Mr. Pisher | Plank Stories

My first date after my divorce was a blind date. A dear friend of mine told me, at a party, that she knew of a man who was available, and asked if I would like to meet him.

I thought about this for a second and said, well, what do you know about him?

She said she didn’t know him personally, that he was actually a friend of a friend. But, he was in the right age range for me, didn’t live too far away, had custody of his two young daughters and had a good job in the city. You know, the “good on paper” type.

So, I said sure, you can give him my number. And, thank you for thinking of me.

A few days later, he calls. Let’s name him Mark, shall we?

We start by exchanging some pictures via computer (this was in the Dark Ages…before iphones) and chatting via AOL Instant Messenger (remember that?!). We even spoke on the phone! He was smart, funny, attractive and seemed to have his head on straight (you know, values seemed to be aligned with mine).

Ok, so I agreed to meet him in the city the following Friday night for drinks and dinner (I know, very ambitious for a first date).

He asked me to meet him at a bar on Park Avenue South. He worked in the city and I was happy to drive in from Long Island (ok, Lawn Guyland) for our date.

I parked my car in a garage and walked the few blocks to the bar. He was there and I immediately recognized him. He was tall, dark and better looking than his pictures. He seemed to be in a very good mood and, after he had his beer in hand and I had my glass of wine, I asked him about that.

Mark: Yes. I’m in a great mood! Today was awesome! I closed a big deal for my clients so I’m celebrating! We’re celebrating!! And, we clinked glasses.

We had a lively conversation that lingered through my glass of wine and his beers.

Mark: I made a reservation for dinner at Union Square Café (no longer in business, sadly). Is that ok?
Me: Of course! I love that place!

We walked two blocks from the bar to the restaurant and he asked the maitre d’ when our table would be ready. We were told it would be another half hour, so we went to the bar to wait.

Mark: I’m going to have a beer. Remember, I’m celebrating! Can I order you another glass of wine?
Me: No thank you. One glass is my limit on a first date. (Ok, I’m a lightweight. Don’t judge me.)
Mark: Yeah, no. If I’m drinking, you’re drinking.

And, he ordered me another glass of wine, which I nursed throughout dinner.

Dinner was lovely…we spoke about his job…he managed money for some prominent New York families, his daughters…who he had custody of because his ex had a drug or alcohol issue, his dating experiences…and how weird it was to be set up on a blind date at “our” age. And, he had another beer.

By the way, did I mention he was from Connecticut? Oh, sorry. I meant to. It’s relevant…or it will become relevant if you read other chapters.

Mark: Well, dinner was great but I really don’t want the night to end. I know of a great bar across the street. Wanna go?
Me: Sure. (He was fun and although it was getting late, I was enjoying his company.)

He took my hand as we walked through Union Square Park, along with a few rats (eek), to the W Hotel on Park Avenue South. There was a small club on the lower level of the hotel. We made our way to the bar, where he ordered another beer. I had water. There was loud music playing over the sound system, so we ended up doing more people-watching than talking.

We quickly tired of that place because we couldn’t talk and went upstairs to the hotel bar. He ordered another beer and I had another glass of water. (I sound boring…but I’m really not much of a drinker.)

I excuse myself to use the facilities…I drank a ton of water…noting while I was there that the carrera marble was incredibly beautiful.

By now it’s getting late, and I still have to drive home to LI, and he has to get back to Connecticut.

Me: I think we should call it a night.
Mark: Ok, yeah, we both have a bit of a drive home. I’ll walk you to your car.
Me: Great!

And, out we go, onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel…Park Avenue South.

And, ten steps away from the door of the W Hotel, on Park Avenue South, this man unzips his pants, whips it out and pees on the sidewalk!

Mark: What does it look like I’m doing? I’m peeing.
Me: Yes. I can see that! But, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! There was a perfectly good bathroom, all decked out in gorgeous carrera marble 10 steps behind us!
Mark: I didn’t have to go then.
Me: 30 seconds ago?? You didn’t have to go 30 seconds ago but you have to go now?
Mark: Right.
Me: Umm, I think there is a law about public peeing on the sidewalk of Park Avenue South in New York City.

Mark shrugs and zips up.

Mark: Ok, I can walk you to your car now.
Me: Fine, but don’t hold my hand.

We walk around the block, heading towards the garage…and he WHIPS IT OUT AGAIN to pee!!

I continue walking. We get to the garage and he offers to pay for my car. I felt terrible for the attendant, who had no idea he was taking money from the same hand Mark used to pee publicly.

Me: Good night and thank you for dinner.
Mark: My pleasure. Good night.

The next day, I receive a text from him.

Mark: Hi! I had a great time last night. I’d love to see you again.
Me: Thank you but I have to decline.
Mark: Really?? Why?
Me: I don’t date public pee-ers.
Mark: Oh that. I don’t usually do that.
Me: But, you did. On a first date. Twice. So, no.
Mark: You sure? I thought the date was great.
Me: Yes, I’m sure. Good luck to you.

Of course, I didn’t know how to tell my friend, the one who set me up, how the date went. So, I avoided her. Until I couldn’t. And, when I finally told her the whole story, she was mortified. She apologized profusely for setting me up with him. I told her it was fine, really. I told her that you couldn’t make this stuff up and that someday, maybe, I’d write a book and this would be one of the chapters.

Originally published at on July 5, 2017.

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