Dating Mishap #2: Can We Use Your Car?

Omaha, Nebraska

199something.

Everyone has had a real bad date right?

Well welcome to the real bad “undate”. (kinda like the “unbirthday” from Alice in Wonderland)

Waits for my literature buffs to stop singing the “unbirthday” song.

As my dear friend and former roommate will attest to, sometimes laughing WAY too hard about it, I have had some “odd suitors” to say the least.

Some of you are already familiar with the “Mayonnaise Guy from Alabama”, that was on another blog page that I lost.

Too Bad.

It was hilarious.

With the “Mayonnaise Guy from Alabama” topping the list of the best/worst dating story ever…

Well wait, I am being unfair. He was a real NICE guy, but the language barrier was just too much for us to handle.

I have to say this next story ranks number two.

I went to a poetry venue at a bar/club/ can’t remember.

Apparently, I didn’t get the memo that the “poetry” wasn’t happening that evening, but I had already paid my money to get in and was “frisked”, so I thought hell, I may as well have a drink before I head home.

The security dude who “frisked” me bought my drink.

I thanked him, but continued to write.

He then called me by my name.

Shocked the sh*t out of me!!!

I turned around confused and of course asked the obvious “how you know who I am question”, and again a shocking answer of “I have seen you here before; I like poetry, and I like your work.”

He was a big dude. But I am only five foot so that’s not saying much. But he had to be six eight easy and was built like a linebacker.

A solid linebacker.

In other words, he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him.

He had the complexion of a midnight sky and a smile that was amazing.

And bald with a meticulously trimmed goat-tee.

I like to say I don’t “have a type” but apparently I do, and he was it.

As I mentioned the club/bar/whatever was dead, so he sat down on the stool next to mine, and when I say we talked about everything, I mean everything.

Or so I thought.

He bought me a couple of more drinks.  Back then I was a “brown liquor girl”, so the drinks were double shots of Henny with lime twists, no ice.

I was okay, my drive home wasn’t far.

Because I am who I am, I pulled out a twenty (drinks in Omaha in the 90’s were cheap) and attempted to hand it to….

Damn, what was his name?

That’s jacked up.

But I don’t remember, so I will just call him Security.

LOL.

He would not take my money.

That was fine by me, but then he said, “Okay since you are so adamant, I’ll take the money if you put your phone number on it.”

Ha!

Nicely played, Security.

Nicely played.

I scribbled my phone number on the back of the bill and handed it to him.

He reached into his wallet, pulled out a hundred, ripped it in half, wrote his number on one half, and handed it to me.

I am still, to this day, unsure if I should have been impressed by that.

It was still early, so I thanked him again and went home.

About an hour later my phone rang.

Yup, it was Security.

“Okay, I know this may be a little aggressive for you, but I would like to take you out. Do you like pancakes?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, how bout I pick you up around nine thirty, we will have breakfast and hang out for the day?”

Score!!!

Mainly because breakfast is my favorite meal of the day because it is so intimate. You are casual, still slightly sleepy, and I don’t know something about coffee and conversation makes me smile.

I liked him already and went to sleep really excited about pancakes.

Until my phone rang at eight-thirty that morning.

It was Security.

“Listen love, I hate to ask you this, but would you mind picking me up for breakfast. I mean I’ll drive, but I had to put my car in the shop early this morning.”

Anyone who knows me, knows I hate to drive and I hate driving to unfamiliar places. But he didn’t know so my response was…

“You’re paying for breakfast.”

“Of course,” was his reply, “And for the favor, I’ll give you the second half of that bill for gas money.”

I was just about to say yes, but I don’t know if it was God or my intuition, or both; but something told me to ask,

“What happened to your car?”

“I blew the engine out.”

“Jeez, how does that happen?”

Running from the police.

I banged on him, and blocked the number.

Only to me.

Only in Omaha.

#Peace and #ShineOn

“Star”

 

 

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7 comments on “Dating Mishap #2: Can We Use Your Car?

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