The Stranger
I met MVWD in the computer lab during college in Southern California. I have to admit that I was in the height of my post-parental rebellion, and I was completely stoned. So when he sent me a message on my terminal, and I looked around to see who was writing to me, it seemed romantic and somewhat like a scene out of 16 Candles when I spied him waving to me from down the aisle. “Wanna go out sometime?” his message read. At this point, I had never spoken to this boy – could barely even see him. But, being a college student, I was too poor to feed myself anything but ramen. And being that I was stoned, I was really, really hungry. So I accepted, thinking that I would probably at least get a free meal out of it.
We met up for the date a few days later, and as I approached his late 1980s black sedan in the student parking lot, I began to wonder if I was going to regret this evening. His license plate was meant to read, “Stranger.” I can’t remember his explanation of what this was about, but obviously he thought it was very deep. I remember he was short, had curly black hair, and was wearing a black tank top and a big gold chain. Oh great, I thought, he’s one of these guido Italian guys. Boy, was I wrong.
Next, he asked me if I liked Spanish food. “Uh… I guess so… I haven’t had a lot of it, though.” “Oh good,” he said, “because I’m Mexican.” I replied, “You do know Spain is in Europe, right?” Since we were on the topic of food, I asked what his plans were for us that evening. He said he planned to take me to the Improv. “Where are we going to eat?” I asked. I got a blank stare. Apparently, he hadn’t planned on me being hungry, or having to shell out for food AND entertainment. I was not going to give up the sole reason for this date without a fight. So after some pressure, he said he would bring me to a classy joint. “Have you heard of Numero Uno?” Unfortunately, I had not, so I agreed. We ended up in the cheapest, most horrendous fast-food pizza place I’ve ever been in. The place stank of bleach, was lit with flickering florescent lights, and as I was eating greasy pizza while sitting on a plastic bench, I seriously began to regret the fact that I hadn’t used more discernment before agreeing to a date with The Stranger.
On the way to the comedy club, we walked down Third Street Promenade, stopping occasionally at the street vendors. At some point, I realized The Stranger was no longer with me. I saw him buying me a long stemmed rose. He was trying to surprise me. Oh, goody. He paid with a $20 bill. As the street vendor hunted for $16 change in small bills, I awkwardly pretended to look at shoes about 10 feet away so I could feign surprise when he brought me a rose. And then, I had to cart a rose around for the rest of the night. Oh, what fun.
Finally, we made it to the Improv. We sat in the front row. This was my saving grace, because it was prime real estate for heckling by the comedian. He asked if anyone in the crowd was on a first date. We raised our hands. “How much did you spend on her so far?” He very proudly said, “$40!” “Whoooooa! Look at you, big spender!” said the comedian. He proceeded to heckle The Stranger for another ten minutes on what a cheapskate he was. It was by far the high point of my date.
