Worst Date Ever

“Don’t worry about people’s profiles. Find somebody who you think is cute enough, and go and interact with them as soon as possible. Because the way that people naturally evaluate physical chemistry is through how an interaction makes them feel. We don’t choose partners the way that we choose furniture. Because furniture doesn’t have to choose us back. But partners do.”—Benjamin Karney, Ologies Podcast (February 12, 2019)

I met her at a party in my late teens. Let’s call her Sheila. We hit it off spectacularly and talked till dawn. Even scaled Mount Royal to watch the sunrise. Yeah, it was that romantic, that perfect. But then she had to go. Had to catch her ride back to Sherbrooke. After making out like the end of the world was nigh, we exchanged phone numbers and made future plans. I was gonna take the bus down to Sherbrooke the following weekend. We swore off profane communication methods such as the telephone. Such was the sacredness of our connection, and our ardent desire to preserve its sanctity: “Just call me when you get there, John. Call me from the station.”

And that’s just what I did a week later. One of her five roommates answered. When she told Sheila who it was I distinctly remember hearing a muffled “Oh, fuck!” But she came to the station regardless. After a decidedly cool reception, she took me back to her apartment. I recall that it resembled a doctor’s office: a large living room with six bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen spoking off its perimeter.

Clearly she wasn’t psyched to see me but I couldn’t figure out why. Whatever. I can take a hint. I called the bus station to see when the next bus back to Montreal was leaving. Fuck! Not till tomorrow morning. I’m stuck here. Fuck! After a moment of self-loathing, I decided to make the best of it. I befriended her roommates and went out for beers and burgers at the local pub. We were eventually joined by Sheila and half the city. It really was a great place: live music, great beer, fantastic food, the works.

At some point, I saw Sheila making out with some Greek god of a man on the dance floor. They were inseparable for the rest of the night. After the bar closed, I returned to the apartment with her roommates, my new best friends, and they set me up on a couch in the living room. I crashed immediately. But I didn’t stay asleep long. Because Sheila and the Greek god came home and had loud sex, over and over again, all night long; and, as luck would have it, my couch was right up against her bedroom wall. It was a long night.

—John Faithful Hamer, Love Is Not a Liquid Asset (2020)