First Date? Why You Should Say No to Lunch

So the guy you've been on/off flirting with for 4 weeks, 3 days, 6 hours (but who's counting?) finally asked you out on that all important first date. "How about lunch, Carluccio's, say half one?" he asks.
Before your brain processes the information and tries to decipher the meaning behind his chosen location and hour, STOP. Smile, take a breath, and say, "Actually, I think I'm busy at 1.30, but how about coffee? At about 4ish? I'm pretty flexible." Whoooa there, you've said too much. But the important information has been conveyed; you still want to see him, you just don't want to put yourself through the horror of going out on a lunch date.
Now you're confused. You wanted him to ask you out. Isn't lunch in a cosy Italian corporate chain kind of an ideal situation? This is what the majority of people would have you believe. I am here to tell you that nothing, nothing could be worse, and what you would endure had you not heeded my valuable advice.

In my opinion, a first date lunch date is the most awkward date imaginable. Unlike a dinner date, where protocol is to go for a drink first and walk into the restaurant together, with a lunch date, you have to soldier on in and take a seat. All by yourself.
You walk into the door. Oh it's pull, not push, silly old you. You smile to yourself in an embarrassed kind of a way, just in case anyone was watching, but no one cares. Phew. As you unbutton your coat, you walk over to the little table with all the menus.
"Table for two, please." You say a little too loudly.
The maitre'd looks up, smiles her knowing smile and shows you to a table for two, right in the middle of the restaurant and asks, "Is there anything I can get you while you wait?"
You try to resist the urge to check your phone- he's probably just running late- so you just take the seat and order two drinks. Oh dear, problem already? You don't know him well enough to know his beverage.
"Well I'll just have a large-" No. Really? You're really going to order a large glass of house white before your date even arrives? Nothing is sadder than a glass of wine alone, Solomon Burke taught us that. You clear your throat. "I will have a large bottle of sparkling water, please." You smile at the maitre'd. Pah. You got out of that one didn't you? As she walks away, you take in your surroundings, which is mostly people drinking coffee from pretentious transparent mugs. The charming bright interior reminds you of that one time you went to Italy. Oh, wait, no it doesn't. It just looks like that other Carluccio's in Covent Garden.
A smartly dressed waiter comes to your table with the large bottle of water you've ordered and places it on the table with one glass.
"Are you ready to order?" He says with a smile.
"Ah, no, actually, I'm here waiting for someone. So, err, I think I'll just... wait."
"Okay, I'll come back later." He replies and glides away (have you ever noticed how waiters glide?) to what you can only assume is the kitchen. And then you realise the problem. In an attempt to prove to the restaurant that you're not here on your own, you ordered a large bottle of water. The problem is, there's only one glass. Well, there's nothing for it. Drink up!
Your fingers start to twitch as your hand edges towards the phone in your handbag, almost completely against your will. Aha! Then you see it. A gorgeous brushed chrome clock, directly in your eyeline. Now you'll be able to tell exactly how late he is and- oh shit. You are. Bloody. Half an hour. Early. Panic begins to overwhelm you and you begin to reconsider that large chilled glass of wine. You don't even have a magazine on you so what do you do? You sip on your glass of water and take a look back at the clock and realise only one minute has gone by. But, it's okay, you'll just join the masses and drink a steaming cup of coffee while you wait and read... the menu. As you try to catch the eye of the glidey waiter, you wish you hadn't made it so clear you were waiting for someone. Firstly, he's kind of cute, and secondly, it is now as if you are invisible- peak time in restaturant chain makes waiter a distracted boy. Finally, you grab his attention by leaning far back enough in your chair that your shoulder blades are jutting over the edge.
"Can I help you, miss?" He asks, with the very same saccarine smile.
"Yes," you say as you smile sweetly back, "I would like a large cup of coffee, please. You know, just, while I wait."
"Of course." He replies and glides towards the coffee bar.
Hmm. It's 1.04. The chrome clock that you thought was your friend is now your worst enemy as it leers at your from across the room, mocking you for being such a dumbass.
A few minutes later a large mug seemingly floats towards you from the arm of the cute waiter, complete with a small odd looking biscuit on the side. As your coffee cools, you take a bite out the biscuit and- motherfucker! It's as hard as a rock! You are convinced you've broken your crown (by the way, you cracked your tooth in a water fountain incident when you were 8) chewing into the monster so you, in a very unladylike manner, stick your finger in your mouth and have a quick poke around. All seems well so you take a gulp of the scalding coffee.
"Gah!" You gasp, grabbing the glass of water and downing it all before pouring yourself another, and another. That's better now, isn't it? Only fifteen minutes before he arrives. You pick up the menu and have a quick browse, but a quick browse turns into a gander, and a gander turns into a good read. In fact, if you took a test based on the menu, you would ace it, when ten minutes later, your date still hasn't arrived. You've nearly reached the end of your coffee now and it's gotten a little bit cold. You reach for another glass of sparkling water when you notice it's all empty, and suddenly it hits you. You're wired, gassy and you really need to pee.
And that is the moment when your date walks in.
"Hey! Usually I'm the early one," he says as he takes in your nearly empty coffee and water bottle "but it seems I've been outdone."
"Yeah, well, I think I had the timings a little bit muddled up... Anyway, how was your day so far?"
He talks, but you don't hear him as your bladder is near bursting point. Is it too rude to go to the toilet mid sentence? Nevermind, it's not as rude as peeing on someone's feet.
"...And then I thought, why not do my dissertation on something I really care about like-"
"Sorry, hold that thought, I really really need to wee." Need to wee? Could you not have said "go to the ladies room?". Oh for god's sake, you really are the most uncouth person, aren't you?
After some much needed relief, you make your way back to the table.
"Better?" He asks as you sit down. You nod and probe some more about his dissertation choice, football training blablabla. Small talk ensues for approximately four minutes before you're shit out of things to say to each other. Your stomach growls loudly.
"Someone's hungry then!" he exclaims.
"Oh, no, honestly, my stomach just makes funny noises." You reply.
"Err. Oh."
Would have been better to just admit you're hungry. He looks at the menu like he's never seen it before, which, you realise, he probably hasn't; not everyone can be as learned in the Carluccio's menu as you, so be reasonable.
"Ooh. Hmm. Ahh. Chh, chh, chh." Pause. Long Pause. "I just don't know what to have! What are you having?" He asks you.
Despite having picked out your choice about twenty minutes ago, you make a big show of having no idea. "Mmm, not sure. Maybe a pizza?"
"Oh, I thought you weren't hungry?" He asks.
"Right." You're grasping at straws now, "I just heard they do good pizzas here, so." Nice save! Moron.
"I think I might just get a starter. I'm not that hungry either. Or we could share a pizza?"
Your stomach drops. Share a pizza? Is this some kind of cruel joke? It's like you've been learning the menu for nothing, yet you answer, "Sounds good!"
The waiter comes over, seeing you've made a decision (how do they always know?!) and your date does the man thing and orders for you. Ooh margharita, how imaginative. Your heard sinks slightly when you hear him ordering another bottle of water. You could have really done with a glass of wine to keep the conversation going as it's kind of clear that, other than a raw sexual attraction, you're finding it pretty hard to find something in common with him to talk about. As the minutes tick by- oh god, it's effing 2 o'clock- you're wishing you had a friend to call you with an "emergency" like they do in the movies. You smile and nod appropriately and try to interject with the odd witty comment, but he just doesn't get your humour.
Silence.
Oh shit, are you supposed to speak now? Quick, come up with some sort of anecdote, make it up, just say something!
"You know, it's funny you should say that thing about music, because I used to be in a band!" You lie.
"A band? Really? That's pretty cool. I assume you didn't sing vocals, so what did you play?" He asks. He sounds very surprised. Come now, think quick.
"For the record," you say smiling, "I sing a lot worse when I'm drunk. And I did some backing vocals for the band and played the guitar." You dabbled in acoustic for a while when you were younger, just please God don't let him ask you more about the band. Change the subject fast. "Do you play poker?"
"Sometimes with mates, but not really. So this band, what kind of music did you play? And how many other members were there?"
You smile blankly while the cogs in your mind turn to come up with something good. Oh, why oh why did you choose to lie about being in a band? "Well there were four of us and we played... country music." You awesome bullshiter, you.
He laughs. "Err, really? I didn't figure you for a country girl."
"Oh yeah! I love Taylor Swift and, you know, the guys that did Sweet Home Alabama." You're reaching now.
"Right... And did your band have a name?" He asks, looking at you a bit suspiciously. Can he see you're lying? You look around, and veto clock, coffee, plate, cultery and salt and pepper as band names. Shit.
"We, err, didn't have a name. It was early days. Anyway, tell me about rugby." You say, leaning in towards him slightly in a vague attempt at flirting.
"I don't play rugby, I play football."
"Right. So tell me about it! What exactly is the offside rule?"
And he's off. Thank the Lord, you nearly got caught out on a teeny white lie that he blatantly knew about. In the middle of his jabbering, your food arrives. You each take a slice and sit there in amicable silence while you eat the most boring pizza in the world. You are concentrating so hard on not eating too quickly or in a rabbit/camel like manner that you cannot possibly enjoy your bloody half a pizza whilst also trying to keep a good reportoire of banter. So you forget to speak and it doesn't even occur to you until he says "So..."
"Mmm." You murmer, mid mouthful.
"Got any jokes?" He asks whilst playing with his napkin. Oh God, are you that boring? Luckily, you have a fall back joke that's easy to tell and always gets a polite laugh at least.
"Well, there's this mafia don, and someone has disrespected him, so he asks his cronies to kill this guy-"
"What guy?"
"The one that's disrespected the mafia don. Anyway, so they say, 'hey, boss, how do you want him to be killed?' and the mafia don says-"
"So is 'boss' the mafia don?" He asks with a confused expression. Geez, it's not rocket science.
"Umm, yes. Anyway, so the mafia don says, 'I want him stabbed 6 times in the heart, twice in each foot, three times in each hand, and then I want you to shoot him in the head'-"
"Wouldn't the stabbing in the heart ensure he's dead anyway?"
"Well, yes, but that's the whole point of the joke."
"The joke's over?"
"No, not yet, if you'd just let me finish." You snap. Oh dear, he looks offended. Just carry on. "So then the cronies are all 'yes boss, we'll do it all, of course, anything for you boss' and then the mafia don says, 'oh and one more thing- make it look like an accident.'" You smile. He doesn't. Is this guy seriously dumb? This is the most basic joke you've ever told and he doesn't even crack a smile? "Umm, that was the punch line."
"Oh! Sorry, I was just trying to concentrate." He says as he runs a hand through his beautiful sandy coloured hair. You take a look at him properly and there's no denying he is a gorgeous guy, and there is some sort of sexual connection between you, but he's just so dry.
"Sorry, what course do you do again?" You ask, just to confirm your suspicions.
"Golf management."
Ah. You know the type well; pretty but dumb.
You finish the pizza together- you made sure you had one less slice than him- and he asks for the bill.
"This was fun. We should do it again sometime." He says to you as he looks for the waiter to return with the bill. Ouch. Oh well, you didn't really like him that much anyway.
"Mmm, definitely." You reply, equally unenthused.
He pays, which is really very sweet of him, and you, being a polite person, thank him profusely as you get up to leave. You are both halfway out the door, but the prospect of walking back to the train station with him is the most dire prospect imaginable.
"Oh shit, I've forgotten my scarf! You go on ahead, I'll see you another time."
"You sure? Okay then." He says, without wating for an answer and without a hug, peck on the cheek or even a handshake, he's out the door. Now what? You make your way back to the table and bump into Mr. Gorgeous Glidey Waiter Man.
"Still hungry?" He jokes.
"Actually, I really am!" What have you got to lose now? You have no one to impress. "Can I have a plate of the arabiatta pasta please? And a glass of white wine."
"Of course, small or-"
"Large, please." You say as you resume you seat. You look around the restaurant at the people enjoying food and coffees, together and alone, and wait for your wine. The waiter brings it over to you smiling.
"My name is Enzo, and if there is anything, anything at all I can do for you, let me know." Is he flirting with you? Oh go on then, jump in with both feet.
"Actually, there is... When do you get off work?" You ask him, pouting and looking out from under your lashes in the best way you know how.
"At five. How about dinner?"
Panic flashes through your entire being as you nearly shout, "No! No. How about drinks? Dirty Martini at 9?"
"Perfect." Enzo replies, smiling at you flirtatiously.
This turned out pretty well for you, didn't it? Next time, eat out alone.