Jerry

There’s a reason I never leave the house. Or why I should never leave the house. And yet, sometimes I do.

My friend Missy invited me to a party she was having on Valentines night. Missy is a great organizer of people and things, and she had gathered a huge throng of people for a night out – drinks, food, dancing – and I, for some stupid reason, and forgetting I hate people, thought it might be fun.

Ok, yeah, it was advertised as a singles thing. But I thought that I could just go meet some nice people, not try to hook up. The last thing I want is a date. That’s a lie. The last thing I want is a colonoscopy. But I’m really not looking to date, either.

Which explains why, shortly after I arrived and got a gin and tonic in my sweaty little paw, I was chatting up a nice lady named Ann, not checking the room for age-appropriate guys.

It turns out Ann and I studied at the same college. The same subject. At the same time. Cue the music from “It’s A Small, Small World,” right?

Ann and I were triangulating our trajectories through our department, madly trying to remember instructors and classes when we were approached by an older man named, from what his stick-on name-tag said, Jerry.

“Hey there,” Jerry said, interrupting.

Being polite people of the lady-type persuasion, we all introduced ourselves. Ann said, by way of making conversation, “We just found out we both went to the same college at the same time, Cal Poly San Luis Obispo.”

Let me mention here that Cal Poly is only a couple hours away and is a well-regarded state school.

“What did you study?” Jerry asked.

“Horticulture,” I said.

“So, heh heh, are you WHORES?” said Jerry. “That’s what HORticulture is about, right?”

I jerked my chin away and regarded a spot on the ground to my right, gritting my teeth.

“Ya know you really gotta get a sense of humor, Sue,” said Jerry. Ann had wisely bumped into a friend and was disappearing into the distance.

“Is that right?” I snapped.

“Yah, lighten up, have some fun,” he went on. “Or start drinking more.”

“I’m afraid of that,” I said.

“Afraid? Why afraid? A little booze won’t hurtcha.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t enough alcohol here to give me that kind of a sense of humor.”

And with that, I had to go see where the ladies room was. Goodnight, Ventura.