Worst Date Ever: If You Think it Started Bad… Hold On… It Got Worse!
Bobby fancied himself a racecar driver, though instead of a sleek sports car he drove the only bright orange classic ’55 Chevy pickup in our town. Of course, part of his compulsion to drive fast might’ve been explained by his habitual lateness. The evening of our worst date, he picked me up two hours late. But that wasn’t what made the date so bad. It got worse after that.
We lived in a small town surrounded by mountains in far northern California. The plan was to drive to the city sixty miles away, have a nice dinner, then go to the civic center where one of our favorite singing groups was playing. Afterwards, we planned to meet up with several of our friends from church who were driving down in their own cars, so we could go somewhere for pie and coffee. But a date with Bobby seldom worked out the way it was meant to. By the time he picked me up two hours late, the concert had already started, and we were still an hour’s drive away.
Bobby was sure he could get us there in time to hear the end of the concert, so he drove even more erratically than usual, speeding around curves, racing to pass any car that dared to get in his way. Instead of being able to enjoy the drive snuggled up next to my boyfriend, I clung to whatever I could, bracing myself to the right and then to the left, as the truck sped around curve after curve. StillâÂ?¦ this was not what made the date bad. In fact, to that point it wasn’t that much different from most of my dates with Bobby. Love was truly blind.
Predictably, we got to the civic center as concertgoers were leaving. We prowled through the parking lot, hoping to find some of our friends from home so we could all go somewhere to eat and visit. But they’d already left and we had no clue where to find them.
Since Bobby and I had missed dinner, we were getting pretty hungry and thirsty, so we headed downtown to our favorite Chinese food restaurant. From the parking lot, the combination of good smells wafted past, making my mouth water for Egg Fu Young, fried rice, and egg roll. It would be a good night after all, I thought, as Bobby came around the truck to open my door. Then, as I started to step out, I recognized a look of panic on his face.
“Do you have any money?” he asked sheepishly, patting his empty wallet pocket.
It seems in his rush to pick me up two hours late, he’d left his money in his other pants. I rummaged through my purse and came up with about three dollars in change. In those days, there were no ATMs, and the banks were closed. Which meant that instead of Chinese food, we’d be dining at the Seven-Eleven convenience store. So sitting in the cab of Bobby’s pick-up, we feasted on hot dogs and Big Gulps. And yet, none of this was what made it the worst date ever. That was still to come.
About halfway home, I suddenly regretted drinking that Big Gulp. On that dark, mountain road there was no hope of finding a bathroom. Having no other choice, I had to ask Bobby to pull over by some bushes so I could empty my bladder. He wasn’t happy about stopping, since that meant all those cars he’d passed might have a chance to catch up to him, a situation he found intolerable. But I convinced him that, thanks to his unique driving ability, he was so far ahead of any other cars that they couldn’t possibly compete.
Finally he found a spot that appeared safe and that seemed to offer me a degree of privacy. He waited in the truck while I hopped out on the passenger side and got into position. No sooner was I squatting than I realized that if a car did come along, the bushes would not provide much cover.
Then Bobby shouted, “I think I hear a car!”
Panicking, I tried to hurry but it was too late. Remember all those friends of ours from church who had gone to the concert and then out for coffee? It seemed they were all now caravanning home, and round the bend came one car after another, shining their headlights on my pale white fanny.
I instinctively ducked my head in front of me, hoping to at least remain anonymous. But who was I kidding? Not only were we on a road that led only to our hometown, but we were traveling in the only bright orange classic 55′ Chevy truck around. Since Bobby and I had been dating exclusively for a long time, there was no chance they would not know it was me. Which explains all the honking and catcalls as they passed.
“Why didn’t you move when I said I heard a car?” asked Bobby when I finally got back in the truck.
“Are you kidding me? Move where? Under the truck?” Doesn’t it occur to guys that the bladder emptying process is a little more complicated for us than for them? He acted embarrassed but I’m pretty sure he was laughing on the inside.
In case you haven’t guessed, that was the part of the evening that made this the worst date ever. Nearly thirty years later someone in town still occasionally reminds me of my moment of glory out there on the side of the road.
The evening with Bobby was one for the record books all right. Yet, having married the guy a year later, I now know that the date could’ve been worse. In addition to everything else, he could’ve forgotten to put gas in the truck before the trip and stranded us out there on the road. Knowing Bobby as I do now, this was a very likely scenario. So though it was definitely the worst date ever, I think I dodged a bullet that night. As bad as it was… it could’ve been even worse.
