Tinder in Ho Chi Minh City as a foreigner is difficult and easy at the same time. The language barrier serves as a convenient filter although, at times, I feel sad there are so many people I have no hopes of ever meeting. The annoying thing is, the limited supply of fluent English-speaking men has made it a rather brutal dating battleground.
I saw this one guy, Teddy, on the app and he seemed nice enough. He was funny and well-spoken. His profile said he went to Columbia, which meant that we could definitely argue over uptown NYC vs downtown. We agreed to meet at the newly opened Indika on a Wednesday night. I was open-relationship-ing! Despite my day-off reluctance, at PM I put on a dress, then changed my mind and swapped again into a ratty t-shirt and shorts.
I walked out the door at PM, already late for this date. Rounding the corner of the entrance, I saw him talking to some people. I never know how to greet Tinder dates. Should we cheek kiss? Should we shake hands? Should we stand two feet apart and wave hello? I got a beer, ordered some food, and then we sat down to our date. Later, he would tell me I was rude for not ordering him food too.
The date went well enough; he was funny and was pretty charming. We talked about New York, our mutual travels, our work. He seemed fairly legit. Some more of my friends stopped by and we ended up playing cards together. By 1 AM, Teddy was offering to give me a ride home…and I accepted.
In front of my house, I let him kiss me and there was, admittedly, some groping. I felt like my security guard was watching me so I kept putting a halt on it. Then he asked to see me the next day and I barfed a little in my mouth—from the alcohol and not the embrace.
