Friday, 28 September 2012

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Dating, workplace, perils of...

I am getting to know a few of my readers here, and those of you with whom I chat online know that I do research in archives and photography--mostly about military history and especially regarding the US Civil War. Yes, in real life, I am a geek, to the bone.

When women find out what I do they are polite, express absolutely no interest, and move on to the lepers in the crowd. I don't know what it is about history that turns people off but I find that having a head stuffed full of useless information makes me quite employable although, as a prospective date, I am avoided more than anyone else. My life effectively ended when Trivial Pursuit went out of style. You see, I don't know enough about Robin Williams to do well in a bar bet.

Guys who do what I do for a living work with women who do what I do for a living and, in general, we do not date one another. Historians suck. But, on occasion, we become so hard up we have no choice other than date other historians; it almost always turns out badly.

Take today, for example: the woman who runs the archives section in which I usually work is a lovely, curvy, exceedingly hot 50-year-old woman who, unfortunately, lost her sight when she was a teenager. This woman is exceedingly beautiful, and very witty (if you like that sort of woman). She usually turns me down, without comment, if I ask her out on a date.

She can't see, remember? If she can't see, how does she know when I'm looking up her dress? I asked her how she knew and she told me she can feel my breath on her knees. I told her I was under her desk looking for my pencil, and she said she was certain she would know if my pencil was in her underwear because she remembers our first date and knows exactly what my pencil feels like.

Today she told me I could take her to lunch. I should have known this was going to turn out badly. We went to a Tex-Mex place just down the street from the archives. She took my arm and we went inside and sat down. So far, so good.

She had an agenda. Damn it, every woman I go out with has a fucking agenda. It would make things a whole lot easier if you women would just print up cards with your agendas on them and present them to us guys before we decide on taking you to either the Burger Barn or a really expensive dinner.

Her agenda was this: "I need a date for the banquet the State Historical Society is hosting in November. I have looked (metaphorically, no doubt) for anyone other than you who could take me. No guy I want to date would be caught dead at a history banquet; so I'll go with you on two conditions: (1) we arrive separately... (2) We sit at different tables... (3) You pay me."

I told her that was three conditions, and she said number three was non-negotiable. and I could choose between numbers one and two.

Well, I told her that I was going to ask Jane or Susan to go with me. She laughed and said Jane had a restraining order against me, and Susan had seen my pencil too, so I was either going with her, going to jail, or going alone. If you have to pay a historian to go on a date with you, well, your romantic life is over anyway.

But bad things have happened on the few other occasions when I've dated women on my various jobs. There was the female Marine on Guam (whose ass really did look big in those pants). There was the nurse in San Diego who (I thought) wanted me to take those photographs through the window shades. There was the teacher in Florida whose mother was very lonely, and there was...

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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