Trench Coat

My brother got his wisdom teeth pulled out today.  He posted these lovely photos of himself on twitter, facebook, instagram, etc.  We went to check on him tonight (mainly I wanted to see if he still had the ice pack around his face, which he did not) and he honestly said he has no recollection of taking these photos or posting them.  He remembers going to sleep in the chair, has a very vague recollection of getting to the truck, then remembers waking up on the couch at home hours later.  My dad said he asked, "is this what it feels like to be on drugs?" to which my dad answered, "how am I supposed to know?" My dad said he also mentioned several times that the nurses were attractive.  My dad said there were two assistants, one was older and one was younger.  He guesses he was talking about the younger one.  My dad also said he kept taking pictures of himself.

Anyway . . . back to the title of this post . . . 

James and I got married when we were 27.  Prior to that, I went on a smorgasborg of mostly bad . . . . mostly really bad . . .  blind dates.  In talking about Willie's wisdoms to be removed and reminiscing of our own extraction experiences, my sister and I had a brief conversation about my blind dates (one of which relates to my wisdom teeth being pulled, hence this post).  I said that I always joke that I should write a book about them all and my sister said I should at least post them on this here blog.  

Disclaimer:  There is no guarantee that I will ever post one after this.  This one was neither the best nor the worst, but simply relates to wisdom teeth extraction.  There are many others, but with age comes memory loss and I don't know if I can really remember (or really want to remember) them all.  Here it goes.

"TRENCH COAT"

It was Christmas time.  My uncle Steve worked with this guy named Dave.  Of course I said yes to the set up because what else did I have going for me . . . not much.

We were both students at the U.  He was in computer engineering, I think.  He called me on the phone.  He seemed nice enough, but was very insistent on going on a date on a specific day.  The day happened to be the day after I was getting all 4 wisdom teeth pulled.  The day also happened to be the day of my brother's family birthday party.  

Mistake 1:  Don't let some weird guy talk you into going out on a date the day after oral surgery.

Mistake 2:  Don't let some weird guy talk you into going out on a date the night of your brother's birthday party.

Mistake 3:  Don't let some weird guy to come and pick you up at your house when 30+ members of your extended family are there to greet him . . . with your puffy bruised cheeks no less . . . you will never hear the end of it . . . or at least you won't hear the end of it until the next one comes around (which could be titled, "Heart Transplant," "Short Man," "Speech Impediment," "Cheeseburger in My Mom's Station Wagon," . . . you get the idea of where these stories could go).

You can see how this was going downhill before it ever started.  

Here are some details:  He was nice enough, I guess, but was honestly a little rude and very impatient.  He drove a white Ford Explorer and called it his "truck."  He only listened to Depeche Mode.  It was an extreme Utah winter inversion and the fog had been so thick for days that it was very scary to drive anywhere, even in daylight, and his driving made me really nervous.  Not to be minimized, however, was my favorite detail . . . the black trench coat (mind you this was not long after Columbine and I was very skeptical, nearly frightened, of anyone wearing a black trench coat).

What actually happened?  We went to pick up his married couple friends, who were actually really nice (I ended up working in an office in the U library near the married guy later on and he was still very nice).  Due to my weakened eat-ability condition, Dave decided to be nice and take us to the Olive Garden for dinner where I was sure to be able to slurp some pasta through my damaged mouth.  Unfortunately, when we arrived at the Olive Garden, went in, and put our names on the list, Dave decided that it was too long of a wait and there was no way we were going to eat there.

We got back in the "truck" and drove aimlessly in the fog until Dave finally decided on the Training Table.  Yum.  Hamburgers.  What every mouth is dying to bite into with stitches.

(At this point in writing this, I am starting to feel really sorry for myself.  I think that my self esteem must have been SO low that I was desperate for any kind of date.  To dating girls everywhere, I plead to you, tell the dumb boy to just take you home.  Or better yet, don't go at all under any circumstances similar to these.)

I remember I ordered a grilled cheese and I ripped off small pieces of it and gummed it down.  I probably did the same with the french fries.

And then we went bowling.

I honestly have no clue which bowling alley we may have gone to.  It was foggy and we could have been in the 4th trench coat dimension for all I know.  All I remember about this was that Dave disappeared for an uncomfortable length of time and I was stuck with the married couple.  They were nice, but newlyweds and didn't really want to talk to me.  Perhaps he was sick with a tummy ache in the bathroom.  Perhaps he went outside to figure out where we were in the fog.  Perhaps he had to go check out what Depeche Mode track he was going to play for me next.

It doesn't really matter.

He brought me home.

He called a few days later to see if I had plans New Years Eve.

I don't remember what I told him, but I know I didn't go out with him again.

I did see him once after that.  We crossed paths somewhere at the U.  I'm pretty sure he was still sporting his trench coat.

The end.