#67 THAT TIME I GOT STOOD UP ON A DATE AFTER WE’D DRUNKENLY MADE OUT AT A BAR

He picked me up and we made out with him full-on carrying me like a toddler – but at a bar full of people

At the tender age of 22 – the only time I can appropriately use the Taylor Swift song lyrics “I’m feeling 22” since it didn’t exist when I was that age – I was living in Valdosta, Georgia, newly attending graduate school and I went out one night for my friend Patten’s sister’s birthday party at Charley O’Corleys (a college bar not far from campus) – either for Claire’s birthday or another former cheerleader friend of hers from high school who I’d run cross country with. 

I had not been a cheerleader (unsurprisingly) but they had, both in the year below me at school, beautiful and charismatic girls. I probably harboured secret fantasies in high school of being a cheerleader, of having that level of admiration and popularity, of performing at pep rallies in front of the school in the gym, in a short skirt, but I was A) far too shy, B) not performative enough, C) never tried out for the team, with C) being a factor that will always disqualify you for anything, and perhaps, D) I had no rhythm or ability to dance. Plus, being a cheerleader was expensive and was often reserved only for the girls who came from the weather families in the county.

Of course, cheerleaders often ran fundraisers in the town by washing cars like you see in the movies, which in hindsight was problematic on multiple levels, mostly because of the Junior Varsity (JV) and Varsity cheerleaders being ages fourteen to eighteen at most and the cheerleaders in films being a more appropriate age of over eighteen at least.

One girl, Denise, ran cross country as well and I was sent by my track coach, Coach Player, to run cross country in the track off-season to stay in shape. I hated cross-country running, the utter endlessness of it. By contrast, I loved track running. (Like cheerleaders with their short skirts, we got very short, shorts but with less clout and kudos and certainly less sex appeal, although our tops were practically see-through.)

On the track, there was something great about visualising the quarter miles, ticking off the distance as you ran around the edges and straights of the track, passing the start line yet another time. This was years before smartphones and wearable trackers and the distance in cross country being a 5k seemed completely interminable and the up and down of the terrain was awful, compared to the lovely, measurable flat track. I did the one-mile, the two-mile, the odd hurdles, four by four relay, and the odd (terrible) long jump. I was so bad at keeping up with cross country (as opposed to my track days where I routinely placed second or third), that one of the girl’s mothers, the competitive type of helicopter parent, told her daughter she couldn’t run with me because I was a chatterbox, who was holding her back.

All that is to say that I was invited to this sort of ‘hey, everyone come to the bar’ sort of invite and I went. One of the girls – either Claire or Denise – must have been turning twenty-one.

Meeting a tall, mysterious man

As many of my stories go, I had spied this exceptionally tall, handsome Asian man who worked at one of the restaurants in the mall called McAlister’s that did those giant jacket/baked potatoes where they join two or three potatoes together but make it look like a really big one and load it up with toppings. I’d also seen him in the Facebook photos of mutual friends and he was intriguing to me, not because of anything in his personality, you see, that’s not how I rolled, but because he was hot. 

He had a nerdy and odd name and I’ll call him Ross. It was that sort of name that didn’t match up with his hotness.

Somehow I got close to blackout-level drunk at Charley O’s, which was hardly an unusual occurrence with my ‘I only have four drinks’ rule, the four drinks being Long Island Ice Teas (aka at least twelve shots) and how in the US if the bartender likes you, you get extra pours and I no doubt flirted with all the bartenders, men and women alike.

I spied Ross at the bar and somehow we ended up making out – I was giddy with excitement – and in all that he picked me up and full-on held me, hands clasped firmly to my bottom. I’ve never been what one would call a ‘dainty’ girl so this was impressive in and of itself that he was able to lift me, hold me, and carry me the entire time we were making out.

Like this but in a sea full of people and I was wearing pants.

I spent the following day terrified the photos would surface on Facebook. It was the days before tag approvals and I was often the guilty party of posting said incriminating photos of others (a la the ‘angry painter’) so it would have only been karmic justice if I’d had it done to me, but alas! No one really cared what I was up to and no one posted evidence if there was any taken.

Facebook messaging

I added him on Facebook and he’d messaged me.

Ross: A little ‘fuzzy’ that night. Though, I don't regret it. Maybe next time, if we meet up again, we’ll both be a lil less drunk. [Winky face]

‘Lil’ in place of ‘little’ was in his vocab.

Elaine: Ha! I would hope that we are both – definitely – less drunk next time we meet. I do hope, however, to meet you officially under disparate circumstances, if you’d be up for that, of course. I have seen you around – at McAlister’s I think. Needless to say, my behaviour on Saturday isn’t customary. I hope you are well.

Since I was newly out of my relationship with High School Sweetheart back then and it was before I’d met Air Traffic Controller, my Firefighter Neighbour, and many others that followed, I don’t think my behaviour had been ‘customary’ but I was certainly up for future Elaine getting a whole lot wilder. That was only the catalyst.

Ross: Lol, as do I, and I’d be up with meeting you again, of course, with both of us being less drunk. You probably won’t see me that much anymore at McAlister’s, seeing as I stopped working there a week or so ago. Anyways, honestly, I liked your ‘behaviour’, plus with being as drunk as you ‘and I’ were, you’re not a bad kisser.

Not sure why he felt the need to include quotation marks on certain words.

Elaine: I really enjoyed chatting with you tonight. Thanks! I hope you sleep well. I look forward to Saturday. Fingers crossed I get my twelve-page paper done by then and begin on the next load of assignments. I’m so terribly busy with school; it’s daunting. Night!

This was back when I had phone conversations with boys, long into the night, harking back to the high school days of telephone cords and wireless phones that were always engaged with the busy signal. I don’t recall what we talked about now or for how long but he asked me out on a date and I’d never really been on dates besides my first date and I was eager.

Ross: Likewise, on all accounts. I will definitely cross all my fingers, for you, even if it may cause me to form an acute case of carpal tunnels, too. Finish all your assignments. Anyways, take care and hopefully I won’t be so inane in conversation next time we chat. [Wink]

He said ‘anyways.’ That should have been a clue.

I talked about getting stressed with schoolwork and my penchant for procrastination. Then asked when he was picking me up, assured him I enjoyed his conversation, and gave him my address. I then sent him another message the next day that I was sad I hadn’t spoken to him the past couple of nights (he probably found that far too full on and got spooked) and that I didn’t have his phone number (so maybe we had Skyped?) and a reference to him having my number saved on some ‘unrelated’ name, whatever that meant. 

He said it had only been one night that we hadn’t chatted, he had a Gainesville, Florida number and if he didn’t answer to leave a message.

The day of the date

The day of the date came and I messaged him to ask if he was still picking me up at 8 pm that Saturday. 

He didn’t message. 

He didn’t show up.

He messaged long after our date was meant to happen and apologised, saying that his mother and sister had been in town and he’d been hanging out with them most of the day but he could still come.

This time, I didn’t pick up the message until later, not intentionally. I read the messages and pathetically asked if he was still coming. No reply.

I sent a message the next day to say I’d tried ringing to reschedule something to see if he wanted to go for a walk but nothing ever happened – and I never saw or kissed him again.

Coming up next, that time I got in a drunk stranger’s car, which can easily be misread as getting drunk IN the actual car but we were both drunk and I got into a car he was driving. Very short tale to follow.

Don’t forget to check out the other sixty-six posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place – and the odd “present day snippet” of what I’m up to lately.

Have you ever been stood up on a date and how did it make you feel? Back then I always took everything personally and was so upset when things like this happened.

P.S. Today is the last full day of my writer’s retreat and I’ve absolutely loved it.

The tutors, Katherine Clements and Andrew Michael Hurley have been absolutely brilliant – as well as the guest Andrew McMillan. (Check out The Inkwell, Katherine’s amazing Substack, full of brilliant writing tips and talk of her experience of publishing her novels and more!)

I thought I’d do loads and loads of writing, but instead it’s been like being back in grad school where I have three-hour classes each day, do a few writing exercises, a couple of one-to-one tutorials, get to discuss lovely ideas with fellow writers (many published and further along in their journey/more talented than me) into the afternoon and evening, and eat some amazing vegetarian food (I’m not vegetarian usually but the catering and staff at Arvon have been lovely). It’s been inspiring and exciting and I’ve come away with tips that I hope will improve my fiction writing. 

In my day-to-day life, it’s quite full-on during the week with my day job and editing my Grandad’s memoir, writing Substack, working on my novel, and with various other projects like the odd short story or the TV pilot I recently wrote, so it’s been nice to have a slower pace of life.

Michael, my gem of a husband, met me in Hebden yesterday and we had a two-hour walk at Hardcastle Crags; it was lovely to be out in nature and in the (rare) sun since the British summer has been utterly miserable.

I hope you’ve all been enjoying a bit of sunshine and nature this summer.

Image from the National Trust website.