Okay team, so it’s been quite a while since I’ve shared any
stories with you all. And boy has there been stories! Let’s throw it way back
to mid-winter...
A few co-workers of mine and I were discussing the problems of
dating in a small town- either we know all the single guys and aren’t dating
them for a reason, or we don’t know them and want to keep it that way. Or, and
maybe most importantly, our fathers know them. Chances are, our dads beat up
their dads 30 years ago. Then there’s all the guy friends that make unwanted
advances and things get ten different levels of awkward (oh you mean I was
supposed to hold your hand in mutual
crushness and not shake it like a colleague?... oops) or the guy ‘friend’ who
take you on the awkward date-not-date. You know what I mean- the ‘outing’
between guy and girl where it’s obviously a date but the dude won’t admit it
and tries to play it casual. Seriously, are we in high school again? Let’s
pause to give any fellas a word of advice on allegedly playing it cool: stop being a
little bitch and ask her out. Unpause. Not to mention the guys that like to hook
you but never reel you in (cue Sweet Brown). The only exception is if you’re willing
to be my wildly successful and charming date at family holidays and reunions,
then I may have a little time. All this to say, we decided we wanted a man to
step up and pull a John Hamm (there’s a meme, look it up).
So, a coworker decided to set my coworker and I up on a double date. Being the stubborn, prideful person I am, I defiantly declared that I
could find my own dates. Long story short, I hooked me a fish. I meet this guy and
by all accounts, he seems great; successful professionally, commissioned in the
military and had recently served overseas. He's active, witty, creative, honest,
and cute. Oh, and perhaps most importantly, he came from a stupidly-wealthy
family. Like use the salad fork and get a prenup rich. He even used the word “affluent”
to describe his upbringing- only rich people use that word seriously. Scoreboard!
For our first date, I
talked him into going to my favorite Mexican restaurant. It’s by no means
fancy, formal, or compliant with any health code, but man is it good! We had a
great time talking, laughing, and catching each other’s gaze. He got to hear
the award-winning version of happy birthday from the waitresses that makes mating cats sound like rain on a tin roof and I got to hear how pleased he was that such a pretty girl could be so witty and candid. It was a win-win all night long! We became so lost in
conversation, that we didn’t noticed we were the last ones there until a
waitress very obviously threw some dirty dishes onto a cart. Oops.
After paying, my date
walked me to my car, suavely putting the moves on me- offering me gum and asking if
there was anywhere we could go for a walk. Okay, maybe not that suave. I laughed, telling him how we were
on a sketchier side of town while pointing out the barbed wire on an auto shop
across the street. We settled for standing behind my car, making small talk. As
conversation lingered on, we found ourselves standing closer and closer to one
another. Cue violins. Just when I was deciding whether or not to let this guy kiss me- a
perfect lady- on a first date, he kind of reached at me and then dove to the
ground. Cue violins screeching to a stop. I looked up to see the fireworks while thinking, “Oh boy, all aboard the PTSD train- how embarrassing.” I didn’t see
any flashes of color in the sky, but that noise was still going on and starting
to sound more distinct. My gaze wandered back down and 10 yards to my left I
noticed a car was driving by rather slowly. The windows were down and there was
an arm sticking out, gun in hand, firing shots right at me, or so it seemed. Then,
realizing my poor reaction time compared to my dates, decided maybe diving to
the ground wasn’t so crazy after all. So I took my dates lead, ducked, and ran
for cover behind my car. As if I expected to be shot, I felt this painless
tension in the back of my head and funnily enough, my first thought was, “oh hell no, they did not just shoot off my
ponytail.” Totally normal right? The car sped off down the street and peeled out around a corner. My date, now in the middle of a legitimate PTSD
flashback, pops up and runs to check on me before starting to pace around
trying to figure out what just happened. A lady came out of nowhere screaming
and thinking my date had been on the ground because he had been shot. A chef ran
out to make sure we were okay and to see if we saw anything specific. A lady in
a second-story apartment next door was wailing because the gun shots had flown
over our heads and into their wall. Even though I’m still wondering if my
ponytail is attached to my head, I’m smart enough to realize the drive-by was probably
gang-related and a retaliation shooting could very well happen in the near future, so I
suggested maybe not standing out in the open waiting to be turned into Swiss
cheese.
As we began to head inside, cops came from every
direction. It only took them, maybe,
two minutes because they were under the impression my date had been shot. By the time they realized we were all alive
and well, my date quickly snapped into military-mode, introduced himself (military rank and all) and began pointing out exactly where
the shells had landed, the trajectory of the shots, descriptions of the car, and descriptions of the people inside it. Excuse me while I fan myself...What can I say?
Once the cops got the
initial information, they split us up for statements. My date, talking loudly,
mentioned having a great time on a date before walking some ‘pretty lady’ to
her car and trying his best to earn a goodnight kiss before the shooting began.
Thanks a lot gang bangers who can't even shoot right! Then I gave my statement being sure to throw some compliments
back my date’s way- who says you can’t flirt while giving a police statement?
Apparently cops are trained not to joke but we sure tried. The
best I got was a brief smile from a younger woman officer. Lady-to-lady, she
knew this was a ridiculous ending to a date. I like to think we shared a moment…
and then that moment was gone. Oh well, I guess cops are only funny on TV. At
this point, the initial adrenaline was wearing off but not the
hypersensitivity: my gum was so sweet it made me nauseous, I was all
shifty-eyed trying to watch everything that was going on, the cop car lights
were too bright, and I noticed every sound. That part is no joke. It feels like
your brain is trying to take in every little thing but you can barely process it all. Physiologically, that’s exactly what happens- stimulus overload! That
part of school makes sense now.
After the statements,
the police had us hang out for a bit in case they had any more questions. My
date stepped away to call his dad to calm down a bit, so I felt like I needed
to call someone too. My parents would have mowed down old ladies and children
to get to me so I decided they could wait to find out. I opted to call one of my
best friends. When she answered excitedly with a “how’d the date go” I spat out
a string of sentence enhancers with the words “I got shot at”, “no one was
hit”, and “they actually shoot sideways”! I believe I also mentioned throwing a
heel had they hit my car. It’s bad enough they glock-blocked me but if they had
hit my sweet Barbara, I would have ended them. After we finished up our phone
calls, my date walked over saying,
“Well, I have to say this has probably been
the most interesting and definitely the most
memorable date I’ve ever been on.
And no offense, but next time you’re coming to my town!”
“I told you dating me
was dangerous,” I laughed apologetically.
As we hugged goodbye (slash
celebrated still being alive), he mentioned loudly to a few passing cops that we were on
a first date and he had never been to town before. As a cop walked by with an
evidence bag full of casings, he grunted,
“Welcome
to Porterville.”
And that’s how my first online date went.
