Who would have thought I’d meet someone on public transit? Well, I suppose meeting anyone is easy enough on the bus, but some one as in somebody who could be the one of my dreams (Well now, I’m getting a little bit a head of myself). Nevertheless, last Saturday I was on the Main Street bus, sitting at the back, not the far back where the drunks and thugs hang out, but the mid-back where you can safely make an exit if one of the wackos goes phycho.
I’m sitting at the back and this cute guy gets on and sits across from me, cute enough to make me glance up from my book. A few times. And catch his eye. And look away. And look back. We play the eye glance game for a while. For ten minutes or so until we both (what are the chances?) get off at the same stop. The skytrian station- as in train of the sky as in his train will take me sky high? (eew).
The Molson Indy Car race is going on near by. Laps and laps of loudness. Neer-ahh- boom- Neee-raw, neeeeeeeeeeeeeee-rah- boom.
I go to the far side of the platform to get a glimpse of these noisemakers, waste of gas and rubber entertainment. He is looking over at the cars as well, I’m sure.
Bing-bong- “The train is approaching.” We both step inside the westbound train. The eye came has evolved to the smiling round. I hear a little voice in my head; “go for it.” I open my mouth and we begin a dialogue. I don’t know about what, the cars, the train, and before I know it my life story pours out my mouth. The little voice speaks again; shut up blabber mouth, you’re the one that started it, oh what am I doing?, go for it! He asks questions, I politely reciprocate. He’s talking to me about reggae music. Red Flag. He walks me to my dance class and I, without being promoted give him my phone number. Call me. Please call me. I haven’t got anyone. I don’t want to die alone. For the next hour and a half I have a spring in my step and it’s not the floors of the studio. I did it.
These things rarely happen to me. I’ve never picked up a guy randomly on transit or anywhere, while sober. I’m really very proud of myself. Good on ya.
Monday night. He calls. Funny, I would have thought he’s call on Thursday, ya know the five-day rule. Oh ya, now it’s a five-day rule, three makes it seem like you’re eager, so five is perfect. But he only waited two. Red Flag. Ignore it. He’s interested in me! Well, who wouldn’t be interested in a beautiful, outgoing, charming, soon to be published writer/actor? I mean get in line. We make plans for the following night.
First Date
I get there late. There he is. Long-ish brown hair, not headbanger long, surfer long. Stoner long? Red Flag. Deep brown eyes and HUGE lips, like Stephen Tyler lips. I didn’t notice of how fricking huge his lips are. I wonder what he can do with them.
My opening line is classic, something like: “Hi. Let’s get a picture of Sangria.” Let’s get this party started. We talk about his travels. He just got back from Australia. Learnt how to surf. That explains the hair. He’s really into photography. Great, I love having my picture taken. His best friend is dying. Oh.
"That sucks."
...
"So, my family was just in town," I tell him.
Things lighten up. Somehow we talk about our exes. On the first date? That’s a little early. But then it comes out, he’s trying to figure out how much of a player I am. Oh, I must be acting. The evening is fine, he’s interesting, and cute, there’s got to be something wrong but I don’t see it.
Date 2
The firework festival is on. We meet downtown and realize that downtown is way to crazy for us. Hop on the bus and go to Kits beach. I brought a blanket and we snuggle up. He gives me a wicked back massage (really it’s the key to my heart). We ooh and awe. Struggle through a crowd of people to some nearby busy bar more chatting. He wants to be a photographer. Looking into travel photography, because he loves to travel. Well, he’s only gone on one travel trip but it was pretty good, he went to South East Asia. Cool. I guess, I haven’t gone traveling much, I’m headstrong about getting somewhere, no time to enjoy the ride. Sucks to be me. That’s it date over.
Oh yeah but his lips are really big. Soft and fun.
Date 3
Renting a movie at his house. Ok, I’m going over to his place, and you know what that means- make out time!
We go to the wine store first. He tries to impress me with his wine knowledge. He does this by telling off these boys at the store that the wine they want to buy is shit.
“Hey man, don’t get that, it’s shit.”
“K- whatever buddy.”
“No man, really I was just traveling there and ya the locals wont drink it its such shit.”
“K- thanks”
“Really, I’m not shittin’ ya, it’s pissy wine”
“What’s your problem?”
“I just have a problem with shitty wine, s’all.”
“Ok Ian, I think they’re fine with it.” Oh yeah, his name is Ian, in case you wanted to know.
I drag him out of the store before it comes to blows.
“What do you care what they drink?”
“mumble mumble”
At this point I think his aggressiveness is cute. A little scary but harmless.
Oh you! You’re so silly. Giggle – toss hair.
Next stop video store. Not much we’re interested in but then he picks up Gus Van Sant’s Elephant. Basically it’s a take on the Columbine school shootings. Neither of us has seen it, and we’ve heard some buzz. Unfortunately none of the buzz warned us that it would be so slow. Good thing we bought non-shitty wine.
As boring movies progress we end up in the bedroom. But I’m just not that into him, or its too fast or I’m scared of his aggressiveness, I escape by saying “I’m not going to sleep here, I’ve got to get home for…. something.”
On the way home I ponder this nights events, his aggressiveness, his questionable life path and his general awkwardness; is it cute or scary? I’m leaning to the latter.
Date 4
A day or two later he invites me to see this surf movie, because then I’ll finally understand what he’s so passionate about. Sure, whatever.
On the way to the movie a panhandler asks for change instead of doing the “no sorry” routine that I usually do he says “get a job” BIG HUGE REDFLAG.
“Ian, that’s not cool.”
“Joke.”
Hmm?
The movie really excites him and that’s cute.
Ya, I can see the thrill of surffing, looks pretty fun.
“Oh you don’t even know the half of it. Like that one guy Greg Noll, he’s like a legend, I read that he once rode this 65 foot wave blah blah blah blah.”
And I’m nodding along, sure uh huh, it’s interesting but all over my head.
“So great so’ll you’ll hang out with me on my b-day?”
No. I’m so done with you now. Uh- yeah, when is it again?
“I just told you- next week.”
Next week- oh goodness I don’t know if I can handle this much more, I mean he’s fun to be around, cute for sure, but I’m getting the feeling that this isn’t going to go anywhere. But I feel bad for this guy, he’s new here and doesn’t have any friends.
Sure I’ll hang out with you on your birthday.
REDFLAG.
The Birthday.
Pretty much we met late (I was busy), we drank, he tried to get me to sleep with him, I told him that I wasn’t going to, he flipped out, called me names, we fought for an hour on the street (why didn’t I just go?), we left each other, he called my cell to bitch some more at me, I somehow got rid of him. End of Bus Boy. Phew.
No, not the end.
About two weeks later, I go to the theatre to see one of my friends perform, afterwards we all decide to go out for drinks. About five of us walk into this bar, and there bus boy is sitting at the bar. Our eyes lock. I nod hello. He rolls his eyes and turns away. I quickly and quietly tell my friends that “that’s him.” Who? The bus boy? Yeah, the crazy one. Oh.
He comes over with a note in hand.
“Here.”
“What’s this for?”
“Just read it.”
He’s hostile and people around us can feel that energy, they lean in to hear more.
Some random guy asks him, “what’s your problem?”
“This girl is a cold-hearted BITCH!”
Everyone is listening now. He rambles off some shit like how I broke up with him on his birthday (I just didn’t sleep with him- and well, should have broken up with him sooner-but do you really break up with someone you spent five dates with?). And he walks away from us.
Meanwhile all my friends have had a chance to look at the note. Bus boy leaves the bar. The random guys next to us buy me a drink to prove to me that ‘not all men are bad’. I knew that, but thank them for the drink.
After finishing my free drink I ponder my actions and realize I've learned my lesson. It's time to get a car.
Note: This was written sometime during the summer of 2004. So if you think you're the lucky guy... congrats you made it into a story!
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