“You do realize that that’s how people end up hanging out
right?” my sister asked as we sat together during brunch. She was attempting to dispel my
concrete beliefs that when someone, say a long lost classmate over Facebook,
messages you and says quite casually, “hey we should hang out sometime,” that
he genuinely expects it.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Because I think it’s just something you say. No one really means it.”
Sam’s eyes bulged in that way that showed her exasperation,
a feeling that’s usually directed towards me. “No, that’s how normal people do it,” she explained.
“Oh.” Along
with this realization that I most likely have flakey friends was this
realization that an old classmate reached out to me to actually “hang-out,” a term
that I hate for its ephemeral meaning.
It should be innocent enough.
I hang out with my sisters, I hang out with Judy and Hazel, and I hang
out with my dog, Evee. There’s no
mistaking that it should be innocent.
Only Judy had to make me wonder when I told her about it two
days before. “Oh him?” she
asked. “He always made me
nervous. He’s very—” her hands
waved in an unbalanced, rickety sort of gesture over the table.
“He just wanted to hang out,” I explained. “So I set a date.”
Judy’s eyes looked surprised and knowing.
“No!” Then I figured that I doth-ed too much and naturally
played it off with the ultimate careless finger quotes and deepening of
voice. “Date?” I repeated. “Right. No.
Whatever. What? It’s not a date. Bleh.”
Slick.
So I guess with Judy in my head, I began to overthink the
entire rendezvous.
1. This is not a date because I don’t care what I wear.
I tend to dress for the occasion or adopt a persona,
examples include wearing my overalls when Pam drags me to Home Depot. So even if I was going to meet someone
I hadn’t seen since high school, my natural urge was to dress up or to try to look
more responsible, more put together, and a better version of my high school
self. That would’ve been easy.
To dress against my better judgment resulted in me taking
thrice as long before I left for work.
My usually go-to’s weren’t going to work—I think I secretly
always try to dress like I am more responsible, more put together, and a better
version of my high school self, or maybe—gasps!—I am?
Oh, who am I kidding? One of my dreams is a trip to the American Girl store.
Instead, sweatshirt, jeans, canvas boots, and the coat I wear when I pretend I’m a mountain woman. No make-up. No foundation, despite the pimple on my chin and forehead. Hair up, because by that point, I already took too long to even mess up my hair into something frizzy and effortless.
Oh, who am I kidding? One of my dreams is a trip to the American Girl store.
Instead, sweatshirt, jeans, canvas boots, and the coat I wear when I pretend I’m a mountain woman. No make-up. No foundation, despite the pimple on my chin and forehead. Hair up, because by that point, I already took too long to even mess up my hair into something frizzy and effortless.
Of course, I only realized later on that I spent more time
getting ready to not look ready.
2. This is not a date because I am angry.
It has to be a sign that I didn’t want to go in the first
place. I was already angry because
a woman at work smacked me in the face with a jacket, and not even the idea of
going out after work cheered me up. It
actually made me angrier, because all I wanted to do was curl up at home with
DVR.
Needless to say, I had to stop by the cupcake shop before going to meet up, sort of like a pregame or a shot of courage before going out for the night. Nutella-wella cupcakes can have that cheering affect on a person.
Needless to say, I had to stop by the cupcake shop before going to meet up, sort of like a pregame or a shot of courage before going out for the night. Nutella-wella cupcakes can have that cheering affect on a person.
3. This isn’t a date
because we’re at Panera.
I chose Panera mainly because it’s my Central Perk in the sitcom that is my life. Also because I
have such a strong infatuation with soup, which Panera has in abundance. But Panera isn’t a date place. People take their families there after church, especially since it's Wednesday night—a night I chose because it seemed the most mundane weeknight there is—and it's a church day here in the South.
I usually take people to Panera when they force me to hang out, reasoning that I can at least get my soup on while we play catch up.
I usually take people to Panera when they force me to hang out, reasoning that I can at least get my soup on while we play catch up.
Oh you’re doing well in life? Well, I have broccoli cheddar soup inside a bowl made of bread.
4. This isn’t a date because I want to go home.
I actually have a very limited amount of experience on
dates. Like, I can count the
amount of dates I’ve been on on one hand. Actually, I can probably count the amount of dates I’ve been
on on a pig's hoof.
Get it? Because
I’ve been on like two dates?
That’s only funny if you knew my personal history.
It's pretty pathetic when I read that sentence objectively.
It's pretty pathetic when I read that sentence objectively.
Anyway, the entire meeting, I was already angry at the lady
who hit me in the face with a jacket, disappointed that my beloved Panera got
my order wrong, and disgusted by the looks the lady’s book club sitting nearby
gave us, like they thought we were on a date. I could see it in those sensitive, interested eyes they shot our way when their books were closed and on the table.
I did my best not to let it get to me. I gave myself two hours to be polite. I ate soup and talked and let those
silent awkward moments drag on like they would, just to make sure that this was optimum awkward and nonsensical on our parts. By the time my soup was all eaten
and my sandwich all packed, I started to stretch and check the time and hint at
wanting to watch Jeopardy, normal clues anyone would’ve taken to mean anything
but—
“I want to get ice cream.”
No that wasn't right. It’s winter, and while I myself am a perennial fan of ice cream, I had no desire to sit outside the parlor while he enjoyed ice cream. I also didn't want to walk all the way over there through the cold. I stupidly didn't pack my chapstick and kept licking my lips the entire time. Again Judy's words about how this was suggestive grated on me.
I confidently told him that it was mostly likely closed, which he argued with uncertainty. The argument should've been mine! But alas, the times were on the door, and the people behind the counter were really nice, maybe because no sensible person has been in all night.
He offered to buy me one too, but that went against my principals of (1) letting any male buy me something and (2) letting this seem like a date. As if the universe wanted to push it further, the girl behind the counter asked if we’d like two spoons, and I had to refrain from an “ah Hell’s no” at that instant.
No that wasn't right. It’s winter, and while I myself am a perennial fan of ice cream, I had no desire to sit outside the parlor while he enjoyed ice cream. I also didn't want to walk all the way over there through the cold. I stupidly didn't pack my chapstick and kept licking my lips the entire time. Again Judy's words about how this was suggestive grated on me.
I confidently told him that it was mostly likely closed, which he argued with uncertainty. The argument should've been mine! But alas, the times were on the door, and the people behind the counter were really nice, maybe because no sensible person has been in all night.
He offered to buy me one too, but that went against my principals of (1) letting any male buy me something and (2) letting this seem like a date. As if the universe wanted to push it further, the girl behind the counter asked if we’d like two spoons, and I had to refrain from an “ah Hell’s no” at that instant.
5. This isn’t a date because I’ll leave you at your car despite the
danger that someone might have broken in.
When we made our way back to the Panera parking lot, I
started to ask him where he parked. It wasn't subtle either. We were talking about shrubbery, when I stopped abruptly with "This was fun. Where's your car?" When he pointed at it, stopped, said “hang on,” and started to approach his car with caution, I, of course, kept
walking.
But by the next, “No really,
hang on,” I truly had to wait and make sure that his car, which had its lights
on, was not filled with murderers and Nicholas Cage. So I stood a way
away, a step in the direction of my lone car, and when he started to make his
way back, reassuring me that it’s okay, he just left his lights on, I was
already opening my car. I had one foot inside. I screamed
reassurances of my own, ignoring his lost expression.
“What no hug?” he
asked, standing there. “We aren’t going to say bye?”
“I am saying bye!” I yelled
back across the parking lot. I mean, I wasn’t going to walk all the way
over there and hug him and say bye when I could very well say farewells from
where I was. Besides, going back would just be way awkward, and I’d end
up saying something unpromising like “let’s do this again," which,
according to Sam, had a usual follow through.
Distance, I thought, as I
started my car and left the kid just standing in the parking lot, was key, and
while my conscience felt bad for leaving him there, I knew that it was better
than making a promise I wasn’t going to keep.
“Cold George,” Anthony, Sam’s
boyfriend, told me later on on the phone.
“Exactly!” I yelled.
“I was cold.”
“No. That was just
cold, like you don’t want none of that!” he said with what I assume were three
snaps in Z-formation.