I dated often when I was a young and single TV news reporter. I worked at WEWS-TV in Cleveland from 1981 to 1983, where the area called “The Flats” was a popular hangout with many restaurants and bars. One night I met a very attractive woman at a club. She was a paralegal, about my age, 28, and seemed intelligent. She told me she was separated. That much was true.
The next night I took her to dinner and a basketball game. When I dropped her off at her home she invited me in for a nightcap. It turned into a nightmare.
We were having coffee around midnight. I have never been a big drinker plus I had to drive home and go to work the next day, so I opted for a decaf. We were continuing our “getting to know you” conversation, which had been going well all evening. I was sure I would ask her out again.
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking, really a banging, on her front door. She got up off the living room couch to see who it was. From the front of her home I heard her say loudly, “Crap, it’s my ex.”
When she came back into the living room I asked, “How long have you been separated?” She said, “Oh, we split up yesterday.” Turned out when we met the night before, it was hours after their break-up and she was celebrating.
I thought it would have been nice if you told me that last night. I wouldn’t have asked you out, is what went through my mind.
I was quite nervous. I walked into the kitchen so I could peek out a window and see the guy on the front stoop. I calmed down somewhat when I saw that he was much smaller than me and appeared to be drunk. I walked towards the door and saw him reach into his coat pocket.
He took out a gun. I went to plan B.
My specialty at the TV station was reporting on crime and the courts. I had interviewed the police chief a few times and he was kind enough to have given me his home phone number. This was before cell phones (how did we survive?). I figured calling him would get a faster response than dialing 9-1-1.
Within three minutes, two police cars and four officers arrived. Two cops talked to the angry, drunk and estranged husband and two escorted me to my car. I don’t remember saying goodbye or anything else to my date. I just got the hell out of there as soon as the cops were ready.
Soon after I arrived at work the next day, the woman called me. She apologized profusely for the actions of her ex and said she’d like to see me again. Although she was beautiful, fun, and had a good job, I told her, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” I imagined that if we went out again, my station might be doing a crime story, and the victim would be me.
Lesson learned: Don’t date women until they are divorced. And even then, do your best to try to find out if the ex is crazy.
