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fight

I was visiting a friend in New York City who suggested that I go out on a blind date with one of his coworkers. He didn’t tell me much about her, except that her name was Marissa and she was average height, blonde, and attractive. Being that she was interested in the same things as me, I didn’t really think to ask for defining features: I was just so excited to go out on a date after being single for so long. I arrived at the bar my friend told me about and was looking around. Every girl there was blonde and seemed to make eye contact with me, so I kept saying, “Are you Marissa?” They all kept rolling their eyes and walking away from me. Finally, this girl said, “Yes, I am. I’ve been waiting!” She was cute, so I offered to buy her a beer and we got to chatting. Not even five minutes later, this huge football player looking guy taps me on my shoulder. “That’s my girl,” he yells. I look at him, and then at Marissa, and then back at him. I said, “No, we’re on a date.” He looked at her and said, “Samantha, you’re seeing this guy behind my back?” I realized this strange girl was not my blind date at all, but someone milking me for a drink. Then the linebacker threw a punch and I was on the bar floor in moments. Just as the bartender kicked me and the other guy out, I clutched a bloody nose and saw a very attractive looking woman avoid my eye. I later found out that was, in fact, my blind date. Needless to say, she never got in touch with me for another try.