If it's one thing I try to deliver to my friends on a constant basis, it's amazingly catastrophic romantic rejections. I suppose I better get this story out there before one of somone says something about it and I have to run Damage Control to save my reputation.
It was a warm spring day in April of 2004. I'd been over and Bill and Peggy's that afternoon doing....something....I don't remember, probably helping Bill build something (a process that usually consisted of us standing there scratching our heads, smoking cigarettes, and guzzling Mountain Dew by the barrel-load trying to figure out WTF we did wrong). After we finished our project for the day, they asked me if I wanted to go to Indy with them. They had to go to Watson's to pick up a filter or pump or something for their pool, then they were going to out to dinner. I said "sure".
So we're on the way down to Indy, and Peggy half-jokingly said "Hey, maybe the Watson's Girl will be there". Oh, but I couldn't get that lucky. For those of you unfamiliar with The Watson's Girl, she is this cute little big-boobed twinkee who shills for Watson's Pools down in Indy. She's the type of girl that makes most women roll their eyes and say "Oh, whatever, look at Li'l Miss Fake-Tits thinkin' she's all that"...in other words, she's the type of girl that makes me drool.
We arrive at Watson's, and we're walking around the store looking for....hell I can't remember what they were looking for. All of a sudden Peggy says "Uh-oh Greg, there she is". I just smiled and thought "Nah, I don't think so, you're gonna have to get up earlier in the morning than that to get me to turn around".
"No, seriously, she's right over there!" I turned around and looked and....oh Holy Crap...there she was, in the (delicious) flesh....The Watson's Girl! Ok man, no time to panic, get your game face on, you've only got one shot at this, do not blow this. Just walk over, lay down some smooth, and you'll have her eating out of the palm of your hand. Breath check, pop a couple breath-mints. Slow your breathing, you got this playa. Take another quick glance toward the center of the store, looks like she's handing out balloons to little kids. Kids....kids....I need to find a kid. I looked down at Bill and Peggy's youngest, adorable little 20 month old Ty. Sure...why not. I reach down, scoop up Ty, tuck him securely under my arm like I'm running in for the winning touch-down in the Super Bowl with 10 seconds left on the clock. Breathe damn it, breathe, don't panic, don't sweat it, you are the pimp, you are the man, you can seal this deal.
I casually make my way up to the customer service counter (I suppose, in hindsight, "casual" would be a relative term here...but given the stress of the situation, we'll just call it "casual" for now). I reach the center of the store, swing Ty counterward, and plant his butt with an authoritative "fwump" onto the counter. Eh, so the blonde-headed little scamp doesn't look anything like me, nothing says I have to tell her it's my child.
"Hey there, can my son have one of your balloons" (well, ok, shit, apparently we've set the stage now that this is my kid....time for a quick recovery...where is his mom....maybe she died during child-birth? Sure, why not, play the emotional card if she asks).
"Awww, he's cute, what's his name?"
"Name?" Shit...can't think...what the hell is this kids name anyway, I can't remember....Bob? Ralph?
"His name is Ty"
"Well hi Ty, would you like a balloon?"
Ty stared up at me in wide-eyed terror. He turned to start to point back to his legitimate parents. "Awww, he's just shy...Ty, take the nice ladies balloon..." Once again, in hindsight, I suppose there was a bit more authority in my voice than the situation warranted. The Watson's Girl (TWG from here on) flashed me a strange look. I heard a noise from the front of the store. It was my Game, running out the door and into the parking lot. Shit, I'm blowing it, don't overplay your hand on this one man, you gotta do this one smooth....gangsta style. Ok, now for the last chance to reel this one in. See, she's not going to be impressed if she thinks you technically just kidnapped a 1 year old to meet her...for some reason, chicks find that to be quite the turn-off...so act like you just came up here for the balloon without noticing her.
TWG turns to blow up the balloon (all the while keeping a somewhat nervous gaze cast on me). "So...handing out balloons tonight huh?"
"Yes"
"You know, you look kinda familiar, but I can't quite place you, are you from around here?" (stupid question since I'm not from around here...but screw it, lie your ass off man, deal with the fall-out later once you secure that phone number).
TWG flashed me a look that had "Restraining Order" written all over it. I glanced out toward the lot and saw my Game furiously trying to jump-start a pickup truck to put as much distance between itself and me as it possibly could. No, must regain control of this situation, must not show fear in front of The Watson's Girl....time to restore some damage, flash some sly at her, she'll take the bait...God put this girl here tonight for ME.
"Hey, I now where I know you from, you're that girl on the TV Commercials, you're The Watso....." WTF was that...of all of the possible sentences I could have put together with my expert command of the English language, and I lay down this amateur-hour bullshit? What the hell Greg, what is wrong with you?
The look in her eyes changed from "Restraining Order" to "Pepper Spray". At this point, I think she honestly thought I was mentally challenged or something. "Ummm, yea...."
Luckily, a commotion outside distracted us. I looked up in time to see my Game running down the middle of Pendleton Pike. Apparently it was unable to successfully secure a vehicle, and had now decided to just make a run for it. Unfortunately it didn't see the cement truck turning the corner and got run over. RIP Greg's Game...1974 - 2004. Ye Shall Be Missed.
I opened my mouth to say something, say anything, do something, just speak damn it. Unfortunately, the damage was done at this point as she turned to the next guy in line "Hi there, would you like a balloon for your son?"
Well shit....ok, so that didn't exactly go according to plan. Feeling rejected, I turned and started to walk away from the customer service counter. I didn't want to go out to dinner now, I didn't want to buy a stupid freaking.....man...what the hell were we down here to buy anyway. Suddenly, the clouds parted and I heard TWG's voice addressing me..."Excuse me...sir"
Rejoice! Maybe she was going to take pity on me and give me her phone number anyway. Sure, I can call her this week, take her out to dinner next weekend, that will give me an entire week to war-game this plan, I have been granted a second chance!
"Sir....ummm, your son?" Son? What son? I don't have a son. I looked up and saw her pointing at Ty sitting on the counter, looking confused, and holding a balloon. Well sonofabitch, just when it can't get any worse. Oh well, nowhere to go but up from here.
Young Ty looked at me with his big eyes "Geg?" he questioned. Yea, "Geg" is obviously Ty-speak for Greg. TWG opened her mouth to start to ask me why "my son" had just called me by my first name. One more glance out the front windows confirmed my worst fears. The Marian County Coroner had arrived at the scene of the accident and declared my Game D.O.A. No return-do's on this one. This girl would probably become a celibate nun before she would ever give me the time of day.
Feeling absolutely lower than an ant-turd, I unceremoniously retrieved a now very confused Ty off the counter, and drug him back to his mom and dad, who were looking at me with a mix of hatred and amusement in their eyes. I....had failed. Only this wasn't just any failure. This was a glorious monument to my ability to fail in a way that makes other failures look like success. This wasn't just "failure", there was going to have to be a new word created for the sins I had just committed. I knew what the next two years of my life would bring as well. Every time a Watson's Commercial came on TV, I got to hear all about this story. But at least I knew that I would never again suffer a rejection as monumental as this one.
Until 4 months later when I came within a hair's distance of paying $40,000 for a phone number...but that's another story for another day.
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