The Plinky prompt for March 08, 2011: Share a story about your worst date ever. What went wrong?
Here’s just one of my bad First Dates. I’ll call the man “T” in this version. It’s about 1981 or so. T comes to my house to pick me up for the date. We walk to his car. He goes to the driver’s side, I go to the passenger side.
He gets in. I wait outside the passenger door. I wait. I wait. He leans over and opens the door.
I die of embarrassment, right then and there.
What went wrong? What when wrong was that I was (and am) a Creature of Habit. I was waiting to hear the click of the door unlocking. The problem was, the door wasn’t locked.
And why was I waiting for that? It was the fault of my best friend, Becky. She had a 1979 Pontiac Firebird. We went everywhere in that car. I can still remember the license plate number. Well, as it was Becky’s car, she drove, I rode. And I learned to go to the passenger door and wait for the click of her unlocking the door with the power door locks. No big deal. Wait, click, open door, get in. A million times over, that was my routine.
Then I go on the first date with T who did not drive a 1979 Pontiac Firebird or any other car with power door locks.
It’s a wonder he didn’t just drive off, leaving me standing at the spot where his unlocked passenger door had been. He didn’t leave me. It was worth so much more to him to tease me about standing outside the passenger door.
But I’m over it now . . . mostly.