The Shit Magnet Chronicles, Vol I.

What a night. It was supposed to go smoothly. I had played it out in my head a few times over the last week, and none of the scenarios resembled anything that actually happened in reality.

I ironed my shirt, polished up my wit, packed my charm and charisma and headed off to Fitzroy. The drive relaxed me, with a purpose built 10 hour road trip mix (grossly over estimating the travel time) and the wind in my hair. I got there forty minutes early after nothing short of miraculous driving conditions and sat in the car smoking and contemplating the evening at hand. The butterflies in the stomach were only just noticeable and for the most part I was cool, calm and collected as I knocked on her door.

After a timid knock, the door creaks open. She was as gorgeous as I had remembered. She had one of those ten thousand watt smiles coupled with piercing blue eyes and goldilocks curls. The walk to Brunswick St was filled with good conversation and good humour. Smiles all round for everyone. The first hitch came when the place we had intended to eat at was booked out. So, flying by the seat of our pants, we eventually found somewhere else, got some pints and sat down.

More fantastic conversation, my light-hearted, starkly honest, self-deprecating humour appeared to be winning, and she herself came across as a very intelligent, fun and together person. We sank a couple of pints of cider, putting off ordering food. Then, after one of her many toilet breaks, she promptly sat down and told me that she had gone on a date the night prior and that it was really great and he was cool. Im not sure entirely, but I think I was friend-zoned.

I was dumbstruck, it was so out of leftfield, and something you certainly can’t be prepared for. My old friend Social Awkwardness kicked in as I stuttered out random syllables trying to think of something comprehensible to say. I was truly speechless. I thought the night was going well, obviously not as well as the other guy had done though. Note to self: No matter how rad you think you are, there’s always someone cooler than you.

Somehow, and I really don’t have any recollection of how the conversation progressed, we moved on from that speed bump. We awkwardly order food, it comes out quickly. Not long after that I felt the need for an urgent evacuation of stomach bile and promptly got rid of dinner in fine projectile vomit form.

We finished our drinks and hit the pavement again. With the entirely pleasant taste of nicotine and vomit in my mouth I was dying for a mint, which I had left in the car, so, on the walk back we stopped at the mini. She was well impressed with the car, more so than she was impressed with me I think. Something very odd happened. I offered to let her go for a drive, with her at the wheel. This never happens. Ever.

So she got in and we shot off, we cruised around town in the search of the type of roads the mini was built for. As she got more confident I pushed her to go harder, to give the car a workout, and she did, quite well. Then cocky Matt kicked in and asked her to pull over to show her what I meant by ‘giving it some mustard’.

Less than two minutes later, I had taken a roundabout too fast, swerved violently and mounted a cobblestone gutter with the type of thud that brings instant dread to the pit of your stomach. The cobblestone, for those unfamiliar with such a thing, is not unlike an unmovable object, and all the German & British engineering in the world will not save you should you happen to meet one unexpectedly at moderate speeds.

Driving off it was apparent that serious damage had been done, all in the name of trying to make an impression, which I'm sure it did, just not the right kind. The wheel was unresponsive, the tyres were squealing and the unpleasant smell of burning rubber was ever present for the kilometre or two I continued on.

As it became evident that I was not going any further, I called the RACV, got the usual run around and eventually organised to be towed. It was at this point that she decided to call it quits for the night, and rightly so. Despite feeling slightly abandoned, I wouldn’t have expected her to hang around. A kiss on the cheek goodnight, an apology for being such a cock and she was off to find a taxi, didnt even give her any money for it, classy move... A good wrap up to the date, this was not.

Jimmy and his tow truck showed up forty minutes later. I spent about an hour and a half with that man and he was certainly a character. So I got in the tow truck for the drive of shame back to the repair depot and poured my heart out to Jimmy about how the night had taken some weird twists and he poured his heart to me about how fucked this countrys pension system is.

In the meantime Id organised Dunks & Lydia to come and pick me up from the repair depot in Collingwood, and couldn’t thank them enough for the late night run in. We stopped in at the shanty to get a few things, and then floored it to Beaconsfield where I would crash on their couch , so I could walk to work in the morning. It was 2.30am before I got to bed.

So I’m sitting here at work, having just organised my first ever insurance claim, pondering the events of the evening, wondering where I stand with her, wondering when my car will be fixed and what exactly I’ve done to it.

I can say without hesitation that this was the most embarrassing, socially awkward date I have ever been on, and some small part of me wouldn’t change it for the world.

Laugh now people, cos I think Im going to - quote of the night came from Lydia who told me this year i have been nothing but a 'sh!t magnet' - hear hear!