lunch date
Still January 4
In the last few months, I finally relented and allowed my parents to set me up on blind dates. The most recent one, Dutchie, wasn’t even someone they know, but a family friend of my aunt. Or, it could just be someone that shops at her hardware store.
Anyway, I arranged for the lunch date to be today, after my tests. Why not just get it all over with?
I return to the office from the radiologists’ suite. The skin under my eyes is tender and red, from crying instead of sleeping. What little remains of my eyeliner is uneven and faded. Whatever.
We have had one previous conversation, when Dutchie called me on New Year’s Day:
He: Hi, is this ___________?
Me: Yeah, hi, this is she. (Pause) So…you got my number from my aunt?
He: Yeah.
(Pause)
Me: Happy New Year, by the way.
He: Oh. Yeah. Happy New Year. (Pause) Are you packing?
Me: Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m putting things in my purse. I’m going to meet some friends for lunch in Chinatown.
He: Oh really? I’m going shopping later in Chinatown.
Me: Oh. What do you need to buy?
He: Uh, pirated DVDs, VCDs.
Me: Huh.
Clearly, I do not have high hopes. I meet him in the lobby of my building. He is tallish, slender with dark plastic glasses. He has a large, oval face, with unnaturally smooth skin.
We go to lunch at a nearby Japanese restaurant. He wears a black v neck sweater. Each of his shoulders has a cloth loop on it. He looks like a communist soldier. He tells me that he moved to Amsterdam because he liked it when he was backpacking. I ask him what his dream job is, and he tells me, “Toy designer. You know, like that figurine in the 7Up commercials."
I ask him about London, which he says he visits a lot. He says he likes it: “Actually, there are a lot of Indians and Pakistanis there. I like doing that accent, actually. I get a kick out of it.”
I have nothing to say.
He tells me that when he lived in Texas, someone called him a Chinaman. It does not even occur to me to joke about this, the way I would have with Clerk. With Clerk, I would have made some edgy, inappropriate comment, something that would made us both laugh.
He: Actually, someone told me a redneck joke.
Me: Okaaaaaaaaaay.
He: You know those talking bass?
I nod.
He: If you have them on the wall in more than three rooms, you’re a redneck.
I force a smile. When the waitress drops off the check, he reaches, but I lunge and grab it first. I calculate the total, and announce what we each owe.
On the way back, he says, “So, we should keep in touch, so my brothers can meet you, too.”
Great.
In the last few months, I finally relented and allowed my parents to set me up on blind dates. The most recent one, Dutchie, wasn’t even someone they know, but a family friend of my aunt. Or, it could just be someone that shops at her hardware store.
Anyway, I arranged for the lunch date to be today, after my tests. Why not just get it all over with?
I return to the office from the radiologists’ suite. The skin under my eyes is tender and red, from crying instead of sleeping. What little remains of my eyeliner is uneven and faded. Whatever.
We have had one previous conversation, when Dutchie called me on New Year’s Day:
He: Hi, is this ___________?
Me: Yeah, hi, this is she. (Pause) So…you got my number from my aunt?
He: Yeah.
(Pause)
Me: Happy New Year, by the way.
He: Oh. Yeah. Happy New Year. (Pause) Are you packing?
Me: Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m putting things in my purse. I’m going to meet some friends for lunch in Chinatown.
He: Oh really? I’m going shopping later in Chinatown.
Me: Oh. What do you need to buy?
He: Uh, pirated DVDs, VCDs.
Me: Huh.
Clearly, I do not have high hopes. I meet him in the lobby of my building. He is tallish, slender with dark plastic glasses. He has a large, oval face, with unnaturally smooth skin.
We go to lunch at a nearby Japanese restaurant. He wears a black v neck sweater. Each of his shoulders has a cloth loop on it. He looks like a communist soldier. He tells me that he moved to Amsterdam because he liked it when he was backpacking. I ask him what his dream job is, and he tells me, “Toy designer. You know, like that figurine in the 7Up commercials."
I ask him about London, which he says he visits a lot. He says he likes it: “Actually, there are a lot of Indians and Pakistanis there. I like doing that accent, actually. I get a kick out of it.”
I have nothing to say.
He tells me that when he lived in Texas, someone called him a Chinaman. It does not even occur to me to joke about this, the way I would have with Clerk. With Clerk, I would have made some edgy, inappropriate comment, something that would made us both laugh.
He: Actually, someone told me a redneck joke.
Me: Okaaaaaaaaaay.
He: You know those talking bass?
I nod.
He: If you have them on the wall in more than three rooms, you’re a redneck.
I force a smile. When the waitress drops off the check, he reaches, but I lunge and grab it first. I calculate the total, and announce what we each owe.
On the way back, he says, “So, we should keep in touch, so my brothers can meet you, too.”
Great.
posted 7:47 PM
1 Comments:
At 8:21 PM,
Anonymous said…
with such stellar material out there, it's a wonder we even make the effort. rock on for the attempt. i'm making up a tshirt and coffee mug that will say: i went out on this god-awful date [insert inappropriate lines of conversation] and all i got was this kickass story of uber-mockage.
Post a Comment
<< Home