33. DILLWEED

There are only two reasons I would be late for a date, MTA delays or a shoe sale. With my Macy’s bag in hand I dash into the Port Authority. My date is visiting relatives in New Jersey and wanted to avoid Manhattan bound gridlock by riding the bus. Fine with me.

We’ve spoken so I know he’s a fitness fiend who watches a lot of TV and doesn’t drink. His family is from the Indian state of Gujarat. While my Punjabi peeps are gregarious whiskey drinkers, Gujaratis are known to be … how to put this … cheap.

Since I have seen his photos, I easily find Dillweed. “What sounds good for dinner?” I ask. “Burgers, American and Indian. Can’t stand sushi, Thai or anything Asian,” Dillweed replies. “But I just slammed a power shake so I’m not hungry.”

Okay then.

Since I have no idea what to do with this fellow, I suggest we walk along 8th Avenue. This is where Dillweed sees the world’s largest Chevy’s sign against the glow of Times Square. I don’t protest. My love for Mexican is unnatural. Blizzards don’t impede my south of the Taco Bell border runs.

We sit down and I order a margarita. I almost fall over at Dillweed’s root beer request. Who over the age of eight actually orders one in public? I nosh on chips and Dillweed talks about his basement with a pool table, gym and bar (strange for a man who doesn’t drink). "Do you want to see a picture of my TV?” he asks. “No thanks,” I reply. Too late. He is scrolling through his PDA photos as if I don’t know what a TV is. Indians are infatuated with life-sized televisions. My mother has one too.

“Oh here is my house,” he says. His McMansion with faux columns, brick veneer and aluminum siding offends my inner architect. “Are those attic windows or do you have a fourth floor?” I ask. He looks confused and then says, “I think it’s the attic.” He doesn’t KNOW? Clearly he bought the monstrosity to keep-up-with-the-Patels. They got a big house; let’s get a bigger one. They got a Lexus, let’s get two. They got a boat. But we don’t swim. Let’s get it anyway!

Our waiter returns with appetizers, Dillweed’s tortilla soup and my flautas. After four bites he pushes the bowl aside. “Is there something wrong?” I ask. He nods and says, “It’s too spicy.” Are you freaking kidding me? We’re in a Mexican CHAIN restaurant! He’s INDIAN! Did his mother EVER introduce him to a chili pepper? Or was she saving money by under-spicing his food?

When the bill comes he confuses me with a bank and asks if I can break a $20. I politely say no and suggest he ask the server. He puts down some cash and sliiiiiiiides the black plastic money holder across the table. I open it and the reason he is single becomes GLARINGLY apparent. He has a $3000 TV in a four-floor house yet leaves $10 on a $27 bill. Gujarati or otherwise I have never met anyone so stingy. WOW!!!