Sat at the end of my bed, I carefully buttoned up my blue striped shirt, pulled on my ‘nice jeans’ and applied some aftershave.
First-date nerves were kicking in but I was positive, and ready to rock and roll.
Anna* and I matched on Tinder and spoke for a week before deciding to meet. It’d gone well thus far – our conversation bounced from family to food with ease and conviction. Therefore, I felt comfortable enough after a few days to tell her I was disabled.
I told her of my sporting exploits, and how I’d played for Great Britain Wheelchair Rugby.
She said there wasn’t a problem and asked about my disability. I explained about my condition, arthrogryposis, and how it meant my joints were bent and my voice was husky.
However, I ensured she knew that I was still completely independent – I just looked and sounded slightly different.
Things were heading in the right direction, so I suggested dinner, and a date was set. Normally, I’m an Italian kinda guy, but on this occasion, I thought I’d try something different. We settled on Chinese and, as I drove towards disaster, I can’t explain how confident I felt.
As a former wheelchair rugby Paralympian for Great Britain, I’m used to being ready for anything. But, honestly, nothing could have prepared me for the night’s soiree.
My first big worry was that the restaurant was empty. It was a Saturday night, and not a soul was in sight. Then it hit me: the staff would have front-row seats to my date.
I composed myself, twiddled my thumbs, and studied the menu.
While I decided between duck pancakes and chow mein, my phone lit up with the message: ‘I’m on my way, there was a hold-up at work. I’ll be 10 minutes. Sorry.’ I appreciated the heads-up.
By that stage, she was already 15 minutes late – and the cute boy in the wheelchair was attracting sympathetic looks from the staff.
It’s a strange feeling waiting for someone you’ve never met before. You wonder how the conversation will go; will it flow, or become awkward? You question the aim of the date and whether it’ll be a one-off or lead to more. It’s easy to daydream and contemplate whether this person could be ‘The One’.
Ten minutes passed and I heard the door open, followed by footsteps heading toward my table. At this point, I straightened up, stuck on my game face, and said goodbye to those pre-match nerves.
It was show time.
After turning around, our eyes locked – we both smiled and said hello. Then it happened; as I held out my hand to shake hers, I received a pat on the head.
Yes, you read that correctly. SHE PATTED ME ON THE HEAD!
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I struggled to stop my jaw from hitting the ground and, as I looked past her, I clocked the waitress recoil with second-hand embarrassment.
I didn’t know what to do, so I completely ignored it. There was an awkward pause while I expected her to apologise, or to make a joke out of it… but nothing came!
In that split second, I went from being a guy on a date to a disabled boy out for dinner. At this point, in my eyes at least, it was game over.
Anna was engaging, confident, and easy to talk to. She was intelligent, and well-travelled, which I appreciated. I liked how she wanted to know about me and we spoke about wheelchair rugby, which I rarely do on first dates.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t forget the pat on the head.
As the date wore on, it became clear she wasn’t comfortable with the whole chair situation. Every time I moved my hands, she’d stare, and when I needed the loo, she offered to help. I have no idea what she thought I needed assistance with… Any guesses?!
It’s tricky because, even though she was probably trying to be kind, she knew I was completely independent. I live alone so I wondered how she thought I managed day-to-day.
Internally, I even questioned whether this was an elaborate ploy to seduce me. Sadly, disabled toilets don’t generate any loin movement!
With the evening drawing to a close, I was ready for this date to end. So, I paid the bill and suggested we leave.
Once outside, we discussed the evening and she said how much she’d enjoyed herself. Anna could’ve left it there, but followed it up by saying: ‘It’s so nice to date someone so inspirational; you’ve overcome so much.’
That was the final nail in the coffin.
I just smiled and said goodbye.
The truth is, I’ve not overcome anything, and being disabled isn’t anything to overcome. I might view some aspects of life differently because of my disability, but it’s not something I suffer with.
Instead, it’s something I’ve adapted to. Like any human would.
Surprisingly, I never saw Anna again. She did message me shortly after, but I politely declined her second date offer. I decided I was too inspiring for her.
*Names have been changed
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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