12/15/2011

Just as Close as Your Holy Ghost Is

Story Sent in by Rita:

My friend Paula set me up on a date with her friend, Brad. Brad was a carpenter who did a lot of odd jobs and didn't have much of an income. We went out for a quick coffee date just to get acquainted. He was nice, and he clearly loved carpentry, although he had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, as if the reasons for his lack of financial stability were everyone else's fault but his own.

He did pay for the coffees, and said that he wanted to make me a proper dinner at his place. We arranged a time, and about a week later, I showed up to the address he had given me.

It was a trailer park off the main highway. I arrived with a homemade quiche. When I knocked on the door to the address that Brad had given me, a pencil-thin guy with a sweat-soaked undershirt came to the door. He wasn't Brad.

I said, "Hi, I'm looking for Brad."

The guy looked me up and down, then said, "He's out back."

"Thank you!"

The guy didn't say anything else, but he watched me walk away. When I made it to the trailer's backyard, I found a tent, lit from the inside by a lantern. I called, "Brad?" and Brad unzipped the tent from the inside.

It was stuffed, positively stuffed, with blankets, pillows, and cushions, like a little fort. There barely seemed to be any room within for one person, let alone two, and the smell was a mix between wet dog and public urinal.

"Come on in!" he said.

"No!" I replied, "Are you kidding me?"

He said, "No place like home."

I said, "Right. Can we go inside the trailer? The guy who owns it is your friend, right?"

Brad said, "That's Jay. His mom owns the trailer, but I can't really use it. It's not mine, and this is where I live."

"Can we go somewhere else?"

He looked all around and said, "This is my home. What's wrong with it? Am I too poor for you or something?"

"That has nothing to do with it. I don't want to cram in there, and it smells awful."

Wrong thing to say. He gave me a stunned look, then said, "What the hell is wrong with the way my place smells? I empty a can of Lysol into it every week! It smells like a bed of roses!"

"I'm going to go." I turned and walked off.

"A bed of roses! A bed of roses!" he called after me, over and over.

I made it back to my car. Jay, from the doorway of his mother's trailer, was still there, looking at me as I left. I don't let Paula set me up with anyone anymore.

8 comments:

  1. I know that normally when it comes to these bad date stories I enjoy launching venom at anything that moves, but damn... this story just makes me feel sad. I feel bad for Brad for being so poor and yet trying his best to have a romantic date, and I feel bad for the OP for trying so hard to be considerate of his poverty until she had to draw the line at public urinal smell. Jesus OP, now I have to watch a Michael Bay flick just to get rid of all these serious throughts you gave me.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I agree completely, wolf. Thanks for recommending a cure for my slight blues.

    ReplyDelete
  3. What kind of dinner was he going to make her, a hot dog impaled by a stick, over a campfire? A can of beans placed on a rock next to said campfire, hobo-style...?

    ReplyDelete
  4. I suspect Paula is very angry with Rita. I mean seriously, wtf?

    ReplyDelete
  5. Paula is angry with Rita for setting her up with a guy living in a tent?

    ReplyDelete
  6. No, Paula set Rita up with a guy living in a tent as some sort of revenge, is what I think bodhi sees here. Personally, I have too much faith in humanity to believe that, which I guess means that two years of reading this site isn't enough.

    ReplyDelete
  7. team wolfdreams as usual, and damn Jared you got that song stuck in my head :)

    ReplyDelete
  8. Thank you sooo much Jared for quoting one of my favorite Bon Jovi songs, and then using it so cleverly. Love it! Thank you!

    ReplyDelete

Content Policy

A Bad Case of the Dates reserves the right to publish or not publish any submitted content at any time, and by submitting content to A Bad Case of the Dates, you retain original copyright, but are granting us the right to post, edit, and/or republish your content forever and in any media throughout the universe. If Zeta Reticulans come down from their home planet to harvest bad dating stories, you could become an intergalactic megastar. Go you!

A Bad Case of the Dates is not responsible for user comments. We also reserve the right to delete any comments at any time and for any reason. We're hoping to not have to, though.

Aching to reach us? abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com.