“Here, Jake, this is how you answer the phone,” I tell the associate I’m training.
“Thanks for calling, blah blah blah, this is Lisa, can I help you?” I say.
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“Heeeeey, Lee-suh,” says Paul Newman.
“Uh. Hi. Can I help you?” I reply.
“Hey, Lisa, it’s me, Shawn, where are y’all located?” asks Paul Newman.
Holy. Shit. This millionaire is about to come up to my work and see me!!! I haven’t seen him since the game I met him at, and I wanted the first time to be good. I’m panicking because A) I look like Cousin It and B) I caught him in lies so I don’t know how I feel about him. Like I said, I’m at work, so I’m wearing work clothes. And no makeup. And it’s now 8:39 p.m. I’ve been working all day so I know my forehead is greasy. Remember, Cousin It? I begrudgingly give him the address, then hang up.
“Who was that?” the newbie asks.
Pause. I try to keep work and personal separated, but at this point I can’t. Words come out like vomit.
“Oh my gah, okay this guy I met a couple weeks ago has been hitting me up, I caught him in a lie, now he’s coming to visit.” I tell Jake. “He told me he was a business owner with a huge family inheritance. And that he was 32 years old. I googled him, well I pretty much Catfish researched him and he has two mugshots online, he does run a construction company, and he’s 44 years old,” also spills out.
This is Jake’s second night. He’s staring at me like a deer caught in headlights.
“Listen, Jake, you man the floor, I gotta go to the back,” I tell him.
I sprint to the back to call my mom. I don’t know how to act. As I make it into the office, I run into a hanger rack and knock out at least 40 hangers. Great.
I get my mom on the phone and I’m practically dry heaving.
“Mom, omg, Shawn is coming up here. What do I do?” I ask.
“Elizabeth, calm down. Act normal. Are you wearing makeup?” she asks.
“Mom, what do you think, of course not!” I scream.
“Lisa, this is why I tell you to always look your best. You never know who you’re going to meet. Now go in the bathroom and wipe your face down with cold water and go out there and talk to that man,” she tells me.
We hang up, I wipe my greasy forehead, look in the mirror and tell myself that my momma didn’t raise no punk ass bitch, then I shakily pick up the mess in the floor. I walk out onto the sales floor.
Wow. I don’t remember him looking like that. He’s on the short side and way more muscular than I imagined. What do you do when you see someone for the second time? Someone you caught in a lie? Someone that is 18 years older than you? Do you hug them? Give em a side hug? Hi five? Wave? Smack in the face? I’m so awkward.
“Hey, buddy,” comes out.
Mother. Eff. I just said “Hey, buddy,” to a 44 year-old man. Lisa get your shit together.
“Hey, I wanted to take you to dinner after you get off,” he says.
Well, I’m not going to refuse a meal, but I’m also not trying to get Ted Bundy’d. So I tell him I’ll meet him at the restaurant. After catching him in lies you’re probably wondering, “Lisa, why are you going with him?” And he had a semi-valid reason I suppose. He didn’t want to give me his last name because of his past. He didn’t want me to google him and see his mugshot and judge him based off that. And trust me, everyone has a past, I get it. I wouldn’t want to be judged on mine. (Spring Break 2011 comes to mind.) Anyway, we go eat dinner. And I won’t bore you with the details. I’m going to skip right on to date 2. Well after date 2, date 3.
Date 2 was a night out in uptown Dallas. Now I’ve told y’all before about uptown. Swanky, ritzy, expensive, man buns, fun. However, with my essentially old-enough-to-be-my-dad date, it was way different. We didn’t wait in one line. I never got ID’d. The bouncers took us to the VIP booths. I didn’t have to order the cheap beers. After three amaretto sours I essentially feel like a real housewife of Dallas. I’m twirling all over this rooftop bar. So, that was Date 2. Date 3. The morning after I meet him at his house and we ride in his car to the country club for breakfast. When we pull up we find out that breakfast is over. Now what? Well any reasonable American would go to the next best restaurant, right? So, my dumbass recommends McDonald’s. He obliges. We pull up to McDonald’s. The reason I pick McDonald’s is because I love their butter.I know that sounds crazy, but have y’all ever gone somewhere and ordered something and you’ve never gotten anything else like it so you always go back to that place to get that same thing? Well that’s what this is. I love McDonald’s butter with their plain bagels. So that’s what Shawn orders me – a plain bagel with butter.
We begin driving off from the drive thru, when I ask him if he cares if I eat in his car.
“Sure,” he tells me.
I unwrap the bagel and it’s the hottest bagel I’ve ever touched. Must’ve been cooked in hell’s kitchen. The butter is so cold that it’s pretty much frozen in the plastic container. I get the plastic fork out of the wrapper and beginning digging in the butter like I’m digging for gold. Surprisingly not, the knife does no justice to the butter. So, the best thing to do would be to wait until it warms up, then slather it on my bagel. That’s what a NORMAL person would do. But damnit, I want this Hades’ bagel. So, I break the bagel in half and begin dipping the broken end into the butter cup.
It happens.
He shifts the gear in his Maserati, and the butter flies. Yes, you read that correctly. Mas-ah-fricking-rati. And yes, butter. Flying. The butter chunk shoots up in the air in slow motion, and I just sit and watch it. Just sit. It lands, what seems like hours later, in between the passenger seat and the console. I slowly turn and look at Shawn. He stares back.
Oh nah nah. Where’s the butter?
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