Monday, October 30, 2006
A certain female who’s been battling for a piece of my time finally succeeded this weekend. After blowing her off for months, she caught me at a weak moment and the next thing I knew, I was driving the steep canyon road to Logan to cure her loneliness for what I hoped would be the first and last time.
It’s not that this particular woman is unattractive. I’m sure many men would gladly reciprocate her affections and I’m sure I might too, if she lived about 50 miles closer. But it’s not just the distance. She used to be a waitress at IHOP, and she recently got a job at a high-end department store (which disqualifies Wal-Mart, thankfully). The department store gig isn’t exactly sexy, but it’s not just that. She takes pride in her work. I’ve always thought that taking pride in unskilled labor is just about the white-trashiest thing a person can do. She takes pride in the fact that she endured a grueling two-week training period so she can adequately perform her current job. Any job that requires one of those formal training periods is automatically white trash, since in the real world, you’re hired because of the skills you already possess, skills you earned in college or at some other job. Anyway, you get the point. She’s not running for Congress anytime soon, and intelligent conversation is a stretch.
But there I was, pulling into her driveway Saturday afternoon, having just spent forty bucks on gas to ensure my arrival. She invited me inside. Things were awkward. I got the grand tour (she just moved into the place) and then she asked if I wanted to go to dinner. I was afraid of this. Being the cheapest man alive, I’ve formed the opinion that exactly three women on this planet are worth buying dinner for, and since all three are way out of my league, any other dinner date is a bad investment. Why didn’t she just give me a bill for thirty bucks and spare us both the calories? But being a classy gentleman, I obliged, and she suggested The Olive Garden, a typical choice from someone of her low-rent social status. I have nothing against the Olive Garden, it’s just that some people think it’s a classy place and that bothers me. The pseudo-elegance is almost palpable, and the rule regarding Italian restaurants is to never eat at one that doesn’t end in a vowel. Hmm, The Olive Garden…ends in a consonant. Unacceptable.
We got there, were seated, and the waitress came by with a huge jug of wine that looked suspiciously like Cherry 7-Up. I don’t know much about wine, but I was under the impression that it should always be bottled in darkened glass, since light can adversely affect the product inside. Even more tacky, the waitress pushing the wine was wearing a CTR ring. It was laughable, and I was tempted to call her on it. If it wouldn’t have been a first date, I would have. How fitting for a place like the Olive Garden. A nice Mormon girl telling us how delicious this particular wine is, even though she’s never tasted the stuff. How hard would it have been to slip the ring off for a few hours and at least pretend to know what she was talking about? I hope she rots in hell for that hypocrisy.
I was scanning the menu for cheap entrees when the hypocritical Mormon waitress asked if we wanted appetizers. I asked my “date” if she wanted anything. She did, of course, and that’s how we got fried zucchini and chicken fingers with a little bowl of sauce to dip them in. A quick dining rule to remember: If a restaurant even offers chicken fingers, it’s light years from the realm of elegance. My “date” thankfully ordered the soup and salad, and I did too, since my appetite was killed by the expensive appetizers and our waitress’s stench of phoniness.
The bill came. Nearly thirty bucks, including a meager tip for our LDS server. During dinner, we’d been talking about what we were going to do for the rest of the night. She’d mentioned that there was a corn maze she wanted to go to. The corn maze phenomenon is something I’ve never understood. These places charge anywhere from five to ten dollars to wander around in a field while trying to avoid frostbite. Not my idea of a good time, even if there would have been some hand holding or whatever else she had in mind. But since it was her town, and I couldn’t suggest anything better, I agreed with the corn maze idea, and we headed back to her place to get her coat. On the way, I did some mental calculations. Ten bucks for gas, thirty for dinner, and now another 15 or 20 for the corn maze. Ouch! And this was for a girl I wasn’t even interested in. I knew I had to do something.
We got back to her place, and she insisted on showing me pictures of some family members she’d told me about during dinner. The pictures were on her computer, so we sat down to view them. It was during this time that I realized the only way to avoid a night of freezing cold and more wasted money was to make a move and hopefully spend the rest of the night snuggled with her in relative warmth. First step, initiate contact. While I pretended to be interested in her family pictures, I covertly snaked an arm around her waist. I didn’t get any reaction, which I figured was good, since it beat a slap on the face or a dirty look. My arm lingered for several moments, and then I pulled it back, not wanting to overplay my hand. There was a little more casual touching before I asked if I could use her bathroom. Three glasses of Olive Garden water, combined with my soup and a lot of nervousness had my bladder ready to explode. When I was done, I came out and she was seated neatly on a little sofa. I sat down next to her. “This couch is also a recliner,” she said, and I knew it was a good sign.
Sparing the details here, let me just say that I gratefully avoided a corn maze that night and spent the evening cocooned in warmth and comfort. But now I’m facing a no-win situation, since I either have to go see her again, wasting more time and money in the process, or completely ignore her, looking like a jerk and falling victim to whatever vicious rumors she spreads about me. It just goes to show that even when you do score, you don't always win.
It’s not that this particular woman is unattractive. I’m sure many men would gladly reciprocate her affections and I’m sure I might too, if she lived about 50 miles closer. But it’s not just the distance. She used to be a waitress at IHOP, and she recently got a job at a high-end department store (which disqualifies Wal-Mart, thankfully). The department store gig isn’t exactly sexy, but it’s not just that. She takes pride in her work. I’ve always thought that taking pride in unskilled labor is just about the white-trashiest thing a person can do. She takes pride in the fact that she endured a grueling two-week training period so she can adequately perform her current job. Any job that requires one of those formal training periods is automatically white trash, since in the real world, you’re hired because of the skills you already possess, skills you earned in college or at some other job. Anyway, you get the point. She’s not running for Congress anytime soon, and intelligent conversation is a stretch.
But there I was, pulling into her driveway Saturday afternoon, having just spent forty bucks on gas to ensure my arrival. She invited me inside. Things were awkward. I got the grand tour (she just moved into the place) and then she asked if I wanted to go to dinner. I was afraid of this. Being the cheapest man alive, I’ve formed the opinion that exactly three women on this planet are worth buying dinner for, and since all three are way out of my league, any other dinner date is a bad investment. Why didn’t she just give me a bill for thirty bucks and spare us both the calories? But being a classy gentleman, I obliged, and she suggested The Olive Garden, a typical choice from someone of her low-rent social status. I have nothing against the Olive Garden, it’s just that some people think it’s a classy place and that bothers me. The pseudo-elegance is almost palpable, and the rule regarding Italian restaurants is to never eat at one that doesn’t end in a vowel. Hmm, The Olive Garden…ends in a consonant. Unacceptable.
We got there, were seated, and the waitress came by with a huge jug of wine that looked suspiciously like Cherry 7-Up. I don’t know much about wine, but I was under the impression that it should always be bottled in darkened glass, since light can adversely affect the product inside. Even more tacky, the waitress pushing the wine was wearing a CTR ring. It was laughable, and I was tempted to call her on it. If it wouldn’t have been a first date, I would have. How fitting for a place like the Olive Garden. A nice Mormon girl telling us how delicious this particular wine is, even though she’s never tasted the stuff. How hard would it have been to slip the ring off for a few hours and at least pretend to know what she was talking about? I hope she rots in hell for that hypocrisy.
I was scanning the menu for cheap entrees when the hypocritical Mormon waitress asked if we wanted appetizers. I asked my “date” if she wanted anything. She did, of course, and that’s how we got fried zucchini and chicken fingers with a little bowl of sauce to dip them in. A quick dining rule to remember: If a restaurant even offers chicken fingers, it’s light years from the realm of elegance. My “date” thankfully ordered the soup and salad, and I did too, since my appetite was killed by the expensive appetizers and our waitress’s stench of phoniness.
The bill came. Nearly thirty bucks, including a meager tip for our LDS server. During dinner, we’d been talking about what we were going to do for the rest of the night. She’d mentioned that there was a corn maze she wanted to go to. The corn maze phenomenon is something I’ve never understood. These places charge anywhere from five to ten dollars to wander around in a field while trying to avoid frostbite. Not my idea of a good time, even if there would have been some hand holding or whatever else she had in mind. But since it was her town, and I couldn’t suggest anything better, I agreed with the corn maze idea, and we headed back to her place to get her coat. On the way, I did some mental calculations. Ten bucks for gas, thirty for dinner, and now another 15 or 20 for the corn maze. Ouch! And this was for a girl I wasn’t even interested in. I knew I had to do something.
We got back to her place, and she insisted on showing me pictures of some family members she’d told me about during dinner. The pictures were on her computer, so we sat down to view them. It was during this time that I realized the only way to avoid a night of freezing cold and more wasted money was to make a move and hopefully spend the rest of the night snuggled with her in relative warmth. First step, initiate contact. While I pretended to be interested in her family pictures, I covertly snaked an arm around her waist. I didn’t get any reaction, which I figured was good, since it beat a slap on the face or a dirty look. My arm lingered for several moments, and then I pulled it back, not wanting to overplay my hand. There was a little more casual touching before I asked if I could use her bathroom. Three glasses of Olive Garden water, combined with my soup and a lot of nervousness had my bladder ready to explode. When I was done, I came out and she was seated neatly on a little sofa. I sat down next to her. “This couch is also a recliner,” she said, and I knew it was a good sign.
Sparing the details here, let me just say that I gratefully avoided a corn maze that night and spent the evening cocooned in warmth and comfort. But now I’m facing a no-win situation, since I either have to go see her again, wasting more time and money in the process, or completely ignore her, looking like a jerk and falling victim to whatever vicious rumors she spreads about me. It just goes to show that even when you do score, you don't always win.
