Critic’s infamous blind date column brings you weekly shutdowns, hilariously mismatched pairs, and the occasional hookup. Each week, we lure two singletons to Di Lusso, ply them with food and alcohol, then wait for their reports to arrive in our inbox.
If this sounds like you, email critic@critic.co.nz. But be warned – if you dine on the free food and dash without sending us a writeup, a Critic writer will write one under your name.
And that won’t end well for you.
Jacqueline
I don’t know, at least she can write.
After arriving late at Di Lusso, I spotted a pleasant enough looking guy who was immediately introduced as my date. Unfortunately, things went downhill from there.
he normal chat started where you ask all the basic questions in hope of finding a common interest or just creating a good chat, but I am still unsure if this managed to happen at all. The majority of the time I was speaking to a brick wall and “I don’t know” was the answer to any open ended questions.
The one conversation he started that had a hope of being entertaining, was that he wanted to plan a hilarious write-up for you readers. But alas, as soon as I asked if he had any ideas, I was greeted again with the classic “I don’t know” response. We were left back at square one with no writing on his poor post it notes he had brought along for the occasion.
He invited me back to drinks at his flat then to continue to a party afterwards. I was in a weird situation already and didn’t think things could get much worse so I agreed to tag along. I WAS WRONG! Whilst being shown around his flat and discovering his bed covered in rose petals, I still was not keen. As the tour proceeded to the lounge I saw the “drinks” at his were actually four people sitting on the couches staring at me. More red flags were raised and it was time to get out of there.
Due to the lack of creativity earlier and no desire to meet up again to plan his amazing write up, I suggested the idea of ripping each other out and being brutally honest. Flowing on from this, I made a joke in front of his flat mates regarding his poor chat and small penis, which didn’t go down well. It was the perfect opportunity to leave and never return.
Sorry Critic, no raunchy sex in toilet cubicles or inappropriate threesomes. Just awkward small chat and no desire for another blind date! Lets see if he managed a creative write up for me –“I don’t know” what to expect!
Jonny Drama
We are called Critic! Not The Critic. You just don’t know.
I had just handed an assignment in on a Thursday afternoon and came home to a phone call from the critic. Morale was high and so was I.
The girl and I turned up to the bar at approximately the same time. I took one look at her and felt my morale hit the ground. Cupid must have missed his flight because I was not feeling the love at this point in time. I am no scientist but I could tell that there was no chemistry involved with this girl.
We sat down, smashed our plate of food, had a few tasty cocktails while the chat flowed like a frozen river. She was asking me if I could write her part in the Critic because she was too lazy. Where did the Critic find this girl? On Tinder? I kept suggesting we should do something outrageous, so at least we would have something to write about.
It was like trying to milk a stone - she was drier than the Sahara. We left the bar together and made the hike back home from the Octagon. All my flatmates were on the piss so I thought that maybe I could flick her off to one of them.
Unfortunately they weren’t having a bar of it. Thanks for the dud.