I started to recognize her in passing long before I knew her name. As it turned out, even though we worked on two fairly professionally-isolated floors of the same agency in Billy City, she knew through the grapevine who I was months before we ever actually talked, too.
See, we were two of a slim selection of single young Susies in a big office building populated heavily by Good Ol' Billys (who, true to the profession-based cliches, frequently tended toward the socially-stunted side). Add to that a smattering of middle-aged, big-haired secretary-type dames who wouldn't hesitate to bite you right in the jugular over office supplies, and you get a workplace dynamic such that she and I actually first genuinely bonded, one random day, over the tandem wakes of suggestive workplace gossip* that we both had trailing us.
*(For the record and much to his credit, the Billy Big-Wall interlude, which happened after I'd already put in notice but nonetheless would have been one piece of actually-legit fodder among otherwise-baseless bullshit, never even hit on the catty-rumor-spreading radar.)
*(For the record and much to his credit, the Billy Big-Wall interlude, which happened after I'd already put in notice but nonetheless would have been one piece of actually-legit fodder among otherwise-baseless bullshit, never even hit on the catty-rumor-spreading radar.)
And so, as sister tailored-shirt-wearing black sheep (black is the new... black) there in the sea of ill-fitting oatmeal-colored slacks and tie-dyed socks that is the Aging Federal Workforce Where Fashion Goes To Die, it was only natural that we became either arch-nemeses or fast friends. Obviously, we went with the latter.
(...and that is assuming we're grading on a curve around here, Billy.)
Lest you think I'm just humblebragging for myself about the undeserved default attention (both friendly and saboteur) that comes an even marginally-attractive Susie's way in a male-dominated work environment, allow me to divert your attention with a shinier object:
This Girl.
She's this beautiful, athletic sexpot with a wicked sense of humor and a wonderfully no-bullshit approach to everything, who also just happens to be a brainy engineer.
She's the sort of girlfriend who, every time you assess your lives over drinks, unwittingly inspires your resolve to seriously tighten up your ship and step up your game to a more adult level - she's raised a lovely tweenage daughter solo while building a real power-career and yet her outfit's never ever mismatched and her hair's always goddamn perfect, for fuck's sake!
But also, virtually every time I spend time with her, the hours seem to spiral down a rabbit-hole of increasingly bizarre or hilarious or just pricelessly stupid adventures that simply do not happen to real grown-ups this side of the looking-glass.
This Girl.
She's this beautiful, athletic sexpot with a wicked sense of humor and a wonderfully no-bullshit approach to everything, who also just happens to be a brainy engineer.
She's the sort of girlfriend who, every time you assess your lives over drinks, unwittingly inspires your resolve to seriously tighten up your ship and step up your game to a more adult level - she's raised a lovely tweenage daughter solo while building a real power-career and yet her outfit's never ever mismatched and her hair's always goddamn perfect, for fuck's sake!
But also, virtually every time I spend time with her, the hours seem to spiral down a rabbit-hole of increasingly bizarre or hilarious or just pricelessly stupid adventures that simply do not happen to real grown-ups this side of the looking-glass.
She is The White Rabbit. And I fucking love her.
(Well, wrong Rabbit, but right idea.)
So, 'twas a time in life when The White Rabbit and I were both online dating, and possibly due to the stream of ensuing stories hashed over in our lunch-hour Sushi/Sake Thursday tradition, we hooked a third single coworker, Jen, into enlisting on the same matchmaking site, too. And Jen, being a sweetly-optimistic country-mouse kinda gal, and maybe not having much extracurricular experience with The White Rabbit on which to base a wiser decision, divulged to us the details of an upcoming first date she had set up with a fellow and asked for advice. "I mean, y'all go on dates all the time, but I ain't gone out in years! I'm bad at it! I get so nervous! Y'all gotta help me!"
The White Rabbit and I sprang into action: our naive lil' small-town girlfriend needed us! What if we came on the date with you? we asked. Jen was skeptical but we persisted: What could go wrong? we countered, grinning like jackals. Jen worried that we would make her even more nervous, but we were already sold on the idea and thus had a majority vote. You'll never even know we're there! we promised, fidgeting with anticipation. After all, Jen wanted feedback. Jen wanted backup in case he was a crazy. Jen wanted coaching. Jen had no goddamn idea what she was agreeing to. We'll just... you know... assess from a distance. Like date-insurance! If things aren't going great we can bail you out! If there are snags we can throw you a line! We can all triangulate our impressions after the fact! It'll be a fun review session next Sushi/Sake Thursday!
The White Rabbit and I sprang into action: our naive lil' small-town girlfriend needed us! What if we came on the date with you? we asked. Jen was skeptical but we persisted: What could go wrong? we countered, grinning like jackals. Jen worried that we would make her even more nervous, but we were already sold on the idea and thus had a majority vote. You'll never even know we're there! we promised, fidgeting with anticipation. After all, Jen wanted feedback. Jen wanted backup in case he was a crazy. Jen wanted coaching. Jen had no goddamn idea what she was agreeing to. We'll just... you know... assess from a distance. Like date-insurance! If things aren't going great we can bail you out! If there are snags we can throw you a line! We can all triangulate our impressions after the fact! It'll be a fun review session next Sushi/Sake Thursday!
Jen was a supremely good sport. So the deal was done: we had a 4-way date.
(What Jen's response by all rights should have been.)
It was a lunch meetup, and so on the ordained day, we all met up at the elevators of our building, then The White Rabbit and I took off in a car ahead of Jen. We quickly scurried to the bar while she was still parking, scanning madly for whoever might be waiting around to meet her. We were going to do some good today: we were here for Date Assistance.
Several potential candidates were present. We flipped through online photos, trying to recognize the right suitor, as Jen came through the door and they spotted each other. But then, before we could even really take stock of anything about him, they were ushered to the general restaurant seating, far out of our visual and auditory range. Now the pressure was on: The White Rabbit and I had to find a casual way to immediately change our locale.
"Can we maybe get a booth?" The White Rabbit called out to our bartender. "We just..." (looks at me and smiles) "...we need some privacy."
(Definitely doesn't think we're lesbians. Nailed it.)
Shortly thereafter, a surly hostess led us into the dining room, to the one available booth.
But it wasn't any better. We were still separated from Jen's rendezvous by a half-wall stacked with silk plants and Italian-themed tchochkes! This would not do. As discretely as possible, we again summoned the nearest waitress.
"Um, this table isn't quite what we were looking for," ventured The White Rabbit. The waitress, clearly unamused by our section-hopping, glanced around the rest of the full dining room in no hurry. Her gum snapped. The ice in our cocktails, on a tab that had not yet even been transferred from the bar to our current table, continued quietly melting. On the other side of the partition, Jen's first date was progressing rapidly without our witnessing presence. We were approaching a crux.
"I mean, could we get... a table?" asked The White Rabbit, eyeing an empty but uncleared four-top closer to Jen's. I was acutely aware of what pain-in-the-ass customers we were being, but desperate times, man. We were missing our goddamn date, here. Jen needed us!
(We. Are. Stalking. Capisce?)
"I'll see what I can do," said our waitress. What she could do, and (possibly justifiably) did do, was hurry away, never to return.
Half the date had already escaped us by now. Still undefeated, we agreed to make the best of it and take turns going to the restroom, to gather what little information we could as we passed their table. The White Rabbit went first, but when she got close, she lost her nerve and bolted past without even turning her head. I could see she was trying not to laugh.
I stood up and started their way. And right then, Jen caught my eye for the first time in this operation and gave me an impossibly brief but unmistakable "get your shit together" look. She was watching our floundering this whole time! It was not, as promised, like she'd never even know we were there - and yet, despite our bumbling background interference, she was motoring through it like a true champion actress. She was the undercover agent! She was acing her date while we were choking!
Deflated, I hurried to the bathroom, and when I emerged, being as how it was taking place under a lunch-hour time restriction, the date was drawing to a close. Fuck a duck! The White Rabbit and I had to position ourselves for this! We'd blown the rest of the thing, but we sure as shit weren't going to miss the ending!
Deflated, I hurried to the bathroom, and when I emerged, being as how it was taking place under a lunch-hour time restriction, the date was drawing to a close. Fuck a duck! The White Rabbit and I had to position ourselves for this! We'd blown the rest of the thing, but we sure as shit weren't going to miss the ending!
I quickly descended on our table, communicated my panic in the most Dude way possible...
(Calmer'n'you are but C'MON, we gotta roll!)
...and we scrambled out the door before the smitten couple so we could position ourselves to casually observe their goodbyes. But they were goddamn efficient diners and check-payers and they were emerging right after us! And here is where things took the White-Rabbit turn:
On a wordlessly synchronized decision, we sprinted. Directly into the shrubbery.
I'm not kidding: we literally dove into the bushes. This is The White Rabbit's magic: what shoulda-coulda-woulda been a mildly-interesting, low-key lunch date of professionals with anyone else had somehow been turned into a fifth-grade ninja debacle with her.
Let me see if I can sum up the scene accurately:
Which was right next to us.
Which triggered in both of us a pathetic freeze-or-flight reflex so powerful and moronic that instead of, say, just staying still (and at least possibly-undetected) behind leaves and trunks, we opted for the alternative: colliding into each other in stooge-like panic as we broke and fled.
On a wordlessly synchronized decision, we sprinted. Directly into the shrubbery.
I'm not kidding: we literally dove into the bushes. This is The White Rabbit's magic: what shoulda-coulda-woulda been a mildly-interesting, low-key lunch date of professionals with anyone else had somehow been turned into a fifth-grade ninja debacle with her.
(Just play it off, noooobody noticed...)
Let me see if I can sum up the scene accurately:
- Jen (the self-proclaimed "terrible dater"): culminating a fruitful, adult date with friendly conversation, eye-contact, and plans for another meetup.
- The White Rabbit and I (the smooth "coaches" to aforementioned "terrible dater"): awkwardly vying for the more hidden position amidst the landscaping trees of a family-friendly chain restaurant, suffering seizures of laughter at ourselves, punctuated by prodding and mutual eye-shusshing, causing renewed laughter, spurring more shusshing, etc.
- One of these things is a picture of normal dating success. One is not.
Which was right next to us.
Which triggered in both of us a pathetic freeze-or-flight reflex so powerful and moronic that instead of, say, just staying still (and at least possibly-undetected) behind leaves and trunks, we opted for the alternative: colliding into each other in stooge-like panic as we broke and fled.
(Ohhh honey. Just NO.)
Did he see us? Did he recognize us as recurring extras from the cast of his earlier dining experience? Did he wonder what the fucking fuck two grown-ass women in well-pressed business-casuals were doing crashing around in the trees outside of Macaroni Grill? These were the fleeting thoughts that accompanied us as we ran, mission completely aborted, around the back side of the stucco building, in full view while Jen's Billy slowly drove away.
Curiously enough, we were not invited on Jen's second date with him to find out the answers to these questions.
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