Once upon a time (all great stories start this way, right?), I had a date with who I thought was a nerdy computer guy. Not my usual “jock” type, but I said “what the hell” and agreed to meet him for dinner and drinks.
We met awkwardly in the lobby of the restaurant or what he referred to as the “vestibule” with a huge emphasis on “bule.” He might as well have said, “Hey, let’s meet in the restaurant antechamber.” The guy was born and raised in Texas and tried to put on a front like he just stepped off of his shift with the Queen’s Guard.
The hostess seats us at a table all the while giving me the side glance because she overheard the “vestibule” statement and as a college student she probably was thinking, “What?” We order drinks. Me, my usual fruity martini and he, the first of many Grey Goose and tonics.
He was very nervous. I could tell, plus he told me probably 10 times before our drinks arrived. He literally downed his first drink and before the waitress could retreat, he ordered another one. My immediate thought was, “This is going to be entertaining.” It’s too bad I couldn’t order a bowl of popcorn at this restaurant because this was going to be a show.
He launches into storytelling mode and tells me (with absolutely no context) that when he was in Hawaii on vacation, Heather Locklear walked up to him at the beach and asked him to help her put the top on her Jeep. “It was so windy, she really needed help putting it on. You DO know who she is, don’t you?”
Ok, one, I don’t live under a rock and two, I may have seen a couple of episodes of TJ Hooker and might also have been a Melrose Place junkie. Oh, the 90’s. Anyways, I say, “Of course I know who she is.” He proceeds to tell me all about how tough it was to put the top on with the wind blowing and how Heather laughed at his jokes, blah blah. Really? Was there no other man on the beach to ask to help with her Jeep? Or maybe he was playing with his daughter’s Barbie Jeep and thought, “This would be one hell of a story!”
He orders GG and tonic number three and tells me how he spent a few months in Russia traveling with gypsies and drinking vodka in an attempt to “find himself.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t know much about gypsies. All I know from the TLC show is that they have big ass weddings. So as I am sipping on my (still) first martini, I envision him traveling by horse through the frozen tundra of Russia with gypsies wearing Boho dresses and sleeping at night in a Gypsy Vardo Camper. I’m also thinking that there must be gypsy belly dancing with handbells somewhere in the mix of all of this.
Am I being punked? Where is Ashton Kutcher? He orders a fourth GG and tonic, throws it back and is pretty much hammered. He asks, “How am I doing?” And I really can’t contain myself, “Greeeaaat,”I say.
I have to wrap this up. Who knows, his next story may be that while he was there, he dined with Putin and gave him advice on how to better run the Russian Federation. The waitress brings the check and he fumbles and I mean FUMBLES with his wallet to take out his credit card. The waitress was probably thinking she was being punked as well. She gave me a look, and I just shrugged my shoulders.
He asked again how he did and wanted me to go to the movies with him. Dear Lord, how do I find myself in these situations?
This was pre-Uber so I called him a cab and the waitress helped me walk him to the restaurant’s “vestibule” which I could not help myself in saying out loud, lol. As I walked him to his cab, he asked once again, “How did I do?” I said, “You probably won’t remember this tomorrow, but we are never going to see each other again, ever. Thank you.” He nodded, shut his eyes, and when I saw the taxi’s tail lights, I breathed a sigh of relief. NEXT!