Eddie Campbell - 44 Horrible Dates

On a balmy, breezy Friday night in the winter of 1994, I pulled up to Tims house for our first date. I was driving my maroon 1993 Toyota Celica with the sunroof tilted up to look sporty. I drove that car around Los Angeles with the pride of a tiger. I had my car washed that day so that it would sparkle like a marquise diamond, and I had the car wash add new car scent air freshener, which surprisingly works.

I was looking as good as I possibly could in my black button-down shirt and faded jeans with deliberately ripped holes in the knees. I was wearing edgy sneakers to seem laid-back and hip. My hair was as spiky as I could make it. I had the confidence of a bull charging a matadors red cape.

The omnipresent Los Angeles palm trees were swaying gently in the wind, like a Las Vegas showgirls headdress center stage. The trees appeared to dance, and the rustling branches created a sound that was soothing and relaxing. It was just windy enough to blow the smog away.

It was a very clear nightthe operative word being clear because the air in Los Angeles is rarely clear. When the air is clear in LA, it puts true Angelenos in a great mood and almost everyone comes across as nearly friendlyalmost human. Calm down, I said almost!

I had been looking forward to my date all day long. Not working the day before gave me plenty of time to go the gym, get a haircut, and drink plenty of water so that my skin looked fantastic. Unfortunately, having the day off before this date gave me way too much time to fantasize how great he might be. I was happy. I was excited. Too excited.

It took me forty-five minutes to drive six miles to Tims house, so I really had to pee when I arrived. Going anywhere in a car in LA is quite often a mini road trip. I figured I could hold my bladder until we got to the restaurant. From the curb, Tims house was charming, extremely well kempt, and manicured, which pleasantly surprised me.

I called Tim from my console-mounted car phone (hey, it was 1994), and he came out, looking more attractive than I remembered. The reason I didnt remember Tim well is because I had met him at a bar, and I was really drunk at the time. (So perhaps he didnt remember what I looked like also?) Oh well, too late. Whatever he remembered, as he walked toward my car, all I could think was, This guy is hot !

It seemed like it took him an hour to get to my car, as if he were walking in slow motion. I was thinking of so many things. I bet hes witty, smart, good in bed. And hopefully he has a huge penis. (Hey, lets face it; no one hopes that a guy has a small dick.)

With those visions still floating around in my head (like soap bubbles with tiny little fairy godmothers inside them), Tim opened my car door, plopped down, and before he could even close the doorhe farted.

My imaginary soap bubbles quickly popped like nuclear explosions. The fairy godmothers shrieking out in horror as Tim let one rip with the roar of a ferocious lion defending its young. This was not a petite little quiet fart that easily could have been passed off as a leather seat noise, but a loud, horrendous, male fart. The kind of fart a bunch of guys watching the Super Bowl do on purpose to make each other laugh.

I didnt know what to do next. I froze up, deadpan expression, like a person on a diet caught going into the refrigerator at 2:00 a.m. Should I have pretended like I was sleepwalking?

I made the split-second decision to ignore Tims form of nonverbal communication. At which point Tim chimed in with, I had a bean burrito for lunch.

I was completely silent. My mouth was wide open as I stared directly ahead, my nostrils internally closed off at prison lockdown.

I had a gut feeling this night would not end well.

Tim closed the door and I thought, Oh my god, how the hell do I carefully and discreetly roll down the windows? So many thoughts were going through my head. This time, my thoughts were not fantastical. I was perplexed. I was offended. AndI also thought it was funny. But I didnt know what the social filter would be for addressing a first date, first impression, first fart together.