The Worst Date Ever

I originally posted this piece on my classmates.com site. I thought I'd put it here for a bit of entertainment.


It was a "blind" date in the sense that I had not met this guy prior to our "date." I don't know how he got my number, but he called me when I was attending Bible School and visited with me for an extended period of time. We had love of Algebra and Greek in common, so he asked me to attend church with him the following Sunday.
On Sunday he picked me up for church and we drove across town to the "sister church" to the one I was attending. He wasn't bad looking, but things went downhill from there. First of all, he sang louder than the rest of the congregation put together. I didn't know if this was typical, or if he was trying to impress me -but I was embarrassed for him and to be seen with him.
After church he invited me to his place for lunch, and I thought "Well, that's kind of sweet - he's gonna cook for me." So I said sure. When he started to turn into the Funeral Home, I laughed. (At least he had a sense of humor).
"Why are you laughing?" he asked.
"Because it's a Funeral Home," I chuckled, letting him know I thought the joke was funny.
"I live here." he replied -not laughing or even smiling.
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No, I work here, and live upstairs," he explained as we pulled into the back of the home and parked. I was too dumfounded to say anything.
His apt was small and nice, but I turned down his invitation to tour the Funeral Home. He turned on his TV to some football game, and said I could watch TV while he phoned the Sunday School kids from his class that hadn't made it to Sunday School that morning. (I hated football - but thought - I'll be a good sport.)
After about 20- 30 minutes - Yea - He took a short break from phone calling to see if I wanted to start lunch. (What? I am thinking. He's not going to cook?) He asked me if I would heat up a can of Dinty Moore Stew, while he finished his phone calls.
"I don't know how to make Dinty Moore Stew." I said (I'd never even heard of it.) Don't get me wrong, I could cook - but mostly from scratch and this stuff was in a can.
He was exasperated, "You just dump it in a pan and heat it up." (Now I was angry. . .he brought me to his place to entertain myself with a football game he wanted to watch, but wasn't. . .and to cook him lunch while he made a bazillion phone calls. . .)
I didn't want to go through his cupboards looking for a pan and "the stew" and play "the little woman" while he tried to impress me with how great a Sunday School teacher he was. So I said, "I've never made stew from a can, and I don't know where anything is."
He stormed into the kitchen, opened the can, and dumped it into the pan. He turned on the stove and said, "Do you think you can watch it, so it doesn't burn, while I finish my phone calls."
I wish I had had the nerve to ask him to just take me home, but my blood sugar was low and I was getting shaky. So I mumbled, "Yes."
The lunch time was strained, the stew was awful, and we didn't talk much through lunch or when he drove me home. Thankfully, he never called again. I guess I wasn't what he was looking for - and he certainly wasn't my idea of anyone I'd want to see again.