Last night, I was about thirty seconds into berating my idiot brother for insisting that the "George Lopez" show is hilarious (he was disturbingly dead serious), when I heard the call waiting beep on my cell phone. I looked at the caller ID and it was a woman I was supposed to go out with tonight on a second date. I told my brother I was embarrassed to share DNA with him and I hit the "send" button to switch over to the other line. After the "Hey, how are you?" pleasantries ended, I heard the words, "Listen, about tomorrow night" uttered. I knew she was calling to cancel by her tone, but her reason for canceling is one of the best I've heard yet - and by "best," I mean most disturbing. Way more disturbing than liking the "George Lopez" show.
Let's start at the beginning.
A group of us were hanging out at some bar/lounge/restaurant downtown when my friend "D" pulled me aside to tell me that one of the chicks in the group "thinks you're cute." He suggested that sharing a ride with her uptown might be a good way to get to know her a bit better. "Thinks you're cute" generally gets translated by the male brain as "she'll probably fuck you by the fourth date," and I jumped at the chance to share a cab with her, even though doing so would take me considerably out of my way. The ride was pleasant. The conversation, though not scintillating, flowed smoothly, and she seemed cool. When we got to her building, she didn't jump out of the cab. She waited for me to ask for her number, which I did. Even after her digits were securely stored in my contacts list, she continued to linger, as if she didn't want our time together to end. It was sweet. We spoke for a few minutes more and I told her I'd call her - which I did.
When a week had gone by and I hadn't heard back from her, I assumed I was being blown off. I wondered for a moment how "she'll probably fuck you by the fourth date," could so quickly turn into "she doesn't even want to go on a first date," but I didn't let it occupy my thoughts for too long. I had almost completely forgotten about her until "D" called me and asked if I'd gone out with her yet. When I explained to him that she never called me back, he assured me he'd look into the matter. I begged him not to, but he needed to get to the bottom of this mystery. He called me the next day to tell me that she said she lost my number. I sighed.
"That's such bullshit," I told "D."
"Yeah, I know," he said. "But she thinks you're cute. Call her again."
And the next thing I knew, I was dialing her number all because my brain told my fingers to look her up in my contacts and hit "send" because doing so might get me laid by the fourth date.
Our first date was perfectly fine, but I couldn't help but feel a bit of resentment towards her during the two hours we spent together. The whole "I lost his number" thing didn't sit well with me, and the fact the she never addressed it or apologized for not calling back seemed a bit uncool to me. Despite her obvious interest on the first night we met, our date almost seemed like we were on it out of obligation to a friend who had a vested interest in hooking us up. I walked her back to her building and gave her the "it was really nice spending time with you" routine with no intention of asking her out on a second date. But again, she lingered. As the doorman held her door open, waiting for her to enter, she kept on talking - mentioning all the different things going on the city that she wanted to see and do. Once again, my male brain started to interpret what she was saying. "I really wanna see the new Russell Crowe movie" meant "I really wanna see the new Russell Crowe movie with YOU and maybe give you a handjob in the theater." And since there's no arguing with that logic, I asked her out again for tonight. Though she seemed genuinely excited when she said yes, I wasn't surprised when she called and said, ""Listen, about tomorrow night..." I just assumed she was another one of those game-playing chicks who doesn't really know what the hell she wants, and I listened quietly as she continued, "I'm gonna have to cancel."
Had she left it at that, I wouldn't have said a word other than "No problem. Take Care." But she kept talking.
"Do you know Isaac *****'s brother?" she asked.
"The one who passed away?" I asked.
"I didn't know his brother, but Isaac and I have some mutual friends."
"Anyway, " she continued, "Him passing away at such a young age...it's made me think."
"About what?" I inquired, not believing she was going where I knew she was.
"About stuff. And I kinda don't wanna waste time."
I put her on fake hold - not because I couldn't think of anything to say, but because I had way too much to say and I didn't want her to call the cops on me after I was done saying it. I regained my composure and got back on the phone.
"You're not seriously using the death of a twenty-five year old kid as an excuse to cancel a date?" I asked. "You don't wanna go out with me again - fine. But I mean..."
"I don't wanna waste your time either," she said in her defense.
"Thanks. I appreciate that, but you coulda said, 'I don't think we're a match' and that would have been that."
All she could do was stammer and babble incoherently about how the death of someone she knew as well as I did (which is not at all) made her "think." I wanted to go into a tirade about how I wasn't interested in her anyway and that I only asked her out again because she lingered, and my penis controlled brain told me to. Instead I let her off the hook by wishing her good luck and a good night.
When I recounted the story to "D" all he could say was, "That's fuckin' classless. Too bad. You probably could've nailed her on the third date." "D"'s penis controlled brain is obviously more optimistic than mine, but clearly neither one has a clue.