Here's an oldie but goodie. One of the first Sunday Memory Drawers written from about 7 or 8 years ago. I've been super-occupied this week and too busy to write something new. But, it is Valentine's Day and more than appropriate to rerun one of my college rituals from years gone by.
Dating? Oh, the humanity.
College was hardly a harvest of dating riches. More often than not, those years would be spent thinking about someone endlessly and ultimately doing squat with said thoughts. And when you did, it was always the wrong time, the wrong place, and the wrong everything. You’d get summarily rebuffed and wind up lying across your bed on your stomach. Hopelessly staring at the dirt on the dorm room carpet.
I lived at Fordham for two years: junior and senior. This should have been prime time in the dating arena. Once again, not so much. Still more of the wrong time, the wrong place, and the wrong everything. And, as my luck would have it, when there was interest on the other side, it was pretty much the wrong girl. I was lucky in the fact that my roommate wasn't doing much either.
Luckily, we never found each other staring at the floor at the very same moment.
In the spring of junior year, we did hit on a situation that was so monumental the historians at the Guinness Book of World Records passed out in a dead faint. It also started a tradition that we carried on for, gasp, two years.
It was Double Date Night.
It all started innocently. He had to go to some award banquet and somehow, miraculously, got a girl to go with him. We talked about his impending evening and decided it would be absolutely hilarious if we both had dates the very same night. After all, that type of duality had come around, well, never before. So, I set out to secure my end of the bargain.
As always seemed to be the case, there was somebody that I had a crush on at the time. This was the impetus to get off the stick. I swallowed hard.
”You want to go to dinner Friday night?”
The reaction from my little friend was hardly inviting.
”Why?”
Gee, I love you, too. But, looking back now, this girl would be one to question and angst over everything. The type of annoying personality that would provoke even Mother Theresa to slap her. But, decades ago, I had lower standards. Nevertheless, she quickly agreed to the meal. And I decided to do this in style. A drive up to a steak house in Westchester. This meant I needed to secure my father’s car for the evening. And, essentially explain why. Clue a parent into your social calendar? Something that just wasn’t done in those days.
”Can I come home and use the car Friday night?”
The reaction from my father wasn’t very inviting either.
”Why?”
Wow, Dad, thanks for the support. And have I got a screwed up girl for you.
The logistics did work out. Of course, I wasn't used to driving my father's car, a Buick LeSabre that could have also doubled as Cleopatra's barge. This chick worried about my driving all the way up the Bronx River Parkway. And her worrying naturally made me drive badly. I wound up off the road on a sharp bend somewhere around Hartsdale. It was a bad deal all around. But, still, I managed to hold up my end of the Double Date Night premiere.
We would repeat the stunt a year later. My roommate was going out with somebody to some event. All over again, I went on the prowl to match up for the evening. This year, it was a little easier. I had an even bigger crush on somebody else. And when I asked she didn’t ask why.
”Definitely. What time?”
Score!
As we walked across the campus to whatever eatery we were headed to, she suddenly grabbed my hand to hold.
Hey, now!! Gee, I really love this annual tradition.
Of course, she then explained that we were walking past her boyfriend’s dorm and she was hoping he would see us.
Balloon. Pin. No more air in Len.
The evening was fun, but there was always a black bunting over it. Like one of those fire houses which has just lost a member. In this case, the corpse was...me.
Dinner last night: Meat lasagna at Casa Nostra.
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