward silence bouncing off the Plants vs. Zombies posters in his room. 

Turns out it was just him responding to the boys on Discord.

Nothing hit quite like putting my suitcase down, getting a .2 second hug with a cold-as-ice eboy reject, and spending the rest of my night alternating between the edge of his bed and the anxiety attacks in his tiny bathroom without him checking on me once. 

You just don’t get those intimate, heartwarming moments while socially distancing, you know?

What do I do now? Know my self-worth? Maybe. I haven’t swiped right on a “come over if you’re thicc, stay home if you’re sick” bio on Tinder yet. And I know to avoid light-up keyboards and double monitors like they’re the plague (too soon?) 

That’s called growth. Also I hate League of Legends.