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A Reader’s Tale of Dating
Woe
By Erin Ann McBride and Juli
Hiatt Caldwell, grateful for once it’s not one of us
Every once in awhile
a story comes to you, and you realize that because of what you
have just read, your life will never be the same. This is one
of those sad, tragic, horrifically hilarious tales that makes
the rest of the world realize, “Wow, someone really does have
a more pathetic dating tale to tell.”
We at A Single
Thought are frequently inundated with awful stories where you
just have to scratch your head and say, “hmmm ...”, because there
really is no logical way to explain such behavior. With permission
we bring you the story of a girl we’ll call Jenny, who let us
share this story in her own words, but please remember that we
always change our readers names to protect the innocent from further
humiliation. There’s always a woman out there who is afraid we’re
talking about her, and a man who hopes we’re talking about him.
Here is Jenny’s tale:
Where are Curly
and Moe?
I met "Larry"
at an LDS Singles conference. He seemed nice and fun, and so
I gave him my email address when I left. Larry emailed
me a few times and invited me to a singles’ dance in Salt Lake
City. I attended the dance, but spent most of the evening
dancing with other people. However, Larry and I did end up exchanging
cell phone numbers afterwards.
One day Larry called
from somewhere in central Utah and said he was "working"
but would be driving near my small town that evening. I agreed
to meet him to say hi on his way through. When he arrived at the
designated meeting place, he drove up in an old two-door, rusted
out, dinged-up Geo Metro. I'm not one to be impressed or put
off by what a man drives, but this car was a definite beater.
What caught my attention, though, was the way it looked on the
inside. It was so full of junk I couldn't even see the inside!
The man had carved out a hole in the stuff on the driver’s side,
and that's how he operated the vehicle. Amazing!
After exchanging
hellos, the first thing he asked me was if he could come to my
house and "crash" on my couch for the night. He was
so tired, he explained, and he thought it terribly unnecessary
to pay for a hotel room. "I mean, why pay for something
when you don't have to?" was his reasoning. "Please
just let me sleep on your couch tonight …PLEASE?!?!" I didn’t even know the man! I politely said no.
He was incredibly
persistent. So much so that I finally told him to just get a
motel room if he was that tired. He had no money, yada, yada ...
and being the compassionate (sucker) person that I am, I told
him that I would pay for his motel room. I paid for him to stay
in a nearby town and returned home.
Larry called quite
frequently over the next week (night and day, to be exact.) I
felt he was a tad bit too eager for my tastes, but nevertheless,
I agreed to an official date that Friday. He was from the Salt
Lake City area and I was from a small central Utah town, so as
a matter of convenience, we agreed to meet in Provo at one of
the local malls.
When I arrived
at the mall and greeted him, I was horrified! I had no idea people
dared go out in public dressed as he was that day. He had on
a brown striped big-collared shirt, vintage disco, with a yellow/orange/blue
long-sleeved shirt underneath. His pants were three sizes two
big and cinched up tight above his waste with a belt. To top
it off, the now too-short pants revealed gray velcro-strapped
shoes! Hiding my embarrassment, I gave him a hello hug anyway,
and could smell that he had not showered for at least a few days.
Nice.
At his suggestion,
we first went to the movie, the matinee, because it's cheaper
to go in the afternoon. We amazingly agreed on a show to see,
then he grabbed my arm and guided me into the theater. I said
to him, "Hey, don't we need to get tickets??"
"No, I already
got your ticket. Here." And he handed me a worn out old ticket
stub from days gone by. It even had someone's phone number written
on one side of it. I looked at him incredulously. "This
is my ticket? You're joking, right?"
He
grinned and said, "No, just hold it up like this, and flash
it really quick at the ticket taker. They never pay attention
and we'll get right in."
Sure, why not?
Cheap, dishonest, what’s the difference?
I stopped dead
in my tracks. "You are trying to sneak me into a movie?"
"Aw c'mon,"
he said, "I do it all the time. Just walk past her quickly
and she'll never notice." I refused. I told him that I was
going back to buy my ticket. He shook his head and followed me
back to the ticket booth.
We returned and
gave the ticket taker our real tickets this time. It was then
that I noticed Larry carrying a plastic grocery bag. I could see
what looked like one drink and a small bag of popcorn. Unfortunately
for Larry, the ticket lady also noticed his, and she refused to
let him take it inside, despite his many loud protests. Finally
he gave up and set the bag to the side.
We walked into
the theater and found seats. He left to try and sneak his bag
away from that ‘rotten ticket lady.’ Luckily he came back empty-handed.
He was quite disappointed though, because he had purchased a Hostess
blueberry pie and had saved half of it for me! "It was really
good," he assured me. How thoughtful!
The
movie finished and instead of walking to the exit, he steered
me toward another theater. He was trying to sneak me into another
movie! I protested and he replied, "Hey, it's not like there
are any movie police around. I do this all the time."
Really? No kidding!
Next, he wanted to do dinner. He suggested the food court because,
according to him, "there's some really good food up there!"
I suggested one of the nicer restaurants, just to be ornery. After
our hostess seated us, Larry began to complain. There was a light
shining in his eye and it was bothering him. He called a waitress
over and demanded that the lights be turned off. After complaining
to several waitresses, the manager came over and suggested that
we move to a different seat. He moved around to the other side
of the table, but this still did not make him happy. He stood
on his chair and reached up to the light above his head. He yanked
the light bulb out and since it was hot, he lost his grip and
it dropped to the ground. Of course it shattered into sharp, tiny,
flying shrapnel.
The waitresses and I exchanged looks. They felt sorry for me. I
felt sorry for me!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Larry grab a bottle of seasoned
salt and sneak it under the table. He dropped it into his plastic
bag (oh yes, he made sure he retrieved it when we left the theater)
and then asked a nearby waitress to hand him a seasoned salt from
the next table because "we don't have one."
I managed to make it through dinner, but I ate only a small portion
of my meal. I had managed to lose my appetite. That was okay,
because when Larry finished his meal, he ate the rest of mine
too! I'm sure he was thinking of all those starving children in
Africa.
As we got up to leave, he casually mentioned to me that he doesn't
tip the waitresses. "I don't think I have to pay for their
retirement!" he informed me. To clarify what he just said,
I asked, "You really don't leave a tip at all?"
"No, well … if they are really good, I might leave a dime or
a nickel, but most of the time I don't tip." I don't think
our waitress even minded the missing tip. They were just glad
to see us go. The next item on the agenda was a free concert at
the UVSC Institute. When we walked out to the parking lot where
both of our vehicles were parked, Larry said, "My car gets
really good gas mileage, but you probably don't like riding in
small cars. Can we take your vehicle instead?" Guess he
realized it might take him awhile to hollow out a place for me
in the front seat. Ever the gentleman, he walked me to the driver's
side of my truck and opened the door for me. That act of kindness,
however, was overshadowed by the loud sound of him passing gas
as he reached to grab the door handle. No “oops,” no “excuse me,”
no apologies, nothing. No lie!
During the ride back to the mall parking lot after
the concert, Larry tried to convince me to go with him to a free
church dance he had heard about. When we reached his car, I didn't
even put my truck in park. I politely thanked him for the evening
and sped off before he had a chance to shut the passenger door.
He called my cell phone the next morning, but I was conveniently
in the shower. And thankfully, I heard nothing for quite awhile.
I wasn't complaining, mind you, but I fully expected to have to
tell him to get lost when he called next. A week later I received
an email from Larry: "Hi. How are you doing? You left rather
quickly after our date the other night. I lost your phone number.
Can you please email it to me? Thanks, Larry."
Email? What email? Delete!
Sadly, the story doesn't end here. As an LDS single in a small
town, my dating options are limited (this was my excuse for going
out with Larry in the first place). I tried out all the LDS singles
websites and I found Larry there also. Sometimes he was 40 years
old living in Salt Lake, other times he was 45 years old living
in Provo. I personally think he is 50 years old, living in his
car.
Yes, folks, there you have it. Does it get any
worse than that? We dare you to try and top Jenny’s story. Your
worst dating stories will bring tears of laughter and joy to your
fellow Single Thought readers! Please send them all to erinandjuli@meridianmagazine.com.
As a postscript, Jenny reports she didn't hear
from Larry until two months later, when she received another email:
"Hi Jenny. How are you doing? I went to your town the other
day to try and find you, but nobody knew where you lived. Can
you give me your phone number again so I can call you? And tell
me how you are doing. Thanks, Larry." Stalking now, huh,
Larry? He got an email back, all right, and she’s fairly sure
her reply may have blown out his hard drive.
Your
Thoughts
A bishop in Mesa, Arizona, has requested your help.
He is looking for ideas for dating on a budget. If you have any
great ways to have a blast while saving some cash, send it in!
Krista wrote with advice for Belinda, a 47-year-old
single lady who was looking for places to meet other singles.
She said, “I have heard of quite a few older singles activities
and such occurring at Thanksgiving Point, at the ‘Point of the
Mountain’ in Utah. But other than that, I would just say
to stay in the group of 31-45 if she is only 47. Two years
isn't such a big deal. I know plenty of 31 year-olds that
are still in the 18-30 group because they don't feel ready to
jump up to the next age group. Another piece of advice is
to have fun and be happy in your own family ward! This advice
comes to me all the time from a friend who never set foot in a
singles ward or attended any singles activities. She trusted
in the Lord that He would show her the opportunity for a wonderful
husband. And sure enough, her future husband moved into
her family ward, they dated, then married. Good luck to
you, Belinda!”
Debbie said, “I totally agree
with the ‘Have a Plan’ column. Sister Harold B. Lee
spoke to our sorority in college (she married the prophet at the
age of 68 — her first marriage! — we still have time!
She told us to live our lives, don't sit on the shelf waiting
for Prince Charming to ride by and sweep us off our feet. Some
of us might be sitting on the shelf for a long time, and then
suddenly realize we could have been living our lives while waiting
— and it would be too late! I'm very grateful I heard that
advice when I was 20, because I would have missed out on some
fabulous experiences had I sat on the shelf!”
Shizue
in Tokyo wrote, “Thank you for your last comment, "Seize
the day! Make some memories! Learn to laugh!
Have some fun! Go out and start [attempting] to live out
some of your dreams!" (John K. Carmack also said the same
thing in ‘To My Single Friends,’ Ensign, Mar. 1989.)
“Due
to my physical handicap, I may have to give up marriage in this
life. My grandmother used to tell me to be prepared to live by
my own, for there may be no one to marry me (because of my handicap).
Even if she is not a member of the Church, I think she was inspired,
because looks like it becomes real. I'm asking my home teachers
and bishop for help to find someone to marry, trying to attend
marriage conferences etc, but everything falls through mostly
because of schedule conflict due to church callings. [Shizue
is very active in her ward, holding four separate callings.]
Every time [an] interesting marriage conference is held, there
is always something I CANNOT SKIP. This may be a sign to learn
to live without regret instead of finding someone.
Thank goodness, I have a dream of becoming a translator; I can
live out my dream!” We hope so, Shizue! She has a webpage where
she has translated several Ensign and Meridian Magazine
articles just for the practice, and we must admit, it’s very cool
to see some of our articles in Japanese!
Conferences, Etc …
Depending on where you live in the States, you
can find central locations for singles’ activities. Utah, of
course, is the obvious first place to look. There are also huge
singles populations in Washington, D.C., and Huntington Beach,
California. If you can afford to travel to a singles’ conference
in either location, you might meet some interesting people! If
any conference planners want to send us information on upcoming
events, we’ll gladly let our readers know about them!
We also frequently hear from Australia, New Zealand,
and the UK, among other places around the globe. If any of our
readers over the puddle (either one) would like to share where
they meet singles outside the States, pass it on to us and we’ll
share your brilliance and wisdom with your fellow singletons!
We leave you with the words of the Belle of Amherst,
American poet Emily Dickinson, who wrote, “Love is anterior to
life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and the exponent
of breath.”
Thanks, and have a great week!
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