Several years ago I was going on a date with a nice girl in which I was extremely nervous and made a few boo-boos.
Before this evening I had never dated very much, as I was shy in high school and my first year or so of college. At the time of this event I had just challenged myself to ‘get out of my skin’ as it were and ask members of the opposite sex out more frequently.
The girl whom I had asked out for this particular evening was from my local church ward and she was a very neat person: kind, smart, fun –– everything one could ever hope for.
Filled with the usual terrifying thought, I literally shook as I drove to her apartment. What will I say? Should I talk about ‘this’ or ‘that?’ Does she expect me to give her a hug at the door? Should I just say ‘goodnight’ and leave directly when we’re done?
Well, I made it to her apartment, picked her up, and we went on a date.
I’m assuming she was her usual pleasant self –– I was far too nervous to be able to recall much of it. I can remember being in the car with her; seeing her; my mouth forming words, though I have no idea what they were; and the image of her making some kind of reply in return. I’m assuming she made it to her door alright as she wasn’t in my car when I got home, but I can’t remember anything else.
Well, as I sat with my car parked in the driveway and my mind raced, I slowly became of aware of what had just happened.
This was what I heard playing on my CD player:
No lyrics, odd beatbox noises, humming, chest pounding, experimental music. It’s an odd song and not one I would choose to represent myself.
I looked down at the CD player to see how long it had been playing, hoping that it had only just started. On the CD player it read, “Repeat – One Song.”
My twitterpated horror was amplified by a metallic ‘scrape, scrape‘ on my windshield. I looked up and saw that I had left my torn and dilapidated windshield wipers going since the last time it had rained –– a full day before.
This is the part I can remember: sheer agony for the entire rest of my night and following day or two as I repetitively analyzed what little I could remember of the date, hoping to discern whether or not she had mentioned it.
The next time I saw her she was her usual, kind self and never teased me about it or let on.