A friend recently emailed one of those mass email stories of someone’s worst date (this was apparently featured on The Tonight Show) and that got me to reminiscing. Ah, the sweet, sweet memories. George and I still laugh about my most awful date… incidentally this was one of the last guys I dated right before George. Coincidence?
Tommy was the son of an acquaintance of my parents (can you see where this is going?), and was new in town. The acquaintance of my parents knew that I was single and not horribly unattractive, so he suggested to my parents that, perhaps, I could help show Tommy around town.
I was 19; Tommy was 22. I was a college student; Tommy was working at (and living in, yes, LIVING IN) a used car lot. For whatever reason, he did not live as most people—in a house or apartment, but he lived in a room at the back of the used, "Buy Here, Pay Here" car lot where he worked.
The night of the big date, Tommy picked me up in one of the used cars from his lot and had no plans for us whatsoever. His idea was to let me plan the night, "babe." Hell, I didn’t know what this greasy-haired kid from New Jersey wanted to do. I was a music and philosophy student. All of my friends were music or philosophy students—I didn’t know what to do to entertain a used car salesman who lived in the back of his used car lot. So we drove around. And talked.
Dear god. I could have wished myself to die in that car and it would have been a blessing. If you can believe it, Tommy was not a real bright guy. His conversation consisted mostly of (wait for it)… cars. He told me all about every fucking car on the lot. Then he asked me what I did to "spend my days." Nice. Very smooth. And immediately interrupted to tell me that we were almost out of gas, did I have any money?
After I helped him gas up the car we drove around some more and I bored him to tears with the details of my life. Incompatible. (Or so I thought.) He found out that I studied music: "Heh, I love music." (Original.)
Well, two-and-a-half mind-numbing hours after he picked me up, Tommy finally dropped me off back home along with the usual, "This was great, let’s do it again," bullshit that you have to say when your parents know each other.
A week went by and I thought I was out of danger of a call from Tommy. I joked about the date with my snobbish friends from school and turned him into great fodder. And thought I’d never, ever have to tell my parents what a smarmy weasel he seemed to be.
Then he called.
"Hey, yo, it’s Tommy." (I swear it’s still ringing in my ears.) He wanted to go out on a Saturday night. Blech. No way. But this was awkward. I mean, I didn’t want to just blow him off and tell him what a boring, slimy, stupid creep he was, so I told him that I had plans in the works but that I’d have to get back to him. (Such a big lie.)
I don’t know if he thought he was upping the antee or what, but right before he let me off the phone he made the queen mother of all proposals: "Yo, you know I could come over and, uh, we could take a shower."
Needless to say I was certain to have other plans that night. I called a friend, told him of my other invitation, and he and I got me out of the house so that I wouldn’t have any awkward moments if Tommy decided that he needed a little help scrubbing behind his ears.
Every once in a while George will remember that story and invite me to take a shower in his best New Jersey accent (which isn't all that bad considering he's never even been close to New Jersey).