I went on a blind date last night. My boss set up me up with a guy he knew. He thought we'd be "so great" together.
It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be - on my end. Because I, for once, was the normal person in the narrative. This never happens to me, so I have to document it.
Mr. Blind Date and I ended up meeting at my church (mainly because it's smack dab in the center of town) and then I rode with him to Olive Garden (his choice).
I was relieved that MBD didn't have a hunchback or some huge mole that I was going to have to pretend to not gawk at, but the car ride to Olive Garden was a tad stressful. He was asking all the routine questions - are you from here orginally? (nope), where did you go to college? (Georgia), do you have a big family? (pretty average-sized), etc.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of returning the big family question and he immediately got very sober on me and said, "I did...until my sister died two years ago." Cue Debbie Downer music. After that, we didn't talk any more and the only sound was the weird gurgling in his stomach.
(Foreshadowing. Foreshadowing.)
Then we ended up having to wait around 30 minutes for a table at Olive Garden. Unfortunately, all the get-to-know-you questions had pretty much been asked, and then we had to sit next to each other on a teeny iron bench and rack our brains for interesting conversation topics.
It got a little better by the time we got to the table. I found out that he had worked for a summer at the hotel in Colorado that was the inspiration for The Shining by Stephen King (one of my favorite books and movies), so that was pretty interesting. We have a love of animals in common (both of us have a cat).
And that's where we stalled out. He ordered a steak-inspired pasta, but only picked at it. I thought maybe he was nervous, but suddenly he started squirming and got red-faced and said, "Wow. This food...is sitting...pretty heavy."
Then I realized it. He had massive, violent ED. Explosive Diarrhea. On a first date.
He started rocking back and forth and blowing air out between his lips in short bursts. Every once in a while, he'd clench the edge of the table, close his eyes, and shake his head. Then he'd look up at me and give a barking laugh, as if he was saying, "This? This isn't actually happening. I am dreaming. Right? This is a dream?"
I just sat there. It was like being in a horror movie and I'd decided to run upstairs instead of out the front door.
And then came the most awful moment - he went to pay for the meal, and the waitress came back and said in low, guilty tones, "Sir...our computer...isn't accepting your credit card."
Credit card declined. Poor guy. I started thinking, "How long do I wait before I offer to pay??" while he fished around in his wallet (held together with a rubber band...) for some cash. Luckily, he counted out enough crumpled bills to cover the tab, and I tried not to notice the waitress giving us the stink eye.
We walked to the parking lot and I kept trying to signal with my eyes that hey, the bathroom is back that way. But he seemed determined to hold it in until he had reached the safety of his own bathroom.
He drove me back to my car and we made a desperate, last-minute/last-ditch effort at conversation for a minute or two longer and I lied and said, "Well, this was fun!" and he lied and said, "Yeah, it was. Let me walk you to your car." And I started praying inside my head, "Pleasepleasepleaseplease don't try to kiss me...pleasepleaseplease..."
He went in for a frontal hug, but I stepped sideways and we ended up doing the friend-sideways-pat-pat-on-the-back hug. Whew. Relief. Then he trotted off to his car in a clenched shuffle and left in a pretty big hurry - most likely to find the nearest toilet.
Neither of us mentioned doing it again.
Because, you know. Diarrhea.
On the plus side, he didn't try to murder me.
I like that you can clip it on anywhere, too:
