Dine and dash.

(Fiction)

Sabrina brushed her fingers along the stack of jeans piled up in her closet. Given the work-from-home culture in the COVID era, she had no reason to wear anything other than sweats, of which she had many, many pairs. They were matching sets she had purchased on a whim after being a target of countless Instagram ads. Her favorite outfit was a cozy, pink, tie-dye crewneck top and bottom from Aviator Nation. She justified her splurge because she told herself she would get great use out of the pricey pajamas — and she did. She felt chic and comfy in the months she'd spent “Netflix and chillin'" on the couch.

There wasn't anywhere for Sabrina to go. Not to a coffee shop, where she liked to read and write. Not to a bar, which had been closed for almost a year. On her daily walks around her neighborhood, she saw McFaddens, a dive bar on 42nd street, with St. Patty's Day decor still plastered on the front window. No one had set foot in the place since the pandemic hit, yet its paintings of leprechauns and pots of gold served as eerie reminders of the state of the world. 

Perhaps she would wear her "party mask" tonight, another Instagram purchase filled with sequins to spruce up the mandatory face-covering she was required to put on whenever she stepped outside her home. Sabrina had been saving this particular mask for a special occasion, and going out to eat at a restaurant on a date seemed like the perfect opportunity. 

The two of them, Sabrina and Joe, had matched on a dating app. Sabrina thought meeting people online seemed superficial and forced. What could one really gather from a slew of strategically curated photos? she wondered. Yet, Sabrina was single, and the apps remained the only way for her to put herself out there. Plus, she wanted a free meal.

Sabrina selected a pair of black skinny jeans from the shelf. Not leather, she thought. First dates don't deserve leather. She wiggled her way into her pants, which felt stiffer and more snug than usual. Perhaps she had forgotten what tight clothing felt like. She wore a loose-fitting oversized sweater on top, so she could sneakily unbutton her jeans during the meal. 

Joe wouldn't see her outfit anyway because she would be wearing a winter coat during their dinner outside. She mostly dressed up for herself. It was an excuse to feel normal, human again. Sabrina zipped her puffy sleeping bag jacket over her black-on-black outfit. As if it were appropriate to wear another color in the dead of a New York City winter. Before leaving the apartment, she spritzed her perfume on her wrists and neck and applied lip gloss, only to wipe it off moments later when she remembered she would be masked; therefore, makeup didn't matter. 

He picked the place, Under The Bridge, an intimate Greek spot only a few blocks from her apartment, primarily because of its advertised heat situation. Sabrina braved the cold without gloves on account of the short walk. Her dry, crackled hands were raw and chapped from the winter wind and over-washing them. She couldn't imagine why anyone would willingly sit outside in twenty-degree weather with a wind chill that made it feel like it was in the low teens. She would warm up at the restaurant, she thought. Under The Bridge had individual tents equipped with overhead heaters. The reviews online were stellar, but that night was particularly packed, and Under The Bridge was understaffed. 

She found Joe, or rather he spotted her, and they awkwardly half-embraced, not knowing the proper way to meet and greet for the first time. 

"I tested negative today, by the way," Sabrina told Joe. "I'm ok with a hug."

"I have the bodies. I'm not worried. Just didn't know what you were comfortable with." 

"Lucky you. Sure we can hug," Sabrina said, still masked. Her teeth chattered underneath the facial covering, which she kept on to warm her nose and cheeks. He wrapped his arms stiffly around her for a moment, providing minimal heat, then stepped away and signaled for the hostess.

"Table for two under Joe," he said. "Reservation is at 8." 

"I'm sorry, we're a little backed up tonight," the hostess apologized frantically. "Your table should be ready shortly." 

Sabrina and Joe stood idly on the sidewalk, a socially-distanced six feet apart from the other parties. Joe stood beside Sabrina, big, brown briefcase in hand.

"Are you coming straight from work?" She asked, gesturing to his bag. 

"Uh, no. Just like to carry my things in here." Sabrina wondered what kinds of "things" Joe liked to keep in his murse. She never went out with a man who carried a larger bag than she did. 

"What kind of things?" She asked in an attempt to flirt. 

"Stuff I like to collect," he told her. His tone was abrupt. 

Sabrina decided to drop it. The two made small talk for twenty minutes, but there was no sign of their table being ready any time soon. Joe tapped his foot and looked at his flashy watch. They were offered complimentary tea. Sabrina graciously accepted the cup but was disappointed as she pursed her lips and sipped on the lukewarm liquid. Another five minutes went by, and Sabrina's stomach began to growl. She tried to think warm thoughts as her fingertips tingled with numbness.

"Your table is ready. Please follow me." 

Sabrina sighed with relief, and she and Joe followed the waitress to their tented table. She pulled down her mask to reveal her features to Joe, even though he had seen six photos of her online. 

"Finally, a face," He said with monotonous sarcasm. 

As Sabrina sat down, she felt a whip of wind rush through her knees. There was a rip in the tent. The two ordered a Mezze plate to share, and Sabrina got a burger, cooked medium with aioli on the side. She didn't care for creamy textures. 

"S-s-so what music do you listen to?" Sabrina asked, shivering as she spoke. 

"All kinds," Joe replied, looking not at Sabrina but down at his phone. 

Another cold twenty minutes went by without any sign of an appetizer. Joe flagged down their waitress. 

"We have yet to receive any food," he complained. His authoritativeness was almost aggressive. Embarrassed by how he treated the staff, Sabrina was too hungry to disagree. The waitress returned to the kitchen and brought out the dips on blue and white china, adorned with Greek patterns. The pita bread wasn't warm, but Sabrina scraped every last morsel from the fancy platter before Joe looked around to make sure no one was watching and carefully placed the dish on the ground, next to his briefcase. He asked Sabrina about her job, a topic that gave her anxiety as the pandemic rendered her, and so many others, unemployed. 

"Working in fitness is tough right now," she explained. The gym where she worked had not only closed down temporarily but had filed chapter seven, liquidation.

"That sucks," Joe stated flatly before chewing her ear off about his successful banking endeavors. She never would have agreed to a date with this person had they met in person, but pictures don't portray personality. Sure, Joe was physically attractive, but his attitude was atrocious. She longed to be back in her sweatsuit and under her thick, fluffy comforter, far away from this bonehead. Sabrina prayed her burger would come soon, but it didn't. She imagined it would take just as long to slaughter a fresh cow in the country and grind the meat on sight. Joe looked at his Rolex again. Had the restaurant forgotten about their main courses?

It was 9:30 pm when her burger arrived. She noticed the dish was smothered in aioli, but she bit her tongue and used the silverware to scrape the substance off her burger and onto the plate. Joe housed his main course and placed the second plate on top of the first one, underneath the table, beside his briefcase. The waitress didn't seem to notice the plate count on the table had diminished as she hastily cleared what was left. They were brought another complimentary cup of cold tea.

"So sorry for the wait."

Joe ignored the waitress' apology and turned to Sabrina, "No dessert, I assume? You said you work in fitness, he told Sabrina. "We'll take the check," he told the waitress. 

Sabrina, dissatisfied with her cold, wrong order, and even more so with the company, was thankful there would be no dessert. Not because she didn't eat it, which she absolutely did, but because she did not want to spend another minute with Joe or in the cold. 

The bill was brought or instead thrown onto the table in haste. Joe shook his head no when she offered to split the bill but made no motion of reaching for his wallet. Instead, he bent down and popped open his briefcase to stuff the plates inside. It was otherwise empty. 

"You ready to go?" 

Sabrina, too stunned to stand up, looked down at his briefcase full of stolen stuff. 

She knew her date had not paid for their meal and was leaving the restaurant with party favors. She reached down for her wallet once again. There was a crinkly five-dollar bill, which she intended to use for laundry the next day, and an almost maxed-out card. She looked over her shoulder at the waitress, who was around the corner dealing with yet another aggrieved party. Sabrina had little money to shell out on a fancy dinner, given her lack of substantial income, but she knew the restaurant business was also struggling. Also, he had asked her out! She believed in chivalry and would never have dreamed of paying on the first date. 

"Our Uber is less than a minute away," Joe said, his gaze locked with his screen instead of with Sabrina's eyes as he exited the hutlike structure, a COVID creation to accommodate outdoor dining. She watched him walk onto the flat curb that meshed into the bike lane, his head buried in his phone.

"Are you coming?" Joe demanded as he swung his head around, flailing his arm with the briefcase further into the street. Suddenly, a man on a messenger bike without lights wooshed by, knocking Joe's briefcase open, and the collection of china came crashing down below. The people at the restaurant turned to look at Joe, who had fallen flat on his face. Shards of the stolen china sliced through his fingers, which began to bleed and turn the remnants of blackened snow on the curb pink. Sabrina shielded her face with her bag and bolted past Joe, past the waitress, and into the nearest ice cream because she, in fact, did like dessert. 

Before she fled the scene, Sabrina used her phone to snap a picture of Joe sprawled on the corner rather than call for medical assistance. She liked to document karma taking its course. It was sweet. She captioned her photo, “here’s the scoop.”