No Kissing

You know I wouldn't be telling this story if this had a happy ending. So, I met Bob at a mutual friend's birthday party at the local watering hole. As I tend to do with fellow video game fans, we bonded over our discussion of a series. Not an uncommon occurrence, I don’t look too much into those conversations as sharing interest in a popular topic is normal. That said, he had a quirky sense of humor, and I decided I wouldn't mind hanging out with him again. 

Bob and I chatted on and off over email. About a week later, he invited me to board game night at his home on a Friday. He mentioned there was also a viewing of the movie The Room, and a group would gather for that. I accepted the invite and looked forward to board games and watching the infamous movie in a public setting.

I arrived at Bob's home at 7 p.m. and quickly noticed only him and his shirtless roommate were there. Bob grabbed me a drink, and we all chatted about video games until the shirtless roommate clothed himself and departed. An unfortunate turn of events, as I recently discovered I enjoyed the company of half-naked strangers in good shape. 

I asked Bob when other people would arrive, and, to my surprise, he said no one else was coming. Now, I'm no board game night expert, but I believe board games usually call for a small group of people. If there's any quintessential two-player game, it's Scrabble. He didn't have it (what a cumquat--20 points), so we opted to play Mario Kart with a beverage reward for the loser, which is fine since I fare well and wanted to keep my wits about me; especially since I noticed his eyes made contact with my lips (something in my teeth?) a few too many times.

Slow beats of water droplets sounded above our heads until the drops strung together into one constant note. A downpour. Noting the rain, he declared it was time for the house tour, and I followed his drunken guidance. In the basement, I noticed a bar decorated in the classic fraternity style. Don't you agree that nothing brings a room together like empty bottles of Skol, Jim Beam, and Smirnoff Fruit Loop Fusion? He snatched a bottle of vodka and pulled a huge swig from it. With a slap of his chest, Bob beckoned me to follow suit; I adamantly, but politely, refused. He chased his chug with an attempt to put his arm around me. I dodged, nearly being lodged into his sweaty pit. A quick strafe brought me to the couch, and the realization that the movie was starting soon. While I called the cab, he pulled his shirt up (this is clearly a nudity-encouraging home) and proceeded to (sensually) rub his belly as he talked. Altogether wide-eyed, amused, and disgusted by these strange come-hither attempts, I walked upstairs and stared out the window for some stranger in a cab to bring me to public salvation. You think I'd have the wit to just leave at this point. No, not that day.

My steel savior arrived, and we were swept into the rainy night. Conversation was normal in the car, that is, until Bob told the driver to stop four blocks short of the theater. Confused by his request, I questioned him, but he resolved that congestion near the theater would be heavy. Reasonable logic, so I complied and hopped out. 

A couple blocks from the theater, Bob stopped and said he needed to do something. I looked around and noticed the grocery store. "Oh… Is the theater BYOB? You need to grab something?"

"I do need to grab something,” his words, slurred.

"OK. Sure, if we have time--" I said.

"Actually, I have a question I need to ask you."

"Ooookay. Sure." The dread welled up within me.

"Can I kiss your mouth?"

A quick aside for you: If you feel you must ask permission to kiss someone, you're either incorrectly reading the person or you don't have enough confidence to pull the move off. In this case, it was the former and the latter. I had not reciprocated any of his flirtations. I'm not really sure how he interpreted my rejections as positive signs, but there we were, in the rain, outside of a grocery store.

Without pause, "No."

His eyes bulged. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to kiss you."

"Why?"

"Um... As I said, I'm not interested in kissing you." I started to feel my body warm up. Not the tingly happy warmth when you’re excited, but when you’re so uncomfortable you just want to melt away.

He sighed with frustration. "Is it because I'm not good looking enough?" 

"You're fine looking. I'm just…not interested." Why was I coaching him through this?

"What did I do wrong? I mean, I thought we had something going here."

"Look--you read the scene…wrong. I like you, but…I don't feel any romantic inclinations toward you."

"Soooo, you think I'm ugly," he said like a child on the brink of a tantrum.

"No, no… This isn’t about looks. I'm just not interested… SO, back to my original response: No, thank you."

"OK. Weellllll, it's going to be awkward." Good. He’s not oblivious.

"Yes, yes, it is. Are we going to see this movie or...what?" Why I didn’t walk away at that moment, I’ll never know. Looking back, I would see this red flag and politely excuse myself...but I really wanted to see this movie. We continued onto the theater, talking as if nothing unordinary happened. The lingering burn of cringe followed me.

We took our seats separately from his friends; thanks to Bob’s failed pit-stop, we had to sit in the front row corner--primo seats. Soon there’d be sweet relief: The Room started! Despite the roars and screams from the audience, not more than a few words were exchanged between us during the movie. I think he may have whimpered a few times.

After the credits rolled, we exited the theater in silence. Dozens of folks waved down cabs, and with Bob still sulking, I wanted to get out of there quickly. Our lack of cooperation worked against us: 30 minutes went by and we still paced the sidewalks. We walked a few blocks away from the theater to get away from the heavy traffic. 10 minutes went by, still no cab. To expedite the end of this horrendous evening, I continued to beckon for occupied cabs to stop and whisk me away. I then turned toward Bob and noticed he was no longer hailing on his side of the road, but sitting on the curb…defeated.

He noticed my stark gaze and yelled, "We are NEVER getting a cab!"

"Great attitude!" I yelled back

"It's not worth it... We're stuck here."

"Speak for yourself. If you want to stay here--fine. I'm calling the cab company from earlier." 

Luckily, a driver would be at our location in a few minutes. When the cab arrived, he picked himself off the ground and we climbed into the back. Much to my chagrin, he stated his own address as the destination.

"Hey! I'm not going back to your place," I said.

"The cab can drop us off at my place, and then you can continue on to your place."

I was seething. "No-no-no-no-no-no-no-nooooo! If you want to use the cab that I called, we're going to my place first, and then YOU'RE paying the driver when you're dropped off at your place."

"But...I don't have enough money." He fumbled through his wallet showing its lack of contents.

"You have a credit card, yeah?” He nodded. “You'll have to credit it. I paid for our cab earlier and if it wasn't for me, you'd still be squatting on a street corner like a dipshit."

"Oh...all right." So defeated.

The remainder of our time together was in silence. Me, thinking why I didn't jump off the burning train earlier; him, likely feeling like nothing went as planned and he deserved better. I couldn’t agree more, Bob. 

When the cab drove up to my apartment, I waved and said my farewell to Bob.

See? I told you: the only happy ending is that it ended.