How I learned not to date at work.

In college, I worked as a desk assistant in the dorms.  That meant I sat behind a partitioned desk from about 8pm to 8am and checked out keys to drunk college kids who lost their keys while out drinking illegally. I also played a lot of pinball.

It was shortly after breaking up with my boyfriend, who had left for the semester break and just, not come back, that one of the dorm security guards, Bobert (named changed for anonymity), made it a point to stop by my desk to chat for a while every evening that we had the same schedule. And then, he asked me out on a date.  I usually just fell into boyfriends after I made them watch Total Recall with me so I hadn't gone on many actual dates, and he was quite handsome, so I was excited to go, though I was not really looking for a relationship... which is a good thing because a relationship TOTALLY wasn't going to happen.

I’m sorry, have I ruined the surprise for you? Yeah, the fact that I “changed his name for anonymity” should have been the first clue… anywho, carrying on…

Bobert decided to take me to a dinner and movie, which is standard dating fare from what I understand.  We were both in college so I was not expecting all that much, but I certainly was not expecting the 99 cent menu at Wendy’s.  But alas, he was handsome and had a totally bitchin’ beard, so junior bacon cheeseburger it was.
We found a seat and I began eating my burger while we chatted, only I was on a date, so instead of shoving the whole burger into my face, I tore off dainty pieces and nibbled them cutely… until I realized that he was staring at me like I was a complete freak of nature.

“What are you doing?” he said gesturing at my neatly torn quarters of hamburger.

“… Eating?”

“Why are you eating like a squirrel?” he demanded.

“I… I eat this way?”

How do you respond to that?  I suppose I could have told him I was of squirrel ancestry and if he was prejudiced against rodentia we could just end this now and he could take me home, which might have been slightly better. But, we somehow resolved the issue of my wildly inappropriate manner of eating and ventured on to the next leg of our date.

Being the big spender he was, instead of going to the movie theater at the mall, Bobert took me across the street to the dollar theater.  For those who don‘t know, once upon a time, they had theaters where tickets only cost a dollar and they played movies that had played at other real theaters but now, a month or two later, were available for much cheaper.  This particular theater was playing a movie I had already seen, a real romantic flick show called “A Time To Kill.”  But again, it was a new experience for me, so I just went with it, though I was getting a little less patient.

Now I have mentioned this was a date, and as such, I had gussied up some.  You know, clean clothes, brushed hair, lipstick, eyeliner, I might have even been wearing eye shadow because I wasted time on things like that back then. And so, I was completely mortified when Bobert began a rant, as we waited for the movie to begin, about how he had come to the conclusion that women who wore makeup were horrible ugly people who had no self-esteem and had to cover their terrible personalities with a slathering of bright colors. After blinking at him in disbelief, I recovered and blurted, “I think men have beards for the same reason!” TAKE THAT BEARD FACE!

About that time, the lights went down and I was relieved to escape into the world of horrific racism, murder, and  KKK meetings that the movie he had chosen to take me to was actually about, while arranging myself into a “DANGER position” and trying to scoot myself as far away from him as I could in my rickety-assed dollar theater chair, so he would stop “accidentally” touching my hand/leg/aura.

I spent the whole ride home in the same position, not even trying to make conversation any more, just staring out the window, waiting for my escape. The date ended with me pressed against the door waving with one hand while clawing at the door handle with the other.

And then I sat and fretted that I was now going to have to see this person every weekend, because we worked together and it was actually his job to come check on me. I prepared myself for it at work with extra magazines and books, so I could artfully ignore him when he came in, but he didn’t… until about two months later. At about 2 am, the door to the lobby opened and he came in with his security clipboard and his stupid beard. Thankfully, I had had enough of a wait so I was no longer allergic to him though I wasn't terribly excited to see him either. The passage of time allowed me to be cordial while he told me how much he had enjoyed our date and explained that his sister (a.k.a. my hero) had gotten mono directly after our date so he took some time off and that was why I hadn’t heard from him. I assured him it had not been a problem, at all.  I have not had one moment of regret since, though, that I never saw him or his beard again after that night.


p.s. For the record, I love beards, just not beard-faced jerk-heads.