"WE GOTTA GO! NOW!!"

I’ve had quite a few dates in my time; both men and women. Most were really nice people, at least at first. But one of the nicest persons that I remember meeting was this poor guy who actually flew from a few states away (I’m not going to say where in order to protect the poor devil – St. Louis, Missouri – his name was Mike. Hi Mike!) just to come into Cleveland to go out on a date with me. He was such a sweet guy, really down-to-earth, Midwest boy, professional athlete…just an all around “guy”.

He arrived in the afternoon and came over to my apartment for a little while to visit. We had met at a hotel convention a few weeks prior, but didn’t really know much about the other yet. We knew enough to know that we liked one another. So, we had a drink and spent the remainder of the afternoon talking before heading to a posh restaurant downtown for dinner. Contrary to what uber-right-wing Christians might think, we did not stalk any playgrounds, nor did we partake in any orgies with our sinful ways.

We had a really enjoyable meal, good wine and conversation. He was adorable. And I was thrilled to be getting to know him. We walked around downtown for a little bit and then I thought that maybe he’d like a walk near the shore of Lake Erie and there’s this fantastic overlook that has the skyline and the lake clearly in view. It really is beautiful. On a clear night, or a clear sunny day, Cleveland, in spite of all the jokes, looks like the Emerald City shining upon the shores of the lake. Sitting up there like a guardian over all the poop and piss that flows out of the Cuyahoga River into the silent giant that is Lake Erie. Where it thus combines and churns with all the poop and piss from Canada’s southern shores creating an audacious mix lacking in auspicious results. This of course, is not mutually exclusive to Lake Erie…unfortunately. However, with all of that being said, it’s still beautiful, which is certainly saying something. It’s saying, that the alcohol is working.

So, we had to park a few blocks from the lake and walk to the overlook spot. We were walking and talking, taking in the newness of one another and the unspoken anticipation of getting to know someone new and the silent promise of what that could hopefully mean. A warm summer breeze was wafting off of the lake, while the waves crashed below. The twinkling of the stars and the sparkling of the city lights joined in creating a virtual flickering chandelier over and beyond us.

We were talking and had arrived at the point in conversation where a lull here and there wasn’t uncomfortable. As we were walking, he turned to me and with a slightly distracted look in his eyes, he broke one of those lulls with saying that we should go. I said okay and we began walking back to the car.

All of a sudden, the look of distractedness turned into distress and he said rather loudly, “Whoa! We gotta go! WE GOTTA GO NOW!” I said, “Okay, let’s go…” He then began walking rapidly on his tippy-toes while apparently clenching his butt cheeks. I had the distinct feeling that he had to go to the bathroom in a hurry. So, I said, “Wait a minute, how about I go and get the car, because I think that you may have to go to the bathroom. You can stay here and not have to walk, you can concentrate on other things while I get the car, okay?”

He was still walking fast – tippy-toe, tippy-toe…ass cheeks flexed with all of his might. And then he stopped, took a breath, relaxed, heels descended to ground…and he turned to me and said, “Never mind, it’s too late.” And pleading with the fabric of time that we could sneak through a tear in it and go back a few minutes I pretended that I didn’t hear what he just said. So, I repeated myself, “Wait a minute, how about I go and get the car, because I think that you may have to go to the bathroom. You can stay here and not have to walk, you can concentrate on OTHER THINGS while I get the car, okay?” Completely repressing what I had just heard, hoping his response would be different this time. But then he repeated, with complete resignation, “It’s too late.”

And a rather loud silence ensued.

Then, reluctantly I spoke, “What’s too late? WHAT’S TOO LATE??” Just then, that waft of the summer breeze off the surface of the lake brought to my nose just what was too late. As my heart sank in my chest and my jaw began to drop, so did the shit in his pants. He had completely shit his pants…whole-heartedly. And it was doubtless. (And if you’re wondering, we hadn’t done any funny business around his back door prior to dinner either.)

I still asked him if he wanted me to retrieve the car and so he didn’t have to walk in it. He was unnecessarily valiant and declined. However, he did let me drive (his rented vehicle) providing him the opportunity of sitting on the edge of his hip, so as to avoid sitting directly in the culprit. We went back to my apartment where I let him off back by the fire escape (then I thought about driving to Mexico). He took the stairs up and began cleaning himself up while I parked the car. I fell asleep on the couch waiting for him, while he was in the bathroom. After he came out, there wasn’t an ounce of pride left in him, nor anything else I imagine. I vehemently tried to reassure him how sorry I was that it had happened to him and profusely tried to encourage him to not be embarrassed, knowing full well, that I would have been utterly mortified had it been myself.

We put his clothes in a bag and out on the balcony (where I’m sure my neighbors really appreciated them) and he crawled into bed, probably wishing that it were a hole (while probably cursing his own hole; "Damn you butthole! Damn you to hell! Damn you and your lacks ways! Damn you and your foul mouth! I'm tired of your shit! You just totally ruined this fantastic date for me! Your attitude really stinks! Ya know that? Not to mention your breath!"). I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face only to find that somehow it had escaped his attention that he had managed to smear shit into my bathroom rug. I really fucking liked that rug too.

He left the next morning saying that he had to go. I never saw him again. I called him a couple of weeks later, hoping that he had forgiven himself and his traitorous sphincter, but he hadn’t. It was unspoken, but clear that he didn’t want to talk, but rather forget the whole thing and I unfortunately was associated with it. I doubt that he ever came back to Cleveland. If he did and just never called me, I understood. I really did.


*I previously submitted this story to Susan over at Your Own Words for her collection of "Worst Date Stories". Where she's now sporting a new topic: "Outrageous Lies".*