'Thanks for walking me home. I had a great night.'
'Yeah me too, it was nice to have someone to hang out with most of the night. Man, it's getting late.' I glanced down at my cell.
'Ooo, you're right. Do you want to come inside? To, uh, wait for your friends?? to call'?
'Uh, oh no, that's alright. I'll just head home.'
And with that we exchanged pleasant goodbyes and I turned and walked off. Three steps later, the door to her apartment clicked shut behind me and I froze.
Did I just do what I think I did? I thought to myself.
Drake replied, 'Yeah ya did, douchebag.'
Sorry, I haven't introduced you to Drake before. Drake is my inner frat boy. Apparently when you get that little voice in the back of your head some people get small angels and/or devils and others receive crickets or mini versions of themselves. I got a stereotypical member of a male campus Greek-letter organization. No worries, though. Usually he simply builds up my confidence, keeps me motivated by saying 'What? Are you a pussy?!' and convinces me to buy T-shirts with words on them. In this case, he was just stating the obvious.
'Mind your own business,' I said to myself. Thankfully by then I had reached State Street where talking to yourself is quite acceptable.
'This is exactly like the every other time. Holy hot death, when are you going to stop being such a little bi'?? Thankfully he was cut off by my inner MP3 player, which lately had been stuck on an anime series theme song and now started playing on infinite repeat due to a similar melody floating by.
But Drake was right; this wasn't a one-time fluke. It may surprise you'actually if you've read anything I've written before it shouldn't'but I lack certain, shall we say, 'innate social skills.' That is, I do some really stupid stuff sometimes.
Take for instance two years ago. Having gone half a semester finding out the girl I had a crush on wasn't only beautiful but also very intelligent and friendly, I went for the awkward direct approach. I was overly kind and attentive for a couple days and then asked her out.
OK, she did say yes, so things didn't start out bad.
The night we were to go out, I called her. No answer.
'Dude, she ditched you. Don't worry about it and go to your friend's party alone. Just drink until you see your own emotions.' Drake, as usual, did his best to console me. I decided to wait a bit and call her again.
This alone wasn't horrible; a single follow up call is playing it safe. Even a call after that only slightly hints at you being a bit bored or desperate. However, the seventh call? Well, that might have been a bit much.
'Man, you remember any college date movie ever? Yeah, you're that creepy loser that no one likes.' Clearly my inner frat boy had given up on coddling me.
Blind to logic and far beyond na??ve to social context, I continued on until she eventually answered a call. It wasn't too surprising when she explained that she wouldn't be able to go out that night. Also, she decided that her boyfriend probably wouldn't like it, so there would be no future date.
Drake proceeded to laugh uncontrollably for the next six hours.
Possibly the most important lesson I learned, more valuable than to not act like a stalker, was to always let your conscience be your guide. Even if it's personified as a painful and glib college stereotype.
