I believe enough time has passed so that I may recount an experience which recently befell me.
A short while ago, I was approached by a coworker who, without the courtesy of giving me a hello, blurted out that her friend Joey would be perfect for me. I am not usually a proponent of blind dates, but I figured, what the hell, let's have some fun. Joey's a cute name for a girl, probably a lot cuter than whatever name it happens to be abbreviating. That's why you hear it so often. I prepared myself for a wonderful night.
At this point, I find it useful to interject that I am a straight man. I have always been a straight man. Even through the turbulent high school years, when experimentation is rampant, and the urge to get laid is so powerful that trivialities like gender seem meaningless, I remained unwaveringly straight. There can be no doubt as to the magnitude of my preference for women when it comes to romantic partners. Having said this, let’s get back to the story.
I, as any man would be, was reasonably excited about the possibilities the approaching date held for me. Keep in mind, at this point I am still under the impression that I am meeting Joey, as in Heatherton. As in Katie Holmes from Dawson’s Creek. To put it bluntly, I am expecting a girl named Joey.
On the agreed upon night, I approached the agreed upon restaurant, one of these places only identifiable by the oppressively bright awning outside, in this case a shade of yellow that would have blinded the sun. This color was not merely loud, it was dictatorial. It was, dare I say, flamboyantly yellow.
I entered the establishment and looked around. Katie Holmes was not in. In fact, there were no females in at all. Needless to say, I was somewhat perplexed. I inquired at the front of the restaurant to see if any messages had been left for me. Perhaps Joey was late. Perhaps Joey couldn’t make it. Perhaps Joey had met someone else and left.
But no. The host pointed to a table in the middle of the restaurant. Joey was there.
If there ever was a moment deserving of a Southwest Airlines, “Wanna Get Away,” special low airfare plane ticket rate, this was it. For this moment, I want to be able to charter a private plane to Mali for three dollars, tax included. And there better be alcohol on that plane, because the amount of liquid happy that it’s going to take to anesthetize me from this situation would kill the entire Russian parliament and still leave enough left over to give an elephant a pretty decent buzz. But I digress.
I approached Joey, after ordering a drink, and explained the rather awkward situation. He said he was sorry, that his friend (my coworker) could be a little overzealous. Overzealous!!! How about f*cking insane!!! Who just assumes that someone else is gay? I know advancements have been made, but isn’t it still customary to assume, barring some incredibly clear signs, and I mean twelve foot tall flashing neon clear, that a majority of the population is straight? Again, I digress.
I talked with Joey for awhile. He’s a fantastic individual. I took my leave about half an hour later, after assuring him that although I had no plans to become a homosexual in the near future, his would be the first number I would call if women suddenly ceased to be appealing to me.
