When is a date not a date?

One of my most memorable worst dates was with Walter the Weird Writer. The one thing that's worse than a bad date, is a bad date that is not a date.
On this occasion, I became a chapter in Walter's book.
Walter is a British author who was commissioned to write a book on Israeli Jewish identity. Fascinating idea, but considering the fact that he has been in Israel twice before in his lifetime, both times for the sum total of a week, I found it hard to fathom how he would get to the bottom of the whole Israeli identity crisis. He knew three and a half words of Hebrew and even then he pronounced them with such a strong accent that nobody could understand him. When we met, he was living in a luxury furnished apartment in Tel Aviv for 6 months to write his book, and then planned on returning to England. I couldn't help but wonder how exposed he really was to the average Israeli lifestyle and how he could presume to write about the country when he needed to look at a map to work out where Ra'anana was (he thought he'd heard of it but couldn't be sure!).
I cannot say Walter is a bore, because I didn't get a chance to find out. He told me nothing about himself. Walter asked me question after question all night long. It was like playing in "The Weakest Link" but without the money. And the questions weren't the usual 'date' questions either. They were very deep philosophical questions about the home I grew up in (e.g. do your parents believe in G-d?), my political beliefs (So what party do you vote for and why?), and then my personal weakness, general knowledge questions, where I fear I disappointed Walter terribly (I can still picture the look on his face when he realized he was talking to someone who barely knows the difference between Abu Ala and Abu Gosh!).
The main problem with the interrogation was not the questions themselves, but the total lack of reciprocity. He did not talk. He barely responded. Eye contact was a no no. All forms of facial reaction seemed to be out the question, other than the odd grimace (which I just assumed was gas, but who knows…). At one point he asked a fairly loaded political question, and after responding I had the audacity to ask what his opinion was. He told me that I would have to read his book to find out. So I told him to 'pretend' I wasn't going to read his book - ever - and would he just tell me what he thinks. I have to say this for the man, there was no budging him. This was all give and no take. No opinion was expressed and no more questions were answered by yours truly. The ensuing silence was awkward.
When I couldn't take it any more I asked for the bill. I asked for the bill because he didn't have enough Hebrew to do so himself. Yet when it came, it lay between us, screaming to be opened. Now the standard operating procedure for first dates is that the man pays and the woman offers to pay her half, then the man says that it's okay and there's no need, and the woman says she will pay next time, and that's that. When the woman really doesn't want to see a man again, she can insist on paying her own share to make it clear that there will be no next time, just to give the guy a subtle message. But that night was a first for me. I think he thought I would pay the entire bill for the sheer pleasure of being interviewed by an (as-of-yet-unpublished) author. I took out my purse to politely offer to pay my share, removed my credit card and saw he still hadn't budged. I truly believe he thought I was covering the bill. So I asked him if he'd prefer to give me cash for his share or if he wanted to give the waitress a credit card as well. At which point he reluctantly pulled out his wallet and generously shared the cost of dinner.
In conclusion, it's safe to say that when we parted ways, I did not ask for a signed copy of the book.