After my much needed
week-long hiatus, I decided to stack up three dates in one weekend to get back
in the swing of things. The last time I had done this I met Seven, so I figured
the process might bring me luck. Sadly, two of the three dates backed out; one
due to a scheduling conflict and one simply disappeared off the face of the
earth after I sent him the link to my blog. I can only assume he was
intimidated by my brilliance.
The last man standing arranged that we begin our date on
Sunday at 9:30 am at
McCrae’s, a breakfast joint in Gresham
which is known mostly for its large portions. As I live frighteningly close to Gresham , I figured it
would take me a half hour at the very most to get there on my bike. I overestimated
this figure; it only took me about 20 minutes, so I was able to get there and
change into street clothes before my date, Peter, arrived.
Of course, as it was Gresham , when I walked in
wearing my biking clothes everyone looked at me as though I was covered in
glitter; some people laughed, some looked a little too long at certain parts of
my body, others just rolled their eyes. In general, people from Gresham do not seem to
like bike riders. It must be that we are always getting in the way of their
tricked out monster trucks with the four and a half foot tires and fog lights
artfully arranged all over the hood and grill of the car.
After I changed into my
blue, black and orange African skirt and Tevas, I took a table for two. I sat
there until I was quite sure it was after 9:30 ,
and then I started fishing for my phone in my bike bag to see what time it was.
I noticed I had a voicemail; it was from Peter telling me he was going to be
late. Three minutes later he called to tell me where he was. It would take him
another ten minutes to get there so I looked at the menu. It consisted of a
laminated placemat-sized sheet of paper with business card-sized ads along the
bottom and on the front of it. All of the items listed on the menu were your
basic breakfast fare, except for one small thing: after some of the entries,
(big!) appeared. I guess this could either be viewed as a warning or an
enticement, depending upon the perspective of the reader.
Something I do when I go
to out to eat at places I have never been to before is look at the people
eating at the restaurant and judge the quality of the food by the size of the
clientele. Most of the people there were quite large, so I figured I had better
be cautious.
Peter arrived a few
minutes later looking very neat; his hair was combed to the side in a very
intentional manner, his shirt, very securely tucked into his very blue jeans,
and his belt was tightly fastened around his waste. All in all a very well
groomed and fit gentleman. He hugged me hello, (which I was actually okay
with), and asked if I had had a chance to look at the menu. I replied that I
had, so as he begged the waitress for coffee, he perused the menu. He ordered
the bacon and eggs; I ordered the ham and eggs. After his coffee was delivered,
we kind of looked at each other for an awkward moment, and then I asked what we
should talk about.
We started talking about
food, dating, exes, and really, it was a very pleasant conversation. Our food,
which was served on dinner platters, arrived pretty quickly. My eggs and hash
browns looked pretty normal, though a gigantic slab of ham was covering most of
them from view. As I started to eat I realized that the hash browns were
luke-warm at best and the ham was overly gristly. Oh well, at least there was a
ton of it.
We both started eating
as we talked. He was polite and articulate, and I was trying to avoid as much
of the ham gristle as I could. We finished breakfast and Peter asked what we
should do next. I really had to wonder; as it was going this date was not at
all remarkable. I told him I didn’t know what was around the area, and he
thought it would be great if he could show me around Gresham . If you are not aware, this last is a
punch line.
I have a thing about Gresham ; I don’t like it
and I haven’t ever since I first heard the name. Some of my friends (and former
friends) live in Gresham, and whenever they say something stupid, like their
favorite restaurant is Red Lobster, my immediate reply is always, “well, you are from
Gresham,” as if this fact forgives their lack of depth and character. I thought
this might be a good opportunity to give ol’ Gresham a chance. Maybe I would have a change
of heart and see the soul in what I assumed to be a vast wasteland of
non-culture.
We started in a mall.
Peter told me this was the “new” part of Gresham ;
a large-ish development of super stores which served as a center for the town.
We walked around, went into Cost Plus World Market so he could show me his
favorite pancake mix, (after which I told him I was gluten-intolerant), then we
walked down the street and into Borders Books. As we walked through the store,
we talked about the kinds of books we both like to read, and he started dancing
a bit to a song only he could hear. Usually, when people I am with begin to engage
in some type of behavior which causes me to be embarrassed for them, my
response is to do something even more embarrassing, in order to shift the
embarrassment back on to them. This was a perfect time, I thought, to start
singing The Star Spangled Banner at the top of my lungs. Of course, I
refrained. Part of me knew that I would be more embarrassed at this than he,
and the other part forgot the words.
We left Borders and
walked around the mall a bit more. There was nothing here to lead me to believe
I was wrong about Gresham .
After our tour, we got back into Peter’s parents’ car, a blue Buick, and drove
to “Old Gresham”. We pulled up in front of a nice old brick building which
housed a history museum, and I actually became hopeful. As you might suspect,
my hopes were in vain. This very quaint part of town was home to a number of
painfully trite gift shops one could easily find in any touristy coastal town,
a slew of tacky hair salons, and a handful of slapped-together cafes and coffee
shops. All in all, a waste of the quaint little buildings they were in. We
walked around Old Gresham, and decided to walk further. As we walked along Powell Boulevard
amidst the fast food places and car dealerships, Peter told me of his days
going to PCC and mistakenly drinking too much Jolt one day before work. As he
was telling me of the convulsions his body went through after the effects
started to take hold, he also demonstrated by jerking around as we walked. It
was amusing to watch the faces on the people driving cars past us, looking at
him in horror and sometimes, amusement. It was at just about this point that he
told me that he went out with me because of my answer to a question in his
initial email. He had asked if I was expecting to have sex with the people I set
up dates with. Usually when men ask this question and I say no, they tell me
they aren’t interested; Peter was the exception to this rule. He was still
waiting for his divorce to go through and for this reason, could not act on any
romantic or sexual feelings he might have towards someone he was dating. This
explained why I had the feeling I was on a date with my older brother.
We headed back to his
car and he took me by a medical center with programmed Sims. I had no idea what
this was, so he explained; Sims are simulated people, engineered to act and
react to stimulus the way a human would. These Sims are used to train the
Nurses at the college Peter works at as an IT professional. Evidently, one of
the Sims just gave birth the week before. I don’t care who you are or where you
come from; this is the kind of thing that I expect would blow anyone’s mind.
After this, Peter took
me back to McCrae’s to get back on my bike and go home. He gave me a hug
good-bye, jumped into his parent’s car, and drove off. I stood there for a
while considering the non-date I had just been on; not at all unpleasant, but
not at all remarkable. I was sure of one thing; I would have to start abiding
by a new rule. No date could start or end in Gresham . Gresham was as I had suspected, a place where
culture went to die and simulated life was born. No good could come from a
place like Gresham .
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