Authors Note: After writing my initial thoughts on Online Dating, followed by three epic tales of dating disasters; I felt it was necessary to conclude by telling you where I’m currently at. Also, the views expressed in this blog may not represent my current state of mind. They are just thoughts for the sake of your entertainment. With that…
A lifetime ago, when I was a chubby, chainsmoking car salesman; I learned this whole little spiel about Benjamin Franklin:
Me: You know Ben Franklin right?
Authors Note: Now here comes an inappropriate yet oh so appropriate aside; there used to be this store in Fair Haven, VT named Ben Franklin. So, when selling cars in Vermont, which is something I forgot to mention, sorry. One could see how someone, if asked if they “know Ben Franklin?”, there is a chance they may be thinking of a department store)
Them: Of course
Me: Good. Before he made a decision…
Authors Note: Me again, God, I suck at story telling! Why the fuck am I talking about Ben Franklin (man not store) while trying to sell a car? Let me catch you up to speed: At this point, the person won’t commit to buying the car. They’ve taken a test drive, toured the dealership, been offered a cup of something hot or cold to drink a solid 9 times, and sat there while you go back to see your manager to “see what you can do” about the monthly payment for the third time claiming this is the best we can do each of those times. And now, they are about to cause the biggest fear in auto salespersons miserable life; the prospect/customer is about to walk without buying. Why does this cause so many salespeople to drink? To smoke? To contemplate blowing up the whole fucking dealership on a daily basis? Because when you leave, you go from being an 80/20 to a 20/80. The left number representing your chances of buying vs. the right side indicating you taking my number and shopping it for ten dollars less a month. And while you’re walking out the door, I have to now face my sales manager, general manager, and sometimes owner, to explain why the one fucking customer to come in today didn’t buy. But before that happens, I throw a “Hail Mary” and I ask if you know of Ben Franklin (man not store)? Oh and I now have a pen and paper.
Me: …well, before Ben Franklin ever made a decision…
This would really fuck with them if they were thinking store not man.
Me: …he would grab a piece of paper and pen
I am literally showing them me holding a piece of a paper and a pen. This is all before I try to convince them to sign away 5 years of their life to pay from something that miraculously isn’t worth shit the moment they sign for it. But here look, I have paper, and here look, I have pen!
Me: And he would draw a line down the middle.
Authors Note: Ya, me again. I really allow you, the reader, to get into a flow now don’t I? Anywho, one thing I love to write, and when I say love, I mean despise more than the inevitable colonoscopy. One thing I love to write are screenplays. So, this is really bothering me that I am writing physical actions without describing them.
For example, “I’m about to cry” and my dates eyes spring leaks out of her face as if she was a nuclear submarine in the Abyss of the Atlantic.”
However, it also causes me to reflect on how idiotic and condescending I used to talk to people. And we wonder why buying a car drives us nuts!
So I would then draw a line down the middle
Me: On one side Franklin (man not store) would write yes, and one side, he would write no.
What would follow is me going through everything the person liked about the vehicle:
Me: You love the color, the interior, the safety features, the make, the model, how it drove, you liked the fact I pointed out to you that if you look on your gas gauge and you see an arrow next to the gas tank indicator, you now know what side your tank is on.
No shit, people loved that! And if you didn’t know that until now, you’re welcome.
Me: And on the no side is price.
Price, you know, the thing that determines whether or not you have money to eat, buy clothing, heat your home which is pretty important in Vermont, send your kids to school with said food and clothing, pay all your utilities, etc. Essentially, the only thing on the no side is whether or not you can afford it…But did I mention you loved the color?
Now, here is the thing and the purpose of this entire blog: I do the same exact goddamn thing with every girl I date or have the prospect of dating. And I truly think they do the same to me. Which they should, because I am a ninja at sucking at relationships. And why?
Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: So do you know Ben Franklin (man not store)?
Single, content with being alone me: Yes
Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: What do you like about relationships?
Single, content with being alone me: Sex and occasional company
Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: And why not?
Single, content with being alone me: Well, my parents were divorced which means my perspective of love is as fucked as Pollack painting. Dating at this age in life means that every time I meet someone, I have to defend my life up until this exact moment. And after that, after you’ve looked over my past; I’m more than likely going to apologize for here moving forward. Oh, and being in a relationship means I have to pay for EVERYTHING! Dinner, coffee, parks, movies, ice skating, tubing, Coach purses, flowers, and don’t even get me fucking going on the jewelry you never wear!
And IF you offer to pay, for lets say dinner: Taking money out of your aforementioned Coach purse that I paid for, takes forever. Like it’s the slowest goddamn thing on Earth. It’s like watching grass grow if grass were an 90 year old Italian woman driving in Boca Raton. And it’s even better with an audience. Audiences like Flo, the lovely waitress standing there, judging, watching, judging. All the while holding :the check” that was placed in front of me only moments ago with the assumption that I was paying. Finally, after I’ve already grown back the “five o’clock shadow” that I disposed of only two hours ago: I give up and say, “no, I got it”, and your jewelry free hands pull away from your $300 purse as if it was as hot as the goddamn sun!
“”Oh you sure?” She softly asks while acquiescing.
Ya, I’m sure. I’m sure for the rest of my life I’m going to be broke! And what do I want in return?
Sex. That’s it.
Essentially, being in a relationship is the most accepted form of prostitution. IF, she doesn’t have a “headache” or doesn’t “feel like it”.
That’s why! That’s why dating at this age is as fun as…nothing. There is nothing as fun as this.
Yet, this is where you, Mr. or Mrs. married couple with two gorgeous kids and a day full of frustration and smiles, this is where you say:
You know, love? Love that makes your heart race when you think of her. Makes you smile no matter how many emails your CEO throws your way because your company is 1% down from the previous quarter. Love, the thing that provides you confidence to take on the entire world day after day because you have her. That no matter what you’re facing, you’re going to be okay, because she loves you. Love, the thing that makes every moment your not with her feel like Christmas Eve and the moments you are with her are like the greatest Christmas Day ever!
If I wasn’t so squeemish, I’d put a youtube clip of someone vomitting.
But, I guess love is like price. All the other shit is just window dressing. If you can get over the price, you can enjoy all the things you do love about the car.
And I guess if you can get over all the other shit… love, the feeling we all covet in everything we do, love is your gift.
And I conclude with this…
I may have met her…
I think I met her…
Ya…I met her…
And all I can think of is…her…and…
What the fuck am I going to write about now?