When the mean man that I work for isn’t making me work, I absolutely love to people watch; I believe that there’s an art form to it.
One doesn't want to appear as the weird guy who might follow you to the car; sneaking from behind with a chloroform rag, rendering you unconscious and then tossing you in the trunk, transporting you to the middle of nowhere (middle of Montana), leaving you for dead.
On that note, have you ever notice someone staring from across the room and then, when you go to the bathroom, they come in behind you a minute later? Or they're waiting outside the door...like in one of those creepy teen slasher movies?
I feel strongly that establishments be required to install Tasers. So what if a harmless guy, who simply looks creepy, gets tased? It’ll teach him not to stare and, perhaps, to update the wardrobe which includes something other than sweatpants and gold chains.
I only glance- usually peripherally. The same method which I employ when trying to hide the fact that I’m looking at someone’s boobs.
Recently I saw a couple who were, clearly, on a first date. I HATE first dates, I always have. This is why I encourage people to have sex within the first five minutes after meeting…to loosen the tension.
I’m kidding!!! You should at least know someone for an hour or two, depending on your schedule...and how many tequila shots you've consumed.
The guy seemed to be having a decent time, but the young woman looked as though she would rather be sitting in stirrups at her gynecologist’s office.
Let's pause for a visual. Who else needs a cigarette??
Some time ago I was out with a large group and, after one of the ladies went to the restroom, a female friend smacked me in the arm.
She helpfully informed me that I must be the stupidest person on the planet if I didn’t realize that her friend was “into me.” I informed her that she must be stupid if she didn’t catch me looking at every single woman's boobs at the table all evening.
Nonetheless, I demanded that my friend provide proof-- to which she replied--
“because every time she mentioned a guy in one of her stories, she immediately looked at you to clarify that he was ONLY a friend.”
WHAT?? This twisted logic, only employed by women, is singularly why I lose all arguments with women.
Women not only read the lines, they look through the lines, read between them, read them backwards, sideways, upside down, imagine them in screenplay format, mathematical theorem and Mandarin Chinese…all in a matter of 4 seconds.
I insisted that she was wrong and demanded hard, substantial proof. I also insisted that she buy me another drink.
She informed me that the girl told most of the others at the table that she liked me when I went to the bathroom 45 minutes ago. And so, my losing streak with debating a woman remains soundly in tact.
An even freakier debacle is the double secret crush within a group. Example:
Jonathan goes to the bar for a beer and Lisa goes to the bathroom. Marcie nudges me and informs:
“You know Jim, Lisa has a crush on you.”
Jen then loudly screeches:
“Oh my God?? Jonathan has a crush on you too Jim!!! That’s too funny!!”
The table bursts into wild laughter as I do a shot and pay my tab; praying that the taxi cab will actually crash through the building and pick me up.
First dates are soooo awkward...and sometimes stressful. In New Orleans, for instance, getting ready for a night out presents unique challenges.
Upon showering and getting dressed, you will look and feel fresh and appealing for about 90-seconds upon exiting your house.
If the torrential downpour, which magically appears from nowhere, doesn’t drench you, the 9-thousand degree heat and humidity will.
An umbrella is no match for Louisiana rain. It’s special rain which literally misses the umbrella and then, making a 360-degree turn, it sprays upward-- UNDER the umbrella-- as though it’s raining from the ground.
I once dated a girl who enjoyed partaking in a little “smoke”, which is fine with me until denial comes into play.
She constantly assured that pot had no affect whatsoever on her memory or track of time. I, on the other hand, constantly assisted in finding her sunglasses-- which were almost always on top of her head.
Her: Sorry I’m a little late
Me: That’s okay, I was late also
Her: Whew! (giggling, with glassy eyes) How long you been waiting?
Me: Only 45 minutes or so
Her: (Giggling) Let’s go eat…I’m hungry!! Where are my glasses??
I dated a co-worker once. The operative word being…ONCE.
I fully understand and appreciate that these situations work out quite nicely and result in long and happy relationships for many- with the exception of my old boss, Thomas.
He got caught by his wife while he was “dating” another girl in the office…the date was taking place on top of his desk.
What a visual- they were totally naked…with the exception of him wearing his dark socks and starched white shirt with no pants- a visual which still makes me laugh until I fart.
Typically, the adage “What goes up, must come down” applies to office flings. It most likely held an anatomical meaning for Thomas when his wife entered his office that day.
Office breakups have the potential to be hell on earth for both parties...as well as the rest of the staff, future employees, employees who have yet to be born and, quite possibly, people in the offices next door, across the street, five blocks away and in other countries.
In the syrupy bliss of an office relationship in full bloom, the typical workplace interaction between lovebirds might sound like this:Girl: Can you print out the files for the Peterson project for me?
Guy: I sure can sweetie…what’s in it for me?
Girl: Well, I think you’ll find it well worth your while…don’t plan on getting much sleep tonight (girl gazes seductively while discreetly running her fingernails along her guy’s lower back)After the breakup the conversation devolves into this:
Girl: (standing over the desk, never making eye contact) I needed the Peterson report like an hour ago; if you’re in over your head just say so.
Guy: Yeah, well I’ve been busy!!! The earth doesn’t revolve around you...even though, if you keep eating the way you do, you’ll be as big as a planet soon enough.
Girl: Yeah?? Well at least I’m not latently homosexual.
Guy: You said you adored the fact that I was sensitive and wrote poems for you!
Girl: Yeah? I lied!
Guy: (Wanting to kill his friend who convinced him that leaving love notes and preparing French pastries was a nice touch) Oh yeah? Well you’re LOUSY in bed!!!
Girl: No I’m not…and Carlos, in accounting on the third floor, will tell you otherwise. (girl smugly strolls away as though she's just successfully made her case on the Springer Show)
Guy: (now yelling across the office) Oh YEAH???? At least I’m not a little BITCH!!
Girl: Yes you are.
I’m reasonably certain that office breakups surely violates some sort of OSHA safety guideline.
Why must someone in the breakup turn into a psycho? Men and women are equally guilty of this.
I knew a guy who had his hands full with a recent breakup. He broke up with his lady who had a different take on the situation. Denial breeds uncomfortable actions in the breakup department.
One night she showed up at his house, making her case that they should give it a second chance; Nothing far from the ordinary.
It’s perfectly normal for one, or sometimes both, to recognize the err of their ways and give a relationship another whirl.
And so, she paid my buddy a visit to work on things- at the grocery store, his prayer service (even though she wasn’t Jewish), from the seat behind him at the movie theater (while he was on a date with someone else) and in the parking lot at work.
His house was the final straw.
He informed her that she was acting psychotic. She received this news with absolute astonishment- insisting that she was not psychotic and that she felt bruised by the implication- wondering how he could say such a thing.
It’s important to note that this conversation took place as she peered from the outside of his bathroom window.
My friend is not a psychologist, but I believe the fact that his bathroom is located on the second story of the house validates his assertion. Coupled with the fact that, at this point after the breakup, she now lived 495 miles away.
You've never heard Sinatra turning that love story into a fairy tale super hip romantic little ballroom number.
Love, Oooooh, love is craaaaaaazy, shoobie doobie, doo, da dee da!
Text message protocol can present challenges after the first date.
a) When or if to send a post date text
b) When and how to respond to the text if YOU’RE the recipient.
I remember one time when I crafted a short little text to save in my draft folder to send after a comfortable amount of time had passed after the date. But, I accidentally hit “send”…about 1 minute after I dropped her off.
Making matters worse…I have the “predictive text” function and didn’t catch the typo:
“I had fun with you”
Turned into:
“I hate fun with you."
If an evening with me hadn’t stirred uneasy feelings, I’m pretty sure that the timing and content of that text screamed volumes as to why she made a colossal mistake in going out with me.
If ever there were a perfect time for me and my phone to have been trampled by a rampaging moose, that was the precise moment.
From stories which people have shared, and from what I’ve witnessed, it occurs to me that the dating scene can be a weird little stage...but it makes for lots of fun.
Er, that is, if you’re in the audience.
Just try not to stare.
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010
