100 Bad Dates: #30

Date #30 was a big-time jock who was living a version of the Springsteen song, “Glory Days.” From the moment I met him, he talked incessantly about what a big shot he had been on the college football field.

December 21, 2009; 12:00 PM • by The Checkout Girl

Date #30 was a big-time jock who was living a version of the Springsteen song, “Glory Days.” From the moment I met him and signed for his package (What? He was our UPS guy at work), he talked incessantly about what a big shot he had been on the college football field. But that wasn’t what won me because I don’t know or care crap about sports. In fact, I barely heard any of the blah blah blah record-holding quarterback stuff. No, the thing that convinced me to go out with him (and it took very little convincing at that) was his six-foot-eight-inches of chiseled muscle. He was like a sexy giant.

Date #30 wanted to take me to a double feature at a drive-in movie which, really, could mean only one thing. Fresh off of a 10-year roller coaster of a relationship, I was down for that one thing.

We met at his place where I saw his ride for the first time. Grandmother, what a big truck you have! This thing would have been at home in an arena, crushing small cars. I made a joke about the size of the beast and overcompensating, and he laughed. He helped me up into the cab (not kidding), and we were on our way. When we arrived at the drive-in theater, he parked at the back because, let’s face it, weren’t nobody gonna see around that monster.

He talked, nonstop about awards he had won and how all of the sorority girls were hot for him. He went on about how he was to go pro, but had hurt his knee. He also admitted to having gotten his degree without really earning it. In fact, he said, he hadn’t attended very many classes at all. He was pretty nice, but I wasn’t as interested in what he used to be as what he could be: nude.

Date #30 talked through the whole first movie and intermission. A short way into the second movie he stopped, abruptly. He looked at me, expectantly. I realized he had obviously said something that required a response, but at some point I had tuned out.

“Sorry?” I said.

“I said, ‘Do you want to make out?'” he repeated.

Heck yes I did. He kissed me hard, and it was hot. We played heavygropeymakeout for far too long, and he finally asked if I wanted to go back to his place.

We got back to the house that Date #30 shared with two roommates, whom I briefly met on our way through to his bedroom. It was obvious we were not really there for a coffee klatch, and they exchanged knowing glances as we hurried away. As if I cared. His room was messy and slightly musty. I had to wait while he pushed some questionable looking clothing off of the bed, then fell on it.

“Get undressed” he whispered.

While I was doing that, Date #30 did, too, and climbed in and got under the covers. We started making out again and, finally, I moved below the now-removed belt. Well, attempted to, anyway. I was confused. What was this I was feeling? Or wasn’t feeling? I tried to keep a look of concern off of my face and continued with the amore. I had to get a better look at what I was dealing with and decided to get face to face with, well, you know. I did…and it was like whoa. From up at the head of the bed, he explained.

“I did these shots when I was playing. To build muscle. They had some side effects.”

Some side effects?

I really wanted him but wasn’t sure I could make it work. It turned out I couldn’t. We tried this way and that, attempting a good portion of the 64 acts described in the Kama Sutra and a few I had invented myself. No one could ever accuse us of not employing creativity. Finally, the mood had passed and we gave up, defeated. We lay there for a minute, and I wondered how long I should stay. We were both embarrassed. Finally, I said, “I should go.”

Date #30 and I went out one more time but, of course, there was no funny business. He was very nice, but I don’t think he was really interested in someone who wasn’t impressed with him. I knew it could never get naughty so wasn’t all that interested, myself. He was trying to relive his “Glory Days,” and I wanted him to “Cover Me,” but knew he could never please my “Tunnel of Love.” I guess in the end I was “Born To Run.”

The Checkout Girl, originally from San Diego, now proudly claims Richmond as her hometown. She can’t swim or drive stick; but she twirls baton, tap dances, and does a crazygood Marilyn Monroe impersonation. In the movie of her life, she’d like to be played by Liv Tyler, but realistically knows it would probably be her sister, Mia. She writes her work and life adventures at thecheckoutgirl.net, as well as the advice column Ask The Checkout Girl for Belle Magazine. After more than 100 bad dates, she’s found a pretty good guy.

December 21, 2009 12:00 PM 9