I had another date last night. I decided to meet a girl I met online at a Japanese-fusion restaurant, because apparently that is the progressive thing to do. This date was unlike many of my more recent dates. Prior to this date, I had been rejected by at least ten other girls on other dates that ended in exactly the same manner. Basically, I ended up crying by myself in a restaurant three hours after my date had decided to leave.

This time, it would be different. First, I would arrive early so that I could begin drinking at least an hour before my date arrived. This provided several advantages. First, I wouldn’t have to worry about arriving on time, because I knew I would arrive at least an hour early. This would allow for plenty of time to drink. There’s no reason to be nervous for a date if you’re already completely hammered, and the only thing that you care about is whether the next drink from the bartender is over $2. Second, I wouldn’t have to worry about being nervous because an hour’s worth of booze will have already stolen any of the rest of my innocence out of me.

By the time my date arrived, I was only 50% sure that she was actually there. I stumbled from the bar to meet her at the front of the restaurant. I introduced myself as “Marty McFly” and instructed her that she only had thirty minutes until the lightning hit the clock tower and sent us all to 1955. She had only a few minutes to get into my DeLorean and hit the gas until it reached 88 mph before she was transported to the future where hover boards and Biff Tannen were the only surveyors of our lives.

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