My Inebriated, Classy Date
For our first date, my new acquaintance invited me to go to the Indy 500 and the qualifying runs the night before. I had never gone, so this sounded like an exciting adventure. I was fine with the fact that his two friends (whom I'd already met) would be accompanying us, and that we had planned to camp out in the parking lot the evening before the race. We had a great time watching from the inner circle of the track as drivers qualified, and we consumed a lot of alcoholic beverages, as is customary at these events. After grabbing a bite to eat, we decided to catch a Busch Race at a neighboring racetrack. I was very excited, since I had never been to one of those races either. The seats were great, the weather was great, and the company was great--until a few laps into the race, when my date excused himself and went to the restroom. Then he didn't return. Nor was he at our two vehicles when I returned to the parking lot with his friends. Having consumed a bit more alcohol in the meantime, his buddies weren't the least bit concerned. So we all retired to our respective cars. Some time later my date appeared, tapping on my car window. Apparently, he had gotten so inebriated that he couldn't remember where our seats were at the track. Nor could he recall where we had parked, and he had had to wait for the lot to clear out to have the hospitality-cart attendant tote him around. I agreed to let him sleep the rest of the night (by this time, early morning) in my car, which was the biggest mistake I could've made. After a short time I smelled something atrocious. My first thought was that he had vomited in my car! As the morning sun began to shine into the car, my date tried to sneak out to go talk to his buddies. When he did, I rolled over just in time to notice the huge stain all down the back of his jean shorts. No, I couldn't have been so lucky as to have him vomit in my car; instead, I now had a big poop stain on my passenger seat! When he returned (with a clean pair of shorts he'd begged from his friends), he apologized profusely and came up with the story that in his stumbling through the parking lot, he had obviously sat in a pile of dog poop. I might have believed his story had he told me that a Chihuahua had climbed into his pants and had diarrhea--well, aside from the fact that there is a distinct difference in smell between human and dog poop. I made up a quick excuse to drive home alone early that morning instead of taking in the thrills of the race, letting him know that I'd "call real soon."
— Lynette, 32