The Year of Yes- In the Past

I’m sitting at home channel surfing and I come across this woman on The Today Show who wrote this book called The Year of Yes. For an entire year, she said yes to every man who asked her on a date. As she relayed the good and bad parts of her experience, I started to think, “I could I do this.” I listened more intently. She went on to explain that, in order for this experience to work, you must be open. “Open,” I say to the tv, “what does that mean?” She went on–women in urban areas have the greatest access to meeting men daily, but we shut ourselves off from them. “Go on,” I say, intrigued. She says we walk down the street talking on the phone (Yep, I do that), listening to our iPods (I never leave home without mine), reading books (me too), or we display looks that suggest we are not approachable (Damn, that too...) “Ok, so open, huh?” She tells me, "No distractions, and smile, ladies–be friendly and open to small talk." I hate small talk, but I think, “Why not?” At the end of the year she found a husband, so I really I have nothing to lose.
The next day I step on the commuter train, feeling naked–no phone strapped to my ear, no iPod drowning out the dumb conversations of others, and no book to help me slip out of reality.
“Hello, how are you this morning?” says a train patron. I ignore him and walk to the next available seat. (Oh, shoot, I’m supposed to speak to people–this is hard; it’s too early to speak to strangers.)

“Hey, you left your music today?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry–hi, I’m Dan; you usually have your iPod.”

(Stalker alert) “Oh yeah. Hi.”

He continues on with some small talk, but I’m not interested. He stands to exit the train and says, “Well, it was nice to have met you.”

“Yeah, you to.” (We didn’t really meet, but okay...)

“Well, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Great. Now I need to get on a different train car.

As I’m walking to the office, the Heineken truck vendor yells “Hello, beautiful!”

“Hello," I say enthusiastically. His eyes light up–I’m thinking no one has ever responded to this remark before.

"How are you?”

“I’m good, and you?”

“Much better if I could take you to dinner sometime.”

“Sure, but maybe we just start with coffee one day.”

We exchange numbers and I’m on my way. This sort of exchange happens again with a postal worker before I enter my office building. I plunk down in my seat. “Damn, this is exhausting,” I think.

On the way home, I speak to Mr. Heineken on the phone and we agree to meet in the morning at the Starbucks on the way to my office. (I should add another one of my many rules here: Rule #17–always schedule a first date that allows for an easy exit strategy (e.g., before work, or on a lunch break).
When we meet the next morning, we chat for a bit, and I learn the basics: age, occupation, likes, dislikes. Then we are interrupted by a phone call from his daughter. “Hi, honey. I’m busy, do you need something?....Okay, I love you...Yes, and mommy too.”
I think, "Um, excuse me? You're on a pseudo-date, and you just told your daughter to tell her mother you love her?" Instead, I just say, “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’m going to get going.”

“Oh, so soon? Did I pass?” he asks with a smirk.

“Pass what?” I reply, still affected by the love comment.

“Your mini-date test? Do I get to go on a real date with you?”

“Naw, maybe your daughter’s mother would have a better time,” I reply as I’m pushing my chair in.

Three days go by with only a few more awkward encounters. Finally, it’s Friday. I agree to go to this birthday party with a friend. I decide to leave work early and hit a few stores to look for a cute top. The unexpected warm weather has more people out including the dreadful street performers. I hate them–beating on buckets, doing magic tricks, and dancing is not appropriate for the crowded downtown streets. I’m walking past this café and the infamous street performer–the silver man– is in full getup, sitting and eating a burger on the outdoor patio. (The silver man is this guy that spray paints himself in all silver metallic, including his face, clothes, and shoes. He stands on a box doing different poses and dances to Michael Jackson songs–by far the most talentless and annoying street performer of this decade.) As I walk past the patio he says “Hey cutie. How are you?”

I stop. “Excuse me, are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I am. Do you want to have lunch with me?”

“You can’t be serious?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you spray paint yourself for a living––you’re like a modern day clown and you’re asking me to have lunch with you?”

“Clown?” He laughs.

I laugh.

His grin instantly fades. “What’s funny?”

“I’m sorry, I just find it remarkable that you would try to ask me out looking the way you look. It’s comical. I’m not sure if I should be offended or intrigued at your level of confidence.” I give one last hearty laugh and walk away. (I’m only saying ‘Yes’ to sane people! )

Shortly after I arrive at the party that night, I spot the perfect guy at the bar. (I mean, if I’m going to play this little game, I could at least position myself next to men I am physically attracted to.) I pretend to order a drink.

He speaks: “Hey, I’m Jay, that’s a strong drink you ordered.”

“I can handle it,” I reply shyly. (I can’t, but I knew a double whiskey would get his attention.)

I sit at the bar most of the night as we volley questions to each other. He’s from Las Vegas, graduated from a state school, Mercedes dealer, and found his way to my city because his ex-wife had a great opportunity here.

“Oh, you’re divorced,” I say.

“Yeah, divorced with a son. It’s new, but I think I’m adjusting.”

After hours of chatting, dancing, and drinking, we decide to go to breakfast the next morning.
On my way to breakfast, I think, "Maybe this idea of 'Yes' is not so bad–I mean, I only slightly care that he has a child." I arrive at the restaurant, and he’s already there, which is a good sign. After ordering, I enquire a little more about this divorce.

“So, divorced at such a young age–what did you do?” I ask with a smile.

He laughs and says, “What did I do? Nothing.”

“Oh come on, something had to happen. You just don’t wake up and leave."

“Well, some people do.”

“Really?”

“Yes, that’s what happened–I woke up and she was gone.”

“Huh?”

“My ex was gone. I went to work and when I came home, she and my son were gone–furniture gone, car gone–there was nothing left.”

I could hear his voice cracking. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that–let’s change the subject.”

“No, you asked so we are going to talk about it.”

I think to myself, "Don’t curse him out––he’s being emotional!"

He continues. "How can women just do that? Just wake up and leave someone? Why are women so selfish?”

My mouth is open. He continues to rant as tears start streaming down his face. I’m speechless.

“My wife is gone," he says. (Um, ex-wife.) "She just left me and now I have no one.”

I wait for him to finish. I stand and say, “I’m sorry–– it seems like you have a lot of things to work out, and I hope you find the answers you need.”

“You walked out on him?" asks my friend, laughing.

“Yes––what was I supposed to say? I don’t know how to deal with someone crying about his ex-wife. He clearly needed time to himself.”

“Oh, come on––that was mean, even for you.”

“Whatever. My line is clicking––hold on."

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Jay.”

“Oh, hi––I’m on the other line; let me...”

“I don’t care if you’re on the other line––what you did yesterday was rude and insensitive.”

“Rude? It was rude of you to ask me on a date knowing you still needed time to grieve the loss of your family.”

“You’re a selfish bitch and I see why you’re alone."

“Back at you, cry baby.”

I hang up.

So much for the year of Yes!