Thunder Volcano

Boundless enthusiasm for something stupid

Posts Tagged ‘Awkwardgasm

Come for the Mustache, Stay for the Awkward Conversation

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After a long night of vigorous manual labor followed by some tedious manual labor, I emerged from the basement at work to finish closing the bar.  As I was in the process of plugging in a phone for one of our regulars, my coworker Billybob excitedly ran up to me.

“Some blond girl at station 28 wants to talk to you.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.  You should go talk to her right now.”
“Uh, yeah.  Just give me one second.”
“No.  You need to drop everything you’re doing and go talk to her.”
“I’m pretty sure Cam would get kind of mad if I just threw his phone on the ground.  Chill out.”

I spent a whole agonizing four seconds plugging in Cam’s phone and rounded the corner to find… nobody I recognized.  There was, however, someone who recognized me.  Specifically, a drunk someone who recognized me.
“Baron!  You probably don’t remember me, you waited on us a while back,” she chirped.
Well, she was definitely right about me not remembering her.  Better to just act like I might remember her.
“Hey!  How you doin’ tonight?”
“Good!  You probably don’t remember me, but I remember really liking your facial hair*.  We were on the other side of the bar, though.  I’m Jordan.”
“Hi, Jordan.  Nice to… re-meet you,” I blurted kind of lamely, offering my hand.
“Well, I thought I’d come in and say hi, since I remembered you.”
“Cool!  Good to see you again.”

It’s worth noting that even if I wasn’t an idiot when it comes to these kinds of situations – and I am – I was tired to the point that this didn’t seem like a particularly unusual thing to do.  Drunk people do some weird shit, who am I to judge?
Anyway, the conversation got kind of awkward, as most of my conversations do.  She kind of just said a few times that she was just dropping in to say hi, and I wasn’t really reacting.  At some point – and there is some contention over the exact details – she gestured at the guy she had (apparently) come in with and made a comment to the effect of “I came here with him, but I’m not with him.
I displayed the full extent of my manly smoothness by responding with a suave “um, ok” and not much else.  Plus, it was well past last call, so I didn’t have my usual easy out of offering her a drink.

Luckily for me, a voice from two seats over chimed in: “it would be a lot easier for him to get in touch with you again if you gave him your number.”

Oh, yeah.  That’s the sort of thing I’m supposed to be doing right now.  It probably would have taken me two days to realize that.

I looked over, and to my surprise I saw my friend Desmond (he seems to turn up a lot when things like this happen, which is weird because I only see him like once every two months).  He spent the rest of the night alternately making fun of me for being a dork and claiming that he has powers that aid him in helping others get laid.  I was feeling charitable enough to omit that his “powers” hadn’t ever actually ended successfully for me.

I saved her in my phone as “Jordan Likesbeard” and she later apologized for how awkward the night had been, as if the awkwardness somehow wasn’t entirely my fault.


The city I live in – Duckburg – is kind of spread out, so a few days later I suggested she and I meet at a bar sort of close to the city center, thus assuring it would be mutually inconvenient for both of us.
Her answer: “Haha you’re cute.  I trust your suggestion!  I’ve heard of that but have never been.  That’s fine with me!  But isn’t it kind of out of your way?  If I remember correctly, you live in South Duckburg?”
Yup, I’m totally comfortable with a stranger having this sort of knowledge about me.
“It’s on the gold line, so it’s really not out of my way at all.”
With that, we agreed to meet at 7:30 on Sunday.


Sunday, 7:00
Just as I’m about to head out, I get a text:
“Looks like I’m gonna be there a little bit after 730.  Is that ok?  I’m wicked sorry.  The buses suck on sunday.”
“Yeah no sweat.  I may be running a bit late too.”
I wasn’t, but figured I’d get there on-time-ish in case I couldn’t remember what she looked like this time either (this is a reasonable precaution for me).

7:35. Another text.
“Ok I’m on the pink line now.  Hopefully I won’t be long.  I’ve been pretty sick today and I’m not even going into work tomorrow.  so getting around has proven difficult.  So I’m wicked sorry.”
That’s… normal.
“No worries, I’ll be at the bar.”

“Ok.  If I can only stay for a drink don’t hate me.  I feel like I’m getting a fever :/ I’m at central”
I thought about suggesting that we reschedule, but since she apparently needed to take two trains and one or more buses, I figured the window for that idea had long since passed.

“2 mina”

She showed up at 8:25 or so.


Now, as I’ve mentioned previously and demonstrated earlier in this very anecdote, I’m not the world’s best conversationalist.  Luckily, Jordan had a handy solution for that in the form of talking nonstop the entire time.  Her favorite conversation topics seem to include complaining about how inconvenient it is to get to/from her apartment and people she’s dated in the past.  Both of which provide scintillating first-date material, I assure you.

At one point she felt the need to mention that “I’m surprised you don’t remember me, you were talking to us for a while about beer.  You had some story about the label on a beer bottle.”
That’s a good point.  I can’t fathom why a bartender in a busy beer bar wouldn’t remember the details** of a conversation about beer from two months ago.  It’s a pretty rare conversation topic around the ol’ office.

Anyhow, the night went reasonably well, owing in large part to my finely-honed ability to pay just enough attention to make it look like I’m listening while zoning out enough to preserve my sanity.  It’s a delicate balance, aided by the fact that I was too tired to try and get a word in edgewise (I have to be at work at eleven AM on Sundays, which is inhumanly early for me).

Because of how verbose she was about hating the bus system in Duckburg, I offered her a ride home.  I hadn’t driven to the bar, but I figured the subway ride to my car would be less of a pain in the ass overall.

On the walk from the subway to my car, she completely freaked out because she thought there was a bug in one of the bushes near the sidewalk.  I then drove her to a part of town that I’d describe as “not at all far from anything, particularly the bar we met at.”
Later, she saw fit to tell me via text that “…there is a scary fly in my room.  Not a fan.”
It crossed my mind that this may have been some sort of Freaky Friday type shit and she was secretly a nine-year-old.  I was not disabused of this notion when she pointed out that she had “…about 8 stuffed animals to protect me.”


Despite the fact that the night had been somewhat of an awkward failure, we made plans to go out again the following Monday (worth a shot, I guess).  During the finalization of those plans, I asked if there was any particular place she was looking to go and got no answer.
I waited two days and then just suggested a place.
Almost immediately, she replied with “Hey you.  Hope your week has gone well!  Are you working Monday?”
Um, ok.
So far as I can tell, the options here are either that she’s a total moron or that somehow my texts didn’t get sent/read.  I wasn’t keen to rule out either option.  Somewhat confused, I inquired into option B on Saturday only to receive a paragraphs-long text message in which she cancelled our half-plans and claimed to be “running out the door” and promised a future explanation.  I couldn’t imagine any explanation that would take more time than writing War and Peace on a cellphone, but I just mentally filed this one under Lost Cause and went about my day.


Two days later.
While attending a taco-related event, I received what may well be the longest text message in the history of phones:
“Hey sorry.  I’ve been a bit busy this week.  So.  I still wanted to write back and explain.  Basically, I had a really good time with you and wanted to hang out with you for such a long time.  So I was super excited when we got to exchange numbers.  But I actually met someone the next day who… I didn’t think would turn into anything, but it kind of has.  And I really like the idea of dating one person and I wouldn’t think it was fair to date both of you, so I kind of had to choose.  So thats kind of why I didn’t think Monday night was a good idea. :/ i hope you don’t hate me.  I really did like you… I wasn’t really sure how you felt about me***.  And ugh.  Ya.”
Did I just get dumped via text by a girl I wasn’t even really dating?  If so, is that hilarious? (yes to both)
My answer: “Bummer.  Does he have a better mustache than me?”
“Haha.  Hmm.  I think you might have the better one by a smidge”
“Well I just do not understand where your priorities lie”
Then soon after she asks “Oh.  Joke?”
I thought about saying something to the effect of “I never joke about mustaches.”  But I have enough painful conversations with dumb people in my day-to-day life that I don’t need to seek them out.

*I had a kind of ridiculous beard/mustache thing that has been referred to as the “fu-man-chops,” though I prefer the term “congratulations mustache.”
**In retrospect I think I know which beer bottle I was talking about (Blanche de Bruxelles), but that’s largely because I tell that story to everybody who orders it.
***I actually get this a lot.  The possible reason was explained to me once by a very drunk friend of my (now former) girlfriend: “I thought you didn’t like me when we first met.  And I was thinking about it – you’ve got all these pretty girls who are used to guys fawning over them all the time, and you just don’t give a shit.  They don’t know what to do with that.”  I found this to be a good explanation, though the real reason this particular person thought I didn’t like her was that I didn’t and probably still don’t.

Written by Baron Volcano

02/10/2013 at 11:18 pm