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Crashes Through Houses

My Worst Date...Or One of Them

By Amy DoodlePublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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photo from peopleoflancaster.com

As a single mom on the online dating scene, I had my fair share of bad dates. There were some real doozies. There was the one where he showed up looking like a completely different person than his profile pic; as in different build, different hair color, different face, etc. The one where he was wearing white athletic socks with black dress shoes and shorts. There was the one where he took me to an art exhibit and the artist happened to be one I’d posed nude for in college. There was the one were I got way too drunk and woke up in a huge house with an airplane parked out back, but it turned out it wasn’t his house or his airplane. I think the one that stands out, though, is the one my friends and I still refer to as “Mr. Crashes Through Houses.” We’ll call him Crash.

Crash was exciting to me. In my white bread, suburban mom world of straight forward dinner dates at the Olive Garden followed by disappointing missionary sex, he was an adventure. He took me to wineries, downtown parties, and uptown hot spots. His family had access to the local sports celebrities and he introduced me to some former baseball players and announcers. He took me on an exclusive access tour of the ballpark, complete with hanky-panky in team management’s office. I was caught up for sure. Probably too caught up to notice that Crash was actually a (semi)functional alcoholic. It would soon become all too apparent.

I happened to be fairly exclusive with Crash on the occasion of my ten year high school reunion. I hadn’t been very popular in high school, but I had blossomed somewhat and finally outgrew my teenage nerd girl awkwardness, so I was looking forward to showing off a bit. I asked Crash to accompany me and he accepted. I didn’t really think that a small town high school class reunion was his scene, but to my surprise, he seemed to be looking forward to it. I bought a dress, hit the gym, got a tan, and made an appointment to get my hair and nails done.

That day was a home game and our team was in the playoffs. They played in the afternoon. Normally I would have been at the game, but since I was busy with the aforementioned hair and nails, Crash went with his buddies. He showed up to pick me up and I noticed he had been drinking, but it didn’t seem excessive or unusual for a Saturday at the ballpark.

We arrived at the reunion, which was held at the local Knights of Columbus hall. I found a few old friends and started to introduce them to Crash, but to my surprise, he took care of matters himself. He began working the room like a politician. He was attractive, sophisticated, and one of the few men in a sport coat who still had most of his hair, so he stood out a bit. I heard murmurs of “who is that?” from my classmates. I’ll admit, I ate it up. He’s with me, bitches.

After I mingled a bit, I caught up with Crash surrounded by some former cheerleaders who had managed to ditch their disinterested husbands. I walked into the conversation just in time to hear Crash attempting to recall the name of our high school algebra teacher. One of the girls supplied a name and he went with it. “Yes, Mrs. Adams? Weren’t you in her class with me sophomore year?” Not wanting to appear rude or perhaps not wanting to seem like her mind was going as much as she feared her looks had, the girl suddenly recalled, “Oh yes, now I remember!” I was dying. He had convinced my classmates that he had attended our high school for two years before transferring out. They all fell for it and some of them even went along with the stories he gleefully “recalled.” The whole room was laughing at his anecdotes. We laughed, drank, and danced all night until it was time to go.

I had way too much to drink. I was in no condition to realize that Crash was in no condition to drive. We climbed in his sedan to head back to my place and I nodded off on the short drive.

Suddenly I was jolted awake! Glass shattered, wood splintered, and we jerked to a stop. I realized we were in a house. It was not my house and we had not gotten out of the car. He had driven off the road, went airborne over a ditch Dukes of Hazard style and lodged his Pontiac into a small house. Luckily no one was home...except us, that is.

We climbed out of the car, lifting beams, drywall, and siding off ourselves. Neither of us was injured but I can’t say the same for the house or the car. The car (which ended up not even belonging to him!) was a total loss. The house was in seriously bad shape, as one can imagine.

The cops and the ambulance showed up. They treated our cuts and scrapes and then administered a breathalyzer to Crash, which he failed miserably. He blew a 0.16—twice the legal limit in our state. He was taken to jail and I got a ride home from the ambulance crew.

I bailed Crash out that night and that was one of the last times I saw him. My accident was the talk of our little town. Shortly thereafter, I started dating another man. As we were driving past the house one day, he happened to mention that he’d seen it all torn to hell and I sheepishly admitted that I had been a part of that destruction. Talk about first impressions. He told all his buddies he was dating the girl who went through the house. Not at all the kind of notoriety I’d wanted. He would also later be the one who took me to the art exhibit, but that’s another story.

#myworstdate

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