One Saturday night in Portland, three friends convince a reluctantly single girl to head out on the town. Having been single for a few years now, I’m feeling pretty discouraged and definitely not hopeful about meeting anyone special, especially at a bar…
That night, we decide to go to a local whiskey bar with cheap shots and greasy tater tots. And since I’m not anticipating meeting anyone, I get my own basket of tots with a full dish of 50 ingredients “special sauce.” Although I’m pretty sure that 49 of those are mayonnaise and the 50th is most likely Tabasco sauce.
Meanwhile, the girls are off playing darts with three charming twenty- something hipsters in flannel shirts. After the game they come over to the bar where I’m sitting and order us all a round of Elijah Craig. My three friends have already paired off with the three flannels and I (again) am the odd man out. That is until their friend Brian showed up. Brian is tall, dark, handsome and seemingly normal. We make slightly awkward small talk for a few minutes as our friends around us make goo goo eyes at each other. It turns out that he’s not only dreamy and funny, but he’s also kind, intelligent, and successful. He has to be too good to be true. So rather than wasting our time, I cut to the chase and ask him about any potential psychosis or strange fetishes. He’s wondering the same about me. Then we bond about all the weirdoes and psychotics we usually attract. “It’s so refreshing to meet someone who isn’t a crazed maniac,” he says to me. One of my girlfriends winks at me and then heads to the door with her new beau. It’s now last call but I’m having such a great time with Brian that I’m not ready for the night to end. We’re just starting to get into some good flirting when the bar is shutting down. I’m not usually one to go home with someone I’ve just met but I haven’t felt this way about a guy in such a long time that I decide to let my guard down. He invites me back to his place for a glass of wine and to show me some photos from a recent trip to Argentina.
His place is nice, really nice. He’s not like the typical bachelor who has a dented old beer keg as his coffee table and a stack of Taco Bell napkins in place of toilet paper sitting on the bathroom counter. He clearly has a good job and a keen sense for design. I’m impressed, and pretty drunk. Brian opens a bottle of wine and we get settled in on the couch. It’s too tempting not to jump in bed with him. He’s such an interesting guy and I’m insanely attracted to him so after we have the “Oh my God I never usually do this” speech we have sex. And probably the best sex I can remember. He was incredible. How did I land such a catch?! He’s even a good cuddler. I fall fast asleep in his big strapping arms and sleep like a baby until his alarm goes off at 10am. It’s Sunday but he has a meeting with a potential new client who has just relocated to Portland. He kisses my arm up and down and gushes about what an amazing time he had with me last night and how he can’t wait to see me again. He tells me to stay as long as I like and starts apologizing profusely for running out. Then he pleads, “Please, pleeeeaaaase make sure to leave your number on the way out. I want to take you out to dinner tonight.” He continues to tell me that there is a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, a clean towel for me in the bathroom and that all I have to do is shut the door when I leave and it will lock itself. I watch him leave…wow…just wow…
I go into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. I have a pretty wicked hangover but the night was so perfect that I don’t even care. As I’m freshening up my friend Sadie calls and asks me to meet her for breakfast so she can tell me about the guy she met last night. I tell her that I also met a guy and can’t wait to tell her about Brian. It’s been forever since I’ve met anyone actually worth sharing about to anyone so I’m super excited brag to my friends about him. All I need to do is drop the kids off and I’ll be on my way. I’m not sure if was the coffee, the three hundred tater tots or the 6 shots of whiskey and wine but my stomach is not happy with me. Thank god Brian left because I just took a dump the size of Rhode Island in his bathroom. Luckily there is plenty of ventilation in here so it should clear out by the time he gets home this evening. Oh crap, one more major problem – the toilet won’t flush!!! WTF! What am I gonna do!? I can’t leave it like this, he’ll come home and think Godzilla came in and desecrated his toilet. I’m in panic mode. There’s no plunger and the toilet is still running. The water level is continuing to rise at a steady pace so I have to do something quick. I found a plastic Target bag under the sink and swiftly scooped the obstruction into the bag with a cardboard toilet paper roll. The toilet finally flushes and the water goes down. Phew! I’m still left with a bag of crap but I’m so grateful I was able to fix the situation before I flooded his bathroom floor with poop water. Now I’ll I have to do is take the evidence with me when I leave and throw it out outside his apartment.
Wow. What a rush! That was the best cardio workout I’ve had in months. I’m seriously sweating. Luckily, Brian will never have to know about this. Or maybe I’ll wait and tell him after our 50th wedding anniversary when he’ll be too old to remember it the next day anyway. And now that it’s over I begin to think I could eventually look back on this and laugh…eventually.
I gather all my stuff together, bag ‘o poop in hand and head towards the door. Right as I’m about to leave I remember I never wrote down my number for him. I’m so flustered by the toilet disaster that I almost blew it by not leaving him my contact info. I see a pen and paper laying out on the dining table so I walk over to leave him a note. But there’s already writing all over the paper. It’s a love letter…addressed to ME, from him! How sweet! I’ve never had anyone write me a letter like this before. It’s so romantic. At the end he says to leave my phone and address. He’s gonna pick me up at 7p for dinner at his favorite restaurant that he spoke of the night before. My cheeks are literally getting sore from all this smiling. I’ve been waiting for this man to come along for a long time. But I put in my time and I know I deserve this, and he deserves a nice girl in his life too. Feeling the happiest I can imagine, I write down my contact info and leave to go meet Sadie. As I’m walking down the hall towards the stairs I suddenly feel very anxious and panicked. I check to make sure I have my phone, purse, wallet…all there. Then it hits me, the bag! Shit! I don’t have the poo bag! Ahhhhh! Where is it??? I recall holding it in my hand as I was leaving but then I went back in to write the note. But I was still holding on to it…until…I set it down on the table to write my number…NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I left the bag RIGHT NEXT TO his love letter! Are you kidding me! Fuck my fucking life! This cannot be happening. What do I do? I’m breaking in, that’s it, that’s the new plan. There is no way in hell I’m leaving a bag full of smelly tater shit on his love note. Out of all the crazy psychopath girls he’s met before this would definitely trump all of them. How could I do this? I’m kicking myself as I walk back towards his door and then it hits me… It’s an apartment…on the fourth floor. There are no windows to break or potted plants with a hidden key. I turn the doorknob vigorously but it’s no use. There is no way in, or out of this dilemma. Realizing that I am completely defeated, I sullenly walk away. This is going to be the worst case of PTSD my therapist has ever seen. Of course it was too good to be true. Ugh.
I don’t think I need to mention that Brian never came to pick me up for dinner that night, or that he never attempted to call or contact me ever again. And every time I went to a bar I feared that I would someday run into him. Six months later, I see him at a gallery opening downtown. Just seeing him makes my heart sink into my stomach and makes me break out into cold sweats. After re-living the tragic event in my head I remember how well we connected and what an amazing night we shared together. Is there anything I could possibly say to him to convince him to hear me out? I already lost him. I can’t lose him again so after my fifth glass of wine I decide – what the hell – I’m gonna go right up to him and explain what happened. I only got within twenty feet of him when he sees me walking towards him. He vehemently puts up his hand, stopping me in mid-tract and shouts “NO! Nooooo!” then races for the door, flings in open and storms out. Everyone in the gallery turns to look at me as if I have the plague. I burry my head, turn, and leave. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. But couldn’t the universe have told me that in a less cruel way?
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