My Only Blind Date

My boss pulled me aside and said, “I need you to go to the prom with my boyfriend’s little brother.”

I blinked.  I blinked again.  I had two dirty plates in one hand and a half-filled margarita glass in the other.  It was my freshman year of college; I was working as a server.  Stacey was my manager, and we were standing in the middle of a TGI Friday’s.

“Evan’s little brother needs a date to the prom next week.  Every time he comes in, he tells Evan that he thinks you’re cute, so…” her voice trailed off.  ”Anyway, I need you to do this.  Will you go with him?  I’ll make sure someone covers your shift.”

Stacey was one of those super-confrontational-I-will-stare-through-your-soul types.

“Who cares?  Just say yes.  It’s just one night.”

She was staring at me with beady little eyes.  My face got hot.  I stammered.

“Sure.  I mean, fine.”

“Great.”  She walked away, and I stood there, silently swearing at myself.  I called Lauren on my way home and told her the story.

“Well, is he cute?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t remember.  Maybe?  His brother’s cute.”

“Then he’s cute.”

Prom was on a Saturday, so Evan’s brother (You guys, I don’t even remember his name.  I remember Stacey and even Stacey’s stupid boyfriend’s name, but not this kid’s name.  I’ll just call him Tom.) came to the restaurant on Friday to “meet” me and discuss a gameplan.  The entire week leading up to this meeting, I had psyched myself for this little blind date.  Tom’s probably cute and fun and we’d have a good time.

Except there’s a reason why he had to have his brother ask his girlfriend to strong-arm her employee to go to the prom with him.

Tom’s creepy.  And he’s a close talker/mouth breather.  And I wanted to rewind time and punch Stacey repeatedly for even asking me to do this.  And lest ye be so stupid, I’ll tell you this.  Just because someone’s cute, doesn’t mean his brother’s going to be cute.  I know you probably think I’m being vain and that I’m a total jerk, but you’ll be on my side by the end of the story.  I think.  Maybe.

The only way Tom could be more creepy is if he had a mustache.  He didn’t, but he probably does now.  Conversation was slow and painful.  Stacey comes over to our booth to check on our little meeting, and Tom reaches out and puts his hand on my hand.  I jerk it away, under the pretense of really needing to gulp down my Diet Coke and suppress the urge to smack both of them.

“So, I’ll write my address down for you.”  Tom reaches for a pen and starts scrawling on a piece of paper.

“I beg your pardon?”

Stacey interjects, “Roo, you’ll have to pick Tom up at his house.”

“Yeah, I don’t have my license.  And my mom’s going to want to take pictures of us.”

Killmenowkillmenowkillmenow. “Okay.”

The next day, I did what any rational human would do.  I cried.  And then I tried to think of ways to get out of it.  I can’t go. I’m sick.  But I’m not sick, and Stacey will know it.  Maybe I can make myself sick.  How does one get food poisoning?? I contemplated licking raw chicken.  When I realized that there was no way I could get out of it, I begged my friend Aubrey to come with me to pick Tom up.

I had to drive 45 minutes to Tom’s house, then 45 minutes back because the prom venue was 20 minutes in the OTHER direction.

Tom’s mom was just as strange as her son, and I had to spend a painful 20 minutes taking pictures with him.  There were a lot of weird-embracing prom poses.  I can’t even get into detail about this without talking to a therapist, so just use your imagination.  Aubrey kept giving me these crazy eye looks and we were communicating via telepathy.

“#$% $@#@%!”

“I.  Told.  You.  So.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Save me.”

“Can’t.”

Even with Aubrey there as a buffer, the 45 minute drive was unbearable.  Tom made a comment about how much fun we were going to have tonight and winked.  I bit my tongue.

And to Aubrey, he asked,  “Got any more cute friends that want to hang with Tom tonight?”

Aubrey shot him a dirty look.  We dropped Aubrey off back at her car, and there had not been a sadder goodbye since Rose and Jack in that movie about that boat.

“Don’t… leave me.”  I pleaded.  Aubrey gave me a sympathetic hug, then sped away in her car and didn’t look back.

And I was alone with the mouth breather.

(to be continued)

Read Part 2 Here.