ENWR 250, Fiction Writing
Assignment: Choose two personal ads from the newspaper and write a story pretending they met for a date.
"blind date from hell"They walked in the front door, the most mismatched pair ever seen. He wore a pale blue, buttoned-up dress shirt tucked into pleated, cuffed khakis. His black belt matched his black dress shoes, and his light brown hair had just the right amount of gel to serve its purpose. She wore a trendy, bright red V-neck top and a tight-fitting knee-length skirt. Her artificial dark brown curls bounced off her shoulders as glitter and sparkles adorned her eyelids and neck. His towering 6-foot-four-inch physique overpowered her slender and dark-complexioned five-foot-six frame.
The awkward couple was escorted to a table. They wore pretend-calm masks and walked with rigid and abrupt strides. He pulled a chair out for her, waiting for her to sit before walking around the small, round table to the opposing chair. A small smirk appeared on her face.
The waiter approached the table, introduced himself, gave them their menus, and asked what they would like to drink. He was fine with water; she ordered Diet Pepsi and a glass of pineapple juice (with a cherry if possible).
He sat there, relaxed and focused, his head level and faced towards her. She sat there with a stiff, straight back against the chair, her chin up high and eyes wandering over the fancies of the room. They didn't talk much. The menus became the center of attention. He would say or ask something, with curious and interested eyes, every so often; she would casually nod or spit out a phrase or two. She constantly went to the dense pink lipstick and compact mirror in her purse.
The waiter returned to take their orders and refill his half-empty glass of water. Her juice and soda were untouched, except the cherry was gone.
"I'll have the Fill-Let Mig-None," she declared proudly.
His eyes grew wide and he swallowed. He hesitated. He was caught off guard. "Um, right... Uh, I'll have the grilled chicken breast."
The waiter took their menus and left.
The ambiance continued as before, except instead of "chatting" in between glances at a menu, they spoke in between bites (picks in her case) at their food. Every now and then he made his attempts by talking with - er, talking to - her, telling her about his trips to the beach or asking about her classes. He once commented on the cuteness of a child sitting at a nearby table. She rolled her eyes. The more and more he talked and struggled to figure out what to discuss - er, say - next, the more the curiosity and interest disappeared from his eyes. She seemed annoyed.
The waiter came to fill his empty glass with water. The melted ice diluted her juice and soda, as if more liquid was present in the cups than to begin with. His chicken was half-eaten; her Fill-Let Mig-None was merely disturbed. The waiter carried away two bowls of salad: one clean and one full.
He struck her chord when he asked if she had any sisters (random and desperate attempt). Her eyes lit up and her mouth opened in this rare moment of enthusiasm. He smiled with relief. Finally.
Yes, she had sisters; they were her best friends. She did everything with them, spent all her time with them, and talked to them about anything.
He nodded and smiled a genuine smile.
She had a bunch of sisters, more sisters than anyone else had. Her pledge class was the biggest there ever was among all sororities at the University.
His smile turned fake.
She continued on and on about her sorority and her "sisters": what they did, the guys they dated, where they partied. He appeared disappointed and began to look bored. Her enthusiasm was going up, his going down. She even took out her wallet of pictures for visual aids.
"This is Misty, this is Kristen, and this is Sharon, and this is Melanie, and that is Grace. Isn't that a beautiful dress? I wish I bought that dress before her. This was at the beach last month... and Omygod! I have to tell you about beachweek..." The corners of the fake smile on his face kept dropping further and further.
The waiter came and interrupted her. Did they want any dessert? He thanked god. She gave the waiter a vicious glance. No, they didn't want dessert. The waiter left the bill and cleaned off the dishes, taking his finished chicken and her very unfinished plate of Fill-Let Mig-None.
As the waiter started walking away, she started babbling again, this time about her sorority house. Had he ever been to the Tri Delt house? He'd never seen it. The house was bigger than most other sorority houses and all the sisters were cool as shit - well, except for this one girl who lived upstairs, she didn't like her. Her boyfriend was the typical frat boy...
He started to fidget as he smiled and nodded, pretending he was listening. Was this all that was in her life?
"Oh! And don't get me started about fraternities..."
The waiter returned to retrieve the beverage glasses and spilled her soda on her V-neck top.
"Oh, no... what the hell! I can't believe you did that - look what you did!"
She abruptly got up and stormed in the direction of the bathroom.
The waiter left.
He sat there with a baffled look on his face, still for at least two minutes. He then shrugged and threw his head back.
"Oh well, she didn't look like Vanessa Williams anyway."
He gathered himself, paid the bill, stood up, and headed out the front door.
The waiter returned for the bill payment. He left a 60-percent tip.
AD #83446
Charming, fun-loving SWM, 20, 6'4", 170 lbs, brown/brown, enjoys fishing, walking, going to beach, movies, dining out/in, seeks down-to-earth SWF for LTR. Kids okay.
Man seeking a Woman Located in Virginia Age: 20 Caucasian
AD #7901220-year-old, 5'6" wavey brown hair. People often compare me to Vanessa Williams. I'm a student, enjoy dancing, fine dining, cultural affairs and finer things in life.
Woman seeking a Man Located in Virginia Age: 20