Wednesday, May 21, 2008

A date in the life of JACK

In an effort to speed up the process of getting to know this city of Chicago and the people herein – I decided to just hurry the hell up and meet a myriad of people from the online world. Of course, that meant I had to actually start a conversation or two with people online from Chicago, so I started that. And, of course, the first real prospect is 14 years older than me.

Whatever – he’s got to know more people, right? So, we set a time and place. He keeps asking me where I want to go, which was already annoying me. I kept responding that he would have to choose, oh – I dunno, because I just moved here and don’t know shit. I simply said, I want to eat and have a drink. How hard could it be given those parameters?

Well, plenty hard, apparently. He gets to the appointed STREET CORNER late. He said that we should meet there and so there I was lookin like the only hooker standing on the corner just watching the cars go by. To boot, he chose a fucking street corner in Boys Town and I didn’t know it until I got there. How’d I know? The gay flag waving off every fucking building for as far as the eye can see (or so it seemed).

So, we drive around to find a WAMU because he needed to get cash. Fucking late AND no money. Nice. So, he leaves me in his car and goes to the ATM. And, no – I didn’t snoop. And we drive and drive while he tries to figure out where we are going. Finally, we pass an Indian place and I make the decision. By this time, I’m so fucking hungry, I’m almost in a bad mood – and I tell him so. We park six blocks from the damn restaurant and I’m moody as hell on this damn hike because hunger pangs are setting in.

It’s a buffet – I’m STOKED. And I put my coat down and get to the buffet long before he does – and sit down to start eating before he gets back. I don’t care – whatever. And then, the conversation starts. Well, the monologue. That man loves to talk about himself. Under the guise of “I’m too hungry to chit chat” I allow it and keep thinking to myself that he’s the HUGHEST yapper I’ve ever met … and scarf down another mouthful of Chicken Mahkni, basmati rice and naan. In an effort to make a bad impression, I go traditional Indian style and use the bread as my utensil and proceed to make a huge mess.

He’s unfazed. More about him. And it becomes clear to me that this man seriously thinks that he’s imparting wisdom upon me … and let me tell you – JACK has fucking lived. He isn’t teaching me shit. He’s boring me so damn much I start to focus on the contacts in my eyes and how they feel against my eyeball. So much so that they get real dry.

I make it through dinner and we go to the register and he allows me to walk first. So, what happens? I get to the register first. You didn’t see that coming, did you? But I did – from the table to the register, I knew I would get there first … and would consequently have to pay – because I wasn’t going to stop and look behind me and give the impression that I EXPECTED him to pay. And that mainly because I’ve already decided this date is ending without even so much as a peck on the cheek and I’m not about to have him under the impression that he’s getting some ass because he bought me a steak. So, I paid – he agreed to pick up the drinks.

This is interesting to me already – because, yo … it’s OBVIOUS that we’re not going to drink but one drink. At least it was obvious to ME. And that’s how it went. (And guess who did most of the talking at the bar?)

I was tired as hell – it was a long day at work and you wouldn’t believe how exhausting it is to listen to someone ramble for three hours, even *if* you’re trying to ignore them while you eat. (Did you know you can engage in direct eye gaze while someone speak and not listen at all?) So, when he offered to drive me home, I accepted because it’s faster than the train … plus, my building is access controlled and he didn’t have to know which apartment I was in throughout the eight story building. I felt good with this.

One the drive to my place, he reached over and grabbed my leg, just above the knee – gave it a little squeeze and pulled away. It was cute, I suppose, as he passed it off as his response to my teasing him about my having taken over his radio. But, I knew what was up.

Thing is – it kinda felt nice. The attention. Yuh – in and of itself, that kind of attention felt nice. Now, if only someone younger, who could balance speaking and listening and who didn’t drive a Ford Taurus that dragged a metal pan all over town would do it … I’d totally J.LO him.

Maybe that was TMI.



The Jaded NYer said...

Dude, I can't tell you how many chaps I've J.Lo'd, knowing good and well they were as interesting to me as living in Mexico is to a Mexican.

And TMI? You?


JACK said...

1) Excellent! So, I'm NOT a cheap whore!




Tim said...

So I promise not to have you meet me on a street corner, have you make all the decisions (it's a group effort - or hell I'll make the decision), and if I invite, I PAY.

That's called being a man. That's me.