It was an overwhelming discovery
for Robert Putnam as he sat there on the third Thursday of July, in his
thirty-fifth year of existence, at 8:05 in the P.M. while sipping a cheap
domestic beer during a date with a woman who was only there as a favor to his
cousin Paul. It had never dawned
on him before, he never imagined it possible, and he surely never thought it
pertained to him, but the realization struck him like a sinner gets hit by the
holy spirit, or a junky for the need of drugs. It almost seemed as his epiphany
hung before him written in words burned in the air just above his date’s head,
“I AM BORING”.
....
None of this had ever dawned on him
before. He always felt well liked around the office. He couldn’t wait to meet
up with his co-workers on Monday at the coffee machine and exchange lines from
Saturday Night Live, or discuss various pop culture oriented gossip. He’d often
giggle to himself when he’d joke how he spent the weekend with his girlfriend
Jennifer Aniston. Though in reality he spent most of it sitting in his boxers,
eating ice cream in front of the TV watching the stations sail across the
screen as he clicked at the remote.
....
The realization came upon him
whilst relaying what he thought was a humorous story he heard on a morning zoo
show on his drive to work. He wasn’t exactly certain what series of events
triggered the awakening. Perhaps it was the way his date fidgeted in her seat,
played with her lettuce and looked off at a younger man whose shirt was too
tight. He noticed all of this almost as if he was having an out of body
experience. From afar he heard the dull emotionless drag of his voice, he saw
his date’s eyes deaden, and he felt as if some sort of solid metallic ball hit
is heart as he dropped his fork and mouthed, “I am boring.”
....
“Huh, what?” the date said not
certain if she heard him say almost what she was thinking.
“I am boring. Aren’t I? I mean
Christ how have you tolerated this all evening?”
....
His date though visibly bored and
fairly shallow still had some semblance of manners even for a girl from LA. She
stumbled searching for away to avoid the truth.
“I was…no. It, um..you are fine.”
“Bullshit. Bullshit. I’m boring. I
am milk toast. I am a flavorless white wafer just admit it. I know it. I am the
one bringing it up.”
....
She nervously shrugged as he
continued on. “I have never done
anything, thought anything. I am not anything. Admit it. You are only here as a
favor to my cousin.”
....
His date grew more uncomfortable.
However, she felt a pressing need to be honest.
“Yeah. The whole time I have been
sitting here I have been wondering how I can get that guy over there to get my
number.”
....
Robert sighed in relief. His
thoughts were confirmed. “Of course you have. Why wouldn’t you? Even if he
isn’t interesting at least he can probably find your clitoris.”
....
With that statement she choked on
her drink and spit a little back in her glass.
“Look I don’t mean to be crass, but
it’s the truth. Go. Go. Give him your number. You are attractive and
interesting. There is no need to talk to a guy like me. Get his number and if
need be I’ll drive you home or not”
....
Uncomfortably she got up and walked
over to the fellow as Robert took a sip of his beer. He didn’t know what to
make of his newly discovered tedious demeanor. He wanted to do something outlandish.
Something brash and brave to prove after all he wasn’t boring, but all he could
think about was the bill and how no matter what he was tipping a solid fifteen
before tax not after. This very thought plagued him. He knew he was dull, he
knew this was a chance to shake out of it, throw a glass across the room, pick
a fight, say something sexual to his date, but all his mind really could settle
on was fifteen percent and with that he knew there was no turning back. He was
dull for life.
....
His date returned waving a piece of
paper and smiling. “I got his number too.”
....
“Good.” Robert said feeling just
another small part of himself slip away.
“He’s gotta drop off his friend and
then he’s coming to my house.”
“Good”. Robert said again as he
looked at his right shoe which was a brown lifeless loafer. He sighed and
thought to himself, Christ even my shoes are dull.
....
“Can we go?” asked his date. “I
want to get a shower before he comes over.
“Sure. Sure.” Robert said as he
threw some money table and actually tipping twelve percent instead of fifteen.
“I will take you home.”
....
Robert walked three paces behind
his date staring at her lovely heart shaped ass. All he could think is how he
had never seen an ass like that naked before him in all his life. Nor would he.
In fact, he’d only seen three naked women in his life; His first girlfriend who
was chubby and deaf, a hooker in Prague who had no ass what so ever, and his
third girlfriend Marna who never would allow him to see her naked. When they
had sex she’d pull her panties to the left and guide his penis into her vagina.
Often he’d chaff due to her panties being washed with too much liquid Tide.
....
They got into his immaculately
clean Volvo station wagon. Robert checked to make sure her seat belt was
securely on before he put the car into drive, and then he reached his hand for
the stereo and turned on some insipid pop music from a band whose name will be
forgotten by the end of the month and will someday end up as a vague joke over
a conversation in a bar filled with people far cooler than Robert.
....
He drove thinking how he couldn’t
wait get home to the pint of orange sherbet in his freezer as she texted the
man with the tight shirted fellow. For a brief moment Robert wondered what it
would be like to be such a fellow.
To have women at your feet, to perhaps have interesting tales of Rugby
games, and college parties, but his mind quickly drifted to his need to make a
dental appointment come morning and the fact his microwave had some dried
cheese in it. He then wondered if this dullness was like a virus or a state of
mind. He had become aware of it, psychologically owned it, so perhaps now he
could rid himself of it.
....
Robert noticed he was going two
miles per hour over the speed limit so he pressed the brakes and looked at his
date in the light from the dash. His stomach felt ill. He felt guilty he wasted
this girl’s night. He turned down her street and stopped before her apartment.
She hit send on her text and looked up at him.
....
“Thanks.” She said more as a question
than an actual statement of appreciation. Robert looked for some last saving
grace with this woman. Some opportunity that could arrive. What if he said the
right thing, made the right move, and then this woman could be his. He once
again looked at his shoe and was reminded of whom he was.
....
She hoped out of the car. Robert
shut off the music and then drove down the darkened quiet LA streets to his
apartment in North Hollywood. He parked in his car in the carport of his stucco
apartment, which was painted a color reserved for baby food or that of which it
turns into when it lands in a diaper. He walked the echoed halls of his
building to his aqua colored door, and opened to his Ikea furnished apartment.
He flopped down on his couch, took off his clothes and looked at the folds of
his belly. He was nothing. He was empty. He knew he was someday to be forgotten
even though he was never even known to begin with. He thought of getting up and
eating all the aspirin in his medicine chest. He thought on it. He weighed it
and then realized that in the morning he had to mow his mother’s lawn so he
turned on the television and let the channels sail across the screen.