It Had To Be a Bad Date — Friday Fiction 2

Note — for some reason I am compelled to have the same number of entries in the Friday Fiction section as Friday Photos, so for awhile you will be seeing more fiction on Fridays than Photographs. The exception being September, when you will see nearly nothing on Thursdays and Fridays due to all of the Jewish holidays.

This short story is, like many others I have written, tangential to the novella Kate and is also hand written in the back of exactly one copy. If you too would like a copy with a short story at the back (and live in the United States) send $12 (10 for the book and two for shipping) by Paypal to gordond @ If you are outside the US e-mail me and we can work out the shipping cost.

Another “Awesome” Date

Paul looked at his wristwatch and wondered how much longer he would have to wait around this cafe for his blind date to show up. He had signed up for a dating service and this was to be the test — would they pair him up with a halfway decent person or would he be more like the other jerks he had been finding in clubs? So far he was more like the latter just by nature of the fact that he was fifteen minutes late.

His name was Roger and he was the same age as Paul, twenty-seven. Paul’s interest in him came from the fact that he described himself as enjoying the outdoors and particularly mountain climbing, whereas Paul’s idea of enjoying the outdoors was watching a documentary about the Grand Canyon from the comfort of a soft couch.

They had begun corresponding and all seemed to be going so well. They had progressed from e-mailing each other to talking on the phone for a few hours and then Paul had suggested that they get together for coffee. Perhaps Paul should have taken it as a bad sign that Roger seemed not exactly thrilled at the notion of meeting for what he called “just coffee” — as if there was something wrong with coffee?

He and his friend Jean-Michel Pinot met regularly for both tea and coffee. Far from being a “just” sort of thing, Paul enjoyed so much about it — from the taste to the smell, coffee and tea were fantastic.

Paul ran his hands through his bleached blonde hair and looked in a nearby mirror. Was it the way he looked? He had sent Roger a photograph by e-mail and hadn’t gotten any complaints… not that he got too many complaints about the way he looked.

He decided to give him another five minutes before he left, good coffee or not.

The waitress, a short dark haired woman wearing dark glasses approached the table and asked Paul if he was planning on ordering anything. He did not have anything to order yet, he said, because the date that he was anticipating had not yet arrived. She looked at a silver watch that she pulled out of her apron pocket by its chain and asked, “How much longer are you going to give your date?”

“Well,” said Paul, “If he isn’t here in the next three minutes I’m just going to leave.”

“Don’t go,” she countered, “the pastry chef made tiny chocolate cream pies that are phenomenal.”

Paul again looked at his watch and after exactly one hundred and eighty seven seconds had passed, he called over the waitress and asked for one of the small chocolate pies.

Sadly, it turned out to be the hi-light of his evening.


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