Bad Dates I Have Had

Seeing my college friend's face yesterday reminded me of a fiasco that we experienced together, and it prompted me to consider writing about something I--as someone who didn't marry until I was 44--know a lot about: bad dates. So here is the first in a series of several unfortunate and surprising experiences.

Back in college, the cafeteria opened up every Saturday night for entertainment purposes. It suddenly became "Henry's Hideaway," named after our cook, Henry Livergood. Snacks were available for purchase and movies or concerts would take place there (it was on the lower level of the girl's dormitory back then). One Sunday morning, my friend, Myrna, told me she had met a local man from town down at Henry's Hideaway. His name was Andy and he was 29 years old. She glowed over the fact that he liked literature and plays and so did she. They'd had a great conversation and he asked if he could see her sometime. She agreed. So he met her a couple times down there and they had good conversations more than once.

So it was just a matter of time before he invited her out on a date. He invited her to the Boston Ballet's Nutcracker Suite in Symphony Hall on a December evening. But realizing that she didn't know him well enough to feel comfortable going off with him by herself, he bought an extra ticket for her to bring along a friend. She came straight to me and asked me to be the third wheel. It all seemed pretty odd to me, but I wanted to see the Boston Ballet, so I agreed to go.

We waited together in her room to be called down to the lobby. When finally the call from the front desk came, we trotted down the stairs to meet Andy. I was wearing a dress with a matching vest and boots (okay--it was the 70s!) and Myrna was wearing a dress with high heels. We tripped into the lobby and there he was.

He looked uncannily like the Son of Sam Killer (David Berkowitz), who had recently been terrorizing New York City. Andy had a flat, white, waxy looking face with little eyes and a receding hairline. I knew it wasn't the serial killer, but he looked so much like him that I was speechless. I shook his hand and numbly followed him and Myrna out to the car. It was a huge boat-like car with one broad seat across the front. Of course, Myrna scooted in beside him and I was next to the door, so all three of us were in the front seat.

I should have known immediately that I shouldn't go off with this guy. He was 29 years old going off with two 20-year olds. And he listened to NPR talk radio all the way into Boston--almost an hour. Myrna and he chatted along happily all the way there. Myrna was an excellent conversationalist and I struggled with people I didn't know. We got to Symphony Hall late and had to watch the end of the first part on a TV monitor in the foyer. When we were finally seated, I heard two men behind us give what was to me, a chilling synopsis of the ballet: "You know," one said, "People think that this is just a children's tale, but the Nutcracker has very sinister sexual overtones." I shuddered. Great. And here I am with this wierdo on whatever kind of date this is.

After the production ended, Andy announced that he had reservations for an Italian dinner for us. At 10:30 p.m.? Yes, and it is in the Redlight District. How he knew about this place was beyond us, but off we went into hookerville. The sights were amazing on the way to this little hole-in-the-wall establishment that he seemed to know quite well. We were seated at a table by the window that looked out into a street with a storefront selling rainbow afro wigs. "If you girls want to powder your noses, there is a powder room just up the stairs" he announced in a monotone voice. Considering that women hadn't powdered their noses as a matter of course for at least 100 years, Myrna and I went up the stairs. As we stepped into the privacy of the bathroom she turned on me. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed. "You're hardly saying anything and it's rude. Andy has been very gracious in paying for both of us to be here for a concert and dinner and you need to talk with him."

"Myrna, he looks like the Son of Sam Killer and I'm still so shocked that I can hardly speak! I know he's not, but we don't know this guy and I don't trust him. He could take us out in an alley and kill us. I don't feel good around him. That's why."
Myrna's mouth fell open. "He does look like David Berkowitz, doesn't he?"
"But I'll try to do better."
"Just try to be more conversational with him."
"Okay. I'll try."

We went back downstairs and ate dinner. Myrna fell silent then and hardly said a word. I could see that my comments to her had scared her, so I started chatting up Andy. He was the most boring man I'd ever met. I have an image of him stirring his coffee while telling me all about the aluminum alloys that he worked with and what he did--in tedious detail. All the while I smiled and nodded, trying to be gracious. Among other things he talked about, was the annual ski trip he took with his family every year. Did I ski? Would I like to learn this year? I didn't like the direction of this conversation, but what was I to do?
I kept smiling and nodding.

Dinner ended at around 11:30. Our curfew was midnight and we never got a late pass from the Dean. So we were to get in trouble. We told Andy that we'd need to get back to school right away. But he had other plans.

For whatever reason, he felt that a stroll through Quincy Market at midnight would be just what we needed after that heavy Italian meal. So the three of us got out of the car and walked around in the semi-darkness. As he reached to put his arm around Myrna and pull her nearer to walk next to him, she linked arms with me and shot me a desperate look. Andy's arm was around her but without knowing it, he had his hand on my elbow. All the affectionate squeezes and pats were on my arm, not hers. It was so strange to feel that I was protecting her in this way.
What I remember about this wierd midnight walk was that there was a man on the corner hawking paper products. He shouted out, "Wrapping paper, wax paper, toilet paper..." Good grief.

As we got into the car we thought, Okay--now we can go home. We reminded Andy that we were already in trouble because it was curfew time. But he thought it would be a good time to drive past Old North Church. Then past the place where the Mayflower was docked. We could see the mast in the darkness as we whizzed past at 20 miles per hour. Myrna was no longer sitting up against Andy in the car. She was pressed up against me, who was smashed against the car door. Neither one of us felt comfortable with this guy now, who was decidedly eccentric, and who knew what else.

But finally we were on the freeway, heading back to the college. We had given up trying to converse with him, but he kept up a monotone monologue about really boring things. We nodded or gave one syllable responses and that was all he needed to verbally idle.

Suddenly he got off the freeway and headed off into the middle of nowhere.
"Andy," Myrna nervously asked, "Where are we going?"
"Oh--I want to show you girls something."
It was 1:30 a.m. by then. There were no lights visible and we were in the country. There were no houses, only open fields and woods.
"Andy, it is very late and we need to get back to the dorm."
He snickered. Snickered! And kept on driving--slowly down a snowy, dark road into the woods. The car came to a stop at the edge of a field.
"I think this place will do" he muttered, turning off the car. Myrna wriggled closer to me, as if that was possible.
"Just a minute." And he got out of the car.
"Lock the doors!" Myrna hissed at me.
"He has the keys. What good will that do?"
Myrna was almost crying now. Andy had popped the trunk and was rummaging around for something in there. We heard him drag what sounded like a heavy chain across the floor.
"Pray!" we both said in unison, reaching for each other's hands. Surely this guy had brought us out here to the middle of nowhere to rape us, slash our throats, and leave us to freeze to death in our own blood by the side of the road. No one would find us for days. We clung together waiting to see what our foolhardy behavior in going out with this guy would reap.

"Should we run for it?" Myrna asked.
She had on high heels. We didn't know where we were, and the snow was at least a foot deep. We would be visible against the white fields of snow. Where would we run to?
"No," I advised. "We'll fight to the death if we need to. I have brothers and I'm not afraid to brain this guy if I need to."
"I have a brother, too" Myrna reminded me. "But if he has a gun, it makes no difference. What is he going to do with that chain?"
Andy slammed the trunk and was chuckling about something. It made the hair go up on my arms. He had a huge spotlight kind of flashlight that he was shining down into the snow as he walked into the ditch and up onto the other side, next to a tall wooden fence. He shined the flashlight into the field on the other side.
"Come here, girls. You'll want to see this" he beckoned.
We looked at one another. Should we go? There was something clueless but not sinister about his invitation. We may as well face the music.
We got out of the car and into the snow, into the ditch with its two-foot snow drift, and up on the other side next to Andy. Our feet were cold, wet, and Myrna's shoes were full of snow.
He beamed the spotlight down onto something on the other side. "Here, look at this!" he enthused.
We peered over the fence straight into the eye of an American Bison that was lying down and trying to sleep. It was in a field with about 50 other buffalo, all of whom were lying down but regarding us with great interest. Why in the world do we need to see this at 1:30 in the morning, in the snow? This guy is nuts.

We made some appreciative murmuring sounds and climbed back into the car. What a relief. We were still alive. We were just with a very strange man. Off we sped, Andy happily regaling us with more factoids about metal composites all the way back to campus. As we pulled up in front of the residence hall, he jumped out to come around and open my door.
"If that guy tries to kiss me I'll beat him into the ground" Myrna announced.
Oh my goodness, kiss her? As a third wheel on a date, what was I supposed to do at a time like this? Stand there and watch? Avert my eyes? Shake his hand? Give him a peck on the cheek? What? This was one time when doing the conventional thing won out over common sense that told us to run out of the car and into the dormitory.

Myrna is a very gracious person. She took his arm as we walked up to the dorm. I trailed behind. Think, think...
As we got to the top of the steps, I could see June the Dean, sitting on the couch facing the door. She was wringing her hands and looked very worried. Uh-oh--June is on duty. She is probably afraid that we're frozen to the snow somewhere. We thought she was such an overprotective, Victorian prude. Her eyes lit up as she saw us come to the door.
Myrna stepped back against the wall of the porch, out of June's line of vision. Andy leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
"Thank you, Andy, for a wonderful evening," I heard her say. I had averted my eyes and was pressing the doorbell, just to be doing something other than watch them.
Andy suddenly stepped toward me. "It was wonderful to meet you, Barbara. I hope I'll see you again," I heard him say, as if he were miles away. In slow motion, I saw him lean toward me and plant a kiss on my lips. I looked up from him right into June's disapproving face as she was opening the door for us. "Come in, girls" she was saying, as she eyed Andy suspiciously, his hands on my shoulders.
Yuck. And I'm the third wheel on this date. He didn't have to do that. Great--now he's taken a shine to me. I looked over at Myrna and she looked somewhere between ill and bemused. We stumbled into the dorm's foyer.
June started right in. "I want a full explanation of what happened and why you're so late, girls." We were laughing and groaning all at once.
"Oh please let us go to bed. We will tell you everything you want to know tomorrow morning, first thing." She agreed and we went off to my room where we reviewed the whole disastrous evening, with howls of laughter and shudders. We were up talking and laughing with relief until nearly 3:00 a.m.

Needless to say, we never went out with Andy again--not together, not singly.

When I see my stepdaughters going out on dates, I remember Andy and thank God that he was just a backward sort of person, not a menace. We were the lucky ones who got away, when I think of all the women who get duped into going out with ax murderers and serial killers. It could have been us.
Thank God...