Not just a yellow hat but a yellow Panama hat - and in the middle of NYC.
My brief encounter with strangeness started off by me perusing a dating website and commenting on someone's profile about his love of liberals. I had to convince him that dogs and cats can get along, as long as they don't discuss politics.
I shall call him My Man.
My Man appeared to be, let me stress this - Appeared To Be - a rough and tumble guy who loved to travel and work with his hands. A man's man. He wore a neat khaki green waxed jacket in a picture taken in Ireland. Cool. My Man built furniture. I thought of Aidan, Carrie's furniture master, from Sex in the City. Sexy. He was 6'2" with short brown hair. My type of guy. Sweet!! Definitely My Man!
Excitedly, I got casually dolled up for the evening. After my mani/pedi, I had my hair blown out with curls. This date was no joke. I wore a white shirt, my blue print skirt and my favorite Fly London watermelon shoes (not really the name of the shoe but that's what they look like). I carried my pale yellow sweater in my straw purse. I hopped on the LIRR and headed into The Big City on a hot summer night to meet him - My Man.
My Man picked the place, Rudy's in Hell's Kitchen. I was told it was one of the first bars to open after Prohibition. I made my way northeast from Penn Station while My Man was running late because of traffic from Jersey. No big deal, love is patient. I'll wait for My Man. I entered Rudy's where the giant doorman, asked me for ID and chatted me up a bit. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a Diet Coke. I figured I'd need the caffeine kick because this was going to be a long night of FUN! The doorman walked by and chatted to me again and figured out that I was obviously meeting a date there. There were hip New Yorkers situated all around the old and dark bar. Although dingy, it had a lot of charm. Beer was on tap, music was playing and the hipsters were laughing it up. I knew I'd be doing that shortly with My Man. I waited with butterflies in my stomach. I was waiting for MY Man!
My fantasy came to a crashing halt when My Man walked in to Rudy's wearing khaki shorts, a tucked in buttoned shirt, sandals and a messenger bag slung across his torso like he was going on an adventure. The piece de resistance was what was on his head - A Yellow Panama Hat!! I didn't realize that my date was friends with a fictitious monkey. Had I know that, I would've brought an accordion or some bananas. I was now stuck with The Man with the Yellow Hat and my dream ended - he was no longer My Man.
Hellos were exchanged and I heard that laugh. It was one of those nervous type laughs that only a man with a yellow hat could muster up. He ordered a pitcher of beer and offered me some. I politely declined and he started to insist that I have "just a taste'. I cut him off and told him that I don't imbibe. He laughed that weird laugh again. We, I mean he, gabbed away and I started to see some flaws in his stories. Yes, it was a date, not an investigation. But any idiot would have noticed the discrepancies.
The highlight of this evening was when my date kept steering the conversation towards his "duel citizenship". I soon found out that it was because he was obviously eager to show me his two passports. This action would be the equivalent of a girl showing her photo album. What was unimpressive was that he'd only been to Great Britain, hardly the world traveler. I asked this fellow why he carried around his passports and his reply was "In case I have to quickly leave The Country." I then asked him why he wouldn't go home and get some things (like clothes and toiletries). He said "Well in case there is an emergency and I have to get out fast." Did he think he was a spy or an International Oil Tycoon? Hell, he was a furniture builder who worked odd jobs to allegedly put himself through Grad School. Thar discussion ended when he mentioned that he may have to fly to Hawaii with his friend, the diamond dealer.
I'm not a good liar or actor, so I ended up going to a Thai restaurant with this character because I didn't have a legitimate excuse to leave. We entered the restaurant and he asked the hostess where he could put his hat so that it wouldn't get crushed. He kept his messenger bag close to him. Undoubtedly said bag contained top secret documents, formulas and/or diamonds. We ordered dinner and Bond chatted incessantly about himself and his mother. He kept discussing my job even though I told him several times that I don't like to discuss it in public. I can't even imagine what the unfortunate people in adjoining tables thought of this character. I did get the feeling that they felt bad for me. At one point he invited me out east to his friend's house Labor Day Weekend. He said that his dad would love me because he's Ultra Conservative. Considering that I barely spoke, I would've recalled mentioning my affiliation to the John Birch Society. He then said that he asked me because he thought the date was going well. I suppose if I drank 2 pitchers of beer, a glass of scotch and a bottle of beer I might see it that way, too. The look of shock on my face gave him an answer he wasn't expecting.
I struggled to quickly finish and be as polite as possible. At this point, I would've preferred some sort of archaic torture over this meal. I daydreamed about being on a bed of nails with a 200 lb weight on my stomach. The bill arrived and The Man with the Yellow Hat let it sit there for a bit. I finally mentioned that we should pay it and be on our way. Ever so slowly he removed his wallet. It was like he was handing the bank the deed to his ancestor's foreclosed farm. I asked how much I owed and he told me $28.00. I felt this was better than when I paid half of a $60 lunch bill on another date when all I had was a salad.
The evening finally ended when he walked me to Penn Station - through the streets of NY with that yellow hat. He gave me a peck on the cheek and I quickly said "Good night". I made my escape down the escalator and would never to be seen again by The Man with the Yellow Hat.
