Dubai Man

I've always thought of the Driver's Office as the great equalizer: rich or poor, young or old, you are forced to take a number and shuffle into the holding area for between two and thirty-seven hours before being informed that you've filled out the wrong form by a disgruntled government employee who will hit the 'next' button under his desk like it will activate a trap door, plummeting you to your death via an alligator-filled moat.

I met Dubai Man at the Driver's Office. It's hard to say what prompted me to think he was a normal human being. It could have been that my brain was over-cluttered by the sound of shrieking children, whose parents were too busy comparing tattoos to prevent them from clinging to the underneath of my chair like grubby howler monkeys. It could also have been that the sound of Everybody Loves Raymond reruns blasting from Horse-Laugh-Man's iPhone scrambled my senses.

At any rate, I now suspect that the Driver's Office holding area is populated entirely by miscreants and lunatics. The sane people have discovered some other way to renew their driver's licenses. I am (relatively) sane. Why hasn't anyone let me in on the secret way to avoid the crazies of the Driver's Office? You people suck.

Anyway.

Dubai man smiled winningly at me several times. I smiled back. We both shook our heads in disbelief at the howler-monkey/Horse-Laugh-Man situation. His clothes appeared to be clean. He was reading a novel. Comparatively normal.

My number was called, and after I'd presented the correct documents, a stone from the top of Everest and a vial of Christ's tears from the crucifixion, my picture was taken and I was given my new license. Time to get back to the office. Impressively, Dubai Man got up out of his seat, approached me, and ASKED IF HE COULD BUY ME A COFFEE.

Let me just say that it's not easy to approach a stranger and ask them out. It takes courage and confidence. I was immediately impressed. And also very late for work. As a result, Dubai Man asked for and received my cell number.*

Things started going a little south when he called me later that night and arranged to meet me for a drink the following evening:

Dubai Man: I'm staying at a hotel on College street. Why don't you meet me there?

Me: oh... you don't live in Toronto?

DM: No. I live in Dubai. I'm from Toronto, but haven't live here in some time.

M: You live in Dubai? Wow, um... are you planning to move back to Toronto, or...

DM: It's a very complicated situation. But I'll explain it to you when I see you tomorrow at my hotel.

M: Right... I was thinking we should meet at Kalendar - it's also on College and closer to my place. Would that work?

DM: Sure, see you there.

This is the point at which several small alarm bells began ringing in my tiny paranoid brain. I've found that the phrase "it's complicated" rarely signifies a positive situation. It's never "complicated" in the sense that someone's planning to give me a unicorn that craps money but is having trouble transporting the unicorn to my house, for instance. It's usually "complicated" in the sense that someone would like me to invest my life's savings in their scheme to genetically modify ponies into unicorns that crap money. "It's complicated": not my fave.

At Kalendar, Dubai Man was not keen to get into the complicated nature of his residence in Dubai. "Toronto people are WAY too interested in what they do for a living!" he claimed. "We live in a time of global integration - where we live is insignificant!" he cried. Well, sure. That's often true. But what's the big mystery, Dubai Man? Evidently, that was none of my business.

I was already pretty fed up with this guy when the conversation took a sharp turn:

DM: Enough about all of that. I am very much looking forward to spending the night with you.

Me: Uh... Ha Ha.... well. Not the WHOLE night. Ha Ha.

DM: Oh yes. I think it will be very beautiful.

Me: Uh... no. I don't think so.

DM: [reaching across to take my hand] Oh yes. I think we will have a very beautiful time together.

Me: [pulling my hand away] What? NO! Dude, that's totally not going to happen.

DM: But why? But you are so beautiful and you're not like other women in Toronto. I can see that you are spontaneous and open. You're not cold like the other women in Toronto. I know I'm right. I can tell from your smile.

Me: Actually, in this case I think you can assume I'm just like every other woman you've met in Toronto. So anyway... where did you grow up?

DM: You're afraid to spend the night with me because I'm black. Ha ha ha! You little white girls are always so scared. Tell me: have you been in a room alone with a black man before?

Me: Are you kidding me? Because you're black? Look, I'm not going to sleep with you tonight, and that has nothing to do with your race. This is totally insulting.

DM: Who? Who is this black man you have been with? YOU TELL ME.

Me: [placing some cash on the table and getting up] All right. That's enough of that. Time for me to go.

What transpired next was an amusing little scene amid the Friday night College Street throngs wherein I hailed a cab while Dubai Man trailed after me shouting:

"Don't do this to me! You can't do this to me!! Just come to my hotel and I will make you tea. TEA. Please. PLEASE. I will explain everything to you when we go to my hotel. We will have tea. You cannot do this!"

There was a brief struggle as the cab pulled up, when Dubai Man desperately latched onto my wrist and tried to prevent me from leaving. But within moments, the cab was speeding away and I was parting with about $25 more than my budgeted transit fare to get home.

I had three calls from Dubai Man on the way home. The cab driver, in addition to offering to call the police, advised me to ignore the calls. Eventually the guy would get the message and leave me alone. This advice proved to be true, though it took Dubai Man twenty-six calls in five days before he finally gave up.

So in conclusion, the Driver's Office is probably not the best place to meet prospective dates. TAKE HEED.

* A serious aside about dating safety: I have made it a policy to keep the info exchange to a minimum when I first meet somebody. Mostly, I've found that withholding my last name or giving out an anonymous email address is overkill. There are a LOT of trustworthy people out there. But as the Dubai Man story proves, sometimes being cautious can save you a lot of trouble later on. Safety, Single Girls: it's not rude, it's just smart.