Truth in advertising

“Oh, I just know you two will hit it off!” Isn’t that what every person who sets someone up on a blind date says? It’s insulting sometimes to be set up with someone by a friend and mid-way through the date, you think to yourself, “Does (fill in the blank with friend’s name) even know me? What in the world do they think about me if they set me up with this person?!” I didn’t even make it mid-way through the first date before I knew it was over.

Carol, my co-worker at the high school where I taught, just couldn’t wait for me to meet her brother. It’s all she talked about. Again, I thought, since I was new to Roanoke Rapids, why not go out with someone? What could it hurt? So I agreed to go out with him. I mean, she was smart, educated, attractive, and well put-together, so her brother probably wouldn’t be much different. In my head I had images of a tall, blonde, hulking beefcake of a man ready to sweep me into his arms and discuss Faulkner. So it was no wonder that I raced to the door when he came to pick me up and threw it open without a moment’s hesitation (and I didn’t have a peephole).

What stood before me was a 30-something man, prematurely gray, maybe 5′5, and weighing in probably close to 250 lbs. I was stuck. I crawled up into his truck and we went to dinner. I don’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it was a steakhouse and I was a vegetarian at the time. Actually it was no big deal, I just ordered a salad. While we were nestled together in a corner table, I discovered that Steve was a turkey farmer. Again, okay. He’s making an honest living and supporting himself, so good for him. Maybe it was the lull in the conversation. Maybe he just wanted to see what I was made of. But these were the words that he said to me as I was eating (they have stayed with me for years):

“Do you poot?”(strike one)

“Excuse me?” Knowing that I misunderstood what he was asking.

“Poot. You know, fart. Break wind. Do you do that?”

Normally I wouldn’t have answered as I did, but I knew there would be no second date. So I said,  “My nickname was Stinky in college, if that answers your question.”  That just endeared me to him more. Then asked me to pull his finger and he wouldn’t relent. I did it. He gauffawed. Emily Post would have been mortified. Check please.

How do you top that?! Well, by golly, you take your date down to the raiload graveyard! You know, the place where railroad cars go to die (strike two). It was night and we couldn’t see anything and then the rain came. Steve wanted to stay on the bridge and talk longer, but I insisted that I head home. Here’s where it gets really good.

“If I’d ‘ve known it was gonna rain, I’d ‘ve brought the old truck and not the good one!” I asked where the old one was and it was parked in his front yard (of course). I was drenched and was waiting for him to open my door, but he just stood at the back of the truck. “Can you unlock my door please?” I asked. “Honey, I can’t let you get the inside of my truck all messed up with water, so you’ve gotta ride in the back here.” I laughed because, of course, I thought he was kidding. He wasn’t. He helped me into the truck bed (no cover on it, just the way God intended) and I rode 30 minutes back to my apartment while being pelted with rain. When we got into the lot, I don’t think I even let him come to a complete stop before I jumped out and ran to my door.

“Don’t I even get a kiss?” he asked.

“Um, no. I think I’m catching a cold. <cough cough>”

“Well, can I see you again?”

“Um, maybe?” Why I said that, I’ll never know.

On Monday I went back to work and his sister asked all about it. I should’ve told her the truth. I should’ve laid it all out there for her, but I didn’t. I avoided her for the rest of the time that I worked there (about six months). I hope that Steve has found someone to share his truck, and trains, and poots with forever. I was only one prison, drinking, and mama away from a David Allan Coe song. Come to think about it, he never even called me by my name!