May 2016—The Time A Guy Ordered for Me

I love chivalry. I really do. I want my doors opened, to be let out of the elevator first, and walk on the inside of the sidewalk while the man takes the street side.

I mean, it’s a small price a guy has to pay for my having to squeeze a baby out of my body.

But sometimes chivalry goes wrong and it gets into misogynistic territory. Just because I like men to have gentlemanly tendencies doesn’t mean I want them to make all my decisions for me.

The first I had with Grant was at Noble Rot, a swanky (and expensive!) wine bar in Portland (he chose it after a Google search for “best first date restaurants” popped up). The restaurant has a beautiful view of downtown Portland and the mountains and has one of the best rooftops in the city.

So, being taken there definitely wasn’t a hardship on my part.

Especially since the prices on the menu were definitely out of my price range.

After getting over the initial sticker shock of how much everything cost (nearly $30 for schnitzel?! That’s cheap peasant food!), Grant and I do the whole, “What are you having?” game.

I live by the philosophy of never ordering an entrée more costly than my date.

Don’t wanna seem like I’m only there for an expensive dinner or only interested in the guy for his money.

When the server comes over to take our orders, he turns to me and asks what I would like to eat. Before I can open my mouth to reply, Grant replies in my stead.

“She’ll have the schnitzel.”

. . .

Wait. Did this guy just order for me?

Is this the 1950s?

This is almost a moment where I want to be like, “Oh, no, he didn’t!”

But I refrained because this is the first date and I barely know the guy. Once the initial shock wore off, I try to rationalize it (that’s the INTJ in me).

Maybe Grant felt relaying my desired entrée to the server was an act of chivalry? A tad outdated, perhaps, but at least he didn’t choose the entree for me (there would have definitely been a throw down at that point). Up until that point, nothing about him gave me the impression he was controlling and overbearing so the whole ordering for me thing could be a quirk.

And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I go on another date with him.

Besides the ordering for me part, the date was actually quite pleasant. We had a good conversation, found out we had some things in common, and he walked me back to my car at the end of the night (points for good chivalry). Perhaps the second date will go more smoothly as he was just nervous?

On our second date, Grant and I meet at Hubers Café, the oldest restaurant in Portland that is known for its flaming Spanish coffee. This place is gorgeous: old woodwork, stained glass ceiling windows, and archways throughout. If you appreciate architecture, Hubers is amazing to visit.

The evening begins well. Grant doesn’t order dinner for me (success!) and we settle into a pleasant conversation.

After we’ve finished our meals, our server stops by to ask if we’d like dessert or an after dinner drink. Grant turns to her and automatically and authoritatively orders, “We’ll have an iced Spanish coffee. That’s all.”

Just one? What about me? Cause we are not sharing.

We so do not have that type of relationship.

After Grant’s order, the server turns to me, a slight quirk to her eyebrow, almost as if she’s asking, “Is that what you actually want? Or is this guy an asshole?”

This exchange doesn’t go unnoticed by Grant and he looks over at me, a little annoyed, and queries, “Did you want something else? Okay, I guess we’ll have two iced Spanish coffees.”

“I’ll actually have a hot one,” I tell the server, feeling a bit impertinent and rebellious with my passive aggressive answer. I don’t need Grant to order for me. I’m an independent woman, dammit, and I can make my own decisions!

 

By the end of the night, I have no desire to even keep up the pretenses of wanting to see Grant again. I thank him for dinner and tell him to have a good night (not to be mixed up with me having a good night, which I did not, by the way). Grant doesn’t ask if I want to go out again and for that, I’m thankful, cause while I’m sure I could have remained polite, it would have been an awkward conversation.

If Grant wants the type of woman who just defers to him, he has another thing coming. I wasn’t raised like that and I certainly never saw my mother just blindly agree with my father or let him talk for her.

Just in case no one got the memo, Coverture has been over for a while in the United States.

People say chivalry is dead and in some places that may be true. But it definitely lives on in other places, just unfortunately some have taken it a little far…