Three Loves Seven, Chapter 16, Part 3 - "A Blind Date"

Dear Gentle Readers,

Today we pick up where we left Clete about to narrate his courtship with his ex-wife.  You will recall that he was running a demonstration date with Feng. He was asked by Feng how he met his wife, an experience which he now dutifully explains by narration.

Since it is Clete we're talking about here, it was not a pleasant situation, but you'll see. It's lengthy, just warning you. Read on.

Love,
Pops


Clete Continues and Recalls Being Set Up with a Blind Date

Last week, I demonstrated how a man would approach a woman once they had met in a separate non-romantic context. Another way that people meet and court in America is through a method halfway between your arranged-marriage format and the standard dating format. Sometimes a friend or relative may set you up with a ‘blind date,’ either with your permission and knowledge, or sometimes not. It’s something that is done by someone with good intentions, but frequently leads to bad results.

It is on such a blind date that I met my former wife. Whether it was a good or bad result I will let you judge for yourselves. My friend and fellow master’s candidate Johnnie Lai thought I was spending too much time on my studies and worried that I was becoming too tedious and boring by not having any social life and so he approached me while I was in the teaching assistants’ office prepping for a freshman geology section.

     “Grinder! I got you a birthday present,” he said and then handed me an index card.

     “It’s not my birthday dummy.”

     “So I’m early, or late.”

     “What’s this? ‘For a good time, see Mariko?’ What the hell? Ha ha. Big joke. What bathroom stall did you pull this from?”

     “I hired you a whore. Date, time, and location is all there. All you gotta do is show up.”

     “Go fuck yourself. I got things to do.”

     “Like what?”

     “Digging in the stacks. That’s where I spend all my life these days, that is if I’m not working on Abbas’s mathematical models. God those are so tedious.”

     “Can’t you reserve time on the mainframe?”

     “Spend more time developing and testing the program than doing the math myself.”

     “Gotta surface for air man. You don’t even drink!”

     “You my mother? You ‘mother!’”

     “Actually, that …” he said picking up the card I had flicked away, “… actually is my present to you. She’s not a whore, but she’s the next best thing. She’s a blind date. I lined her up just for you.”

     “What? This some ugly dog of a chick that you rejected? Passing her off on me for sloppy seconds? No thanks. I’ve seen the women you go around with. I can only imagine the ones YOU pass up.”

     “As if you’re some kind of Romeo. You just date your left hand.”

     “Goddamn you. Shut up.”

     “She’s OK. Got a great personality. Not a bad looker. I’d test drive her myself but she’s not interested in me. She actually expressed interest in you.”

     I looked at the card again. “Don’t know any Marikos. This some horny, moonstruck undergrad you’re a TA to?”

     “Not a student. She works at Ben’s Diner where we hang out for late nighters. Waitress. Concentrate. Works an evening shift most of the time. Cute little thing. Has bangs. Got the so-called ‘angry eyes.’”

     “Angry eyes?”

     “Almond-shaped slits. Single eyelids. Like Carrie back at Chase High?”

     “Ah. Well, mine are kinda like that. I’ve never heard that term.”

     “Japanese if you couldn’t tell by the name. She’s served you before and you’ve actually talked to her.”

     “I don’t keep track of nonentities like waitresses.”

     “You should.”

     “Why bother?”

     “Treat all people like they’re someone and you get better things out of them.”

     “Like what?”

     “Larger portions, discounts, smiles, the table you like to sit at, tips on where to find interesting nonretail consumer goods, you never know. People like that connect into worlds we don’t know. Maybe even romantic liaisons?”

     “You know there’s only a finite amount the human brain can process. Fill it up with extraneous stuff like waitresses’ names and faces and you are going to miss something important.”

      “Clete, you’re hopeless. I told this girl I’d try. If I didn’t think she was at least a learning experience for you, I wouldn’t have bothered. But you’ve got all the social skills of a fire hydrant. Oh, I take that back. Fire hydrants at least get turned on once in a while.”

     “A waitress at a diner. Come on! What would we even talk about?”

     “You can’t even keep up a conversation with your own kind—college students, of the female persuasion I’m talking about. You just sit there like an idiot when I’ve hauled you out on mixed groups with me. Remember Barb? That psych grad? She asked me if you were some kind of mental defective couple days later. YOU with the 170 IQ.”

     “Yeah, well she can go fuck herself too.”

     “You’re a disgrace to my gender. I’m lowering your bar, man. This one’ll be easy. Broads like to yak; specially ones that work. Just ask them if anything happened at work and off they go.”

     “Do I have to listen?”

     “YES! It would probably help to at least pretend. Especially if you want a possibility of seeing any action.”

     “Action? I assume you’re referring to premarital sex?”

     “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

     “Promiscuity is not my thing. I’m waiting for the right one.”

     “Clete, Clete, Clete. Where’s that skeptical atheist I love? You sound like some goddamned Sunday School teacher? This is the 80s.”

     “Unlike you, I consider certain things sacred. Even atheists draw lines in places.”

    “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll leave your honor intact. She’s a shy, repressed Japanese girl, whom I suspect is highly directed by a domineering Asian-Asian father, even though he doesn’t even live in L.A. Think she’s from Hawaii.”

     “I don’t go out with Japanese girls.”

      “Hunh?”

     “My grandmother considers them the enemy. She’d rather I go out with black girl before a Japanese.”

     “What? Bullshit.”

     “Black soldiers did not march through her village and beat and rape her and kill her brother. Japanese soldiers did. There’s just a family history. And don’t you think Japanese people are just weird anyway?”

     “Guy! Their girls are cute.”

     “Is that the only thing on your mind? Women and sex?”

     “What else is there? So how are they weird?”

     “Remember when we would go to Paul’s house to study? It’s as quiet as a library and there were five kids living there. And they set up their houses differently. You had to take off your shoes, and everything happens on the floor. And the food all looked it was made out of fluorescent Play Doh. And they put too much water in their rice.”

     “Clete, they just eat no mai, all the time. Short grain stuff.”

     “What like in jaahngs? Yeah? Well it seems wrong.”

     “Ease up. You’re sounding like a white devil. If you have to explain yourself, just tell your grandma she’s Korean. Is that an acceptable minority group?”

     “Oh? And your family is so tolerant?”

     “Sounds like it’ll be a miracle if you get to the point of family intros. What are you worried about? By the way, you’re taking her to a movie.”

     “What movie is it?”

     “Who cares? It’s an excuse to put your hand in her shirt. Jeez. But relax. She’s just as virginal as you. Ed and Jim and I always tease her about sex when we get her table, and it’s fun to see how red a dark-skinned girl can get when she blushes. That’s why I’m getting you two together. I want you to get out on Friday. You’ll have a great old boring time together.” He put two pieces stiff paper in my pocket. “Free show passes. Got ’em from a friend who works at the theatre. You just have to buy her a cheeseburger and a Coke, or something. Even you can handle that on grad student TA stipend income. Can’t ya? I can’t force you to go, but don’t blame me if you don’t think interesting things happen in your life.”

     “I got plenty of interesting things.”

     “Yeah, yeah. Be prepared when that ‘right one’ shows up. Use this chick as practice so you don’t screw up when Miss Right DOES appear. Let me know how it goes before I head to Europe on Welles’ field work.”

     “When you leaving?”

     “Two weeks. I’m going to spend several months living on an active Scandinavian volcano. Dig that! Call. I’m back at my parents’ till then. Ciao.”

I couldn’t believe I went to make the appointment on Friday night. There was nothing else to do. I had not called her to cancel in all the intervening days. None of my other buddies had called up saying they wanted hang out or to go to the mall or a bar or the hi-fi store. Maybe she would have cold feet and stand me up—I found myself hoping that was the case. I really did not want to do this.

It was an odd place he had arranged for our meeting—just outside a non-franchise supermarket just north of campus. There were an array of poured concrete platforms that people sat on—originally meant as some modernist environmental design meant to serve some practical purpose as well.

It turns out I did recognize her. She was perched on one of these platforms. She had on some awful, tasteless, navy blue polyester jumpsuit with exaggerated details like a huge white collar, a big white belt. She had bangs like John had said, but her hair was tied into two braided pigtails, American Indian squaw style. As he described, she had darker skin, like a good tan actually, and the single-eyelids mentioned as well. I, was a fashion wreck. I had on a clean pair of jeans and a plaid, western-style shirt with snap shirt pockets from Miller’s Outpost. Once I imagined Ben’s Diner’s uniform on her, total recognition clicked in.

     “Hi, are you Mariko? John’s friend?” She was slightly hunched. Body language defensive. She nodded her head.

     “Yes. Very pleased to meet you.” She had that jerky, over-ingratiating attitude that foreign-born immigrant Asians seem to adopt. FOB’s and JOJ’s we called them. John, you set me up with an FOB chick? At least she didn’t have crooked brown teeth with gold caps in front.

     “I’m Clete. Clete Wong.”

     “Mister Wong.”

     “Just call me Clete.”

     “Thank you. John is a very nice man.”

     “He has his moments. Are you sorry you’re not with him?”

     “Excuse me?”

     “Never mind. It’s OK if I call you Mariko? Don’t you prefer I call you by your family name and add ‘San’ and that kind of thing?”

     “We are in America. Mariko is fine.”

     “Movie doesn’t start for an hour. Theatre is on the other side of this parking lot, so we’ve got time to eat something. Cheeseburgers OK? There joint across the street and down a block if you don’t mind the walk. Sorry I don’t own a car.”

     “Uh, if you don’t mind? There is a cafeteria in the other direction?”

     “Sure. If that’s what you prefer.” She nodded and bobbed. “May I give you a little advice?”

     “Yes?”

     “Would you stop with all the nodding and bowing and holding your hands together. We don’t do that here. It makes you look conspicuous and odd. In fact, it embarrasses me. You look like cheap-budget movie oriental stereotype when you do that.”

     “Why do you say such a thing to me?” She seemed upset.

     “I give that advice to all the foreign undergrads in my section. Watching a lot of TV helps. The sooner they learn to move like everybody else . . .”

     “I am NOT one of your foreign undergrads.”

     “Obviously not. They’re grateful.”

     “You are telling them to not be who they are.”

     “What? Obsequious, subservient, ingratiating, submissive misfits? They need to be someone else in this country.”

     “Do not just throw a lot of big words at me. They are probably being polite.”

     “Yeah, yeah. You know who pays for those stereotypes they perpetuate? People like Johnnie and me.”

     “You are teachers. You need to be better than everyone else.”

     “I teach ’em geology. But I also tell them how to get by in the U.S. THEY seem to appreciate what I say.”

     “THEY are probably being polite in pretending to listen to you. Acting the way you want only in front of you. What you think of that?”

     “Maybe we should change the subject? How’s that for polite?”

     “Wah. Dr. Wong, you were even more rude back when you were young!” exclaimed Qin Qin.

     “Do you want to hear this or NOT?” I said. “I was very young. And stupid. Where was I . . .?”

Now that I think of it, I don’t know why she didn’t walk away right there. We got to the cafeteria and grabbed some trays. I was quite familiar with this place. I got a vanilla pudding cup with a maraschino cherry in it, and a tomato juice. She got a little bowl that had a scoop of rice with some gravy and mystery meat poured on top of it. She also got a banana and a cup of tea. That’s why you have to love cafeterias.

National chains will NEVER create numbered combo meals like She and I put together that night. I paid for both our dinners with a five dollar bill and got back change. Ice water was free with a dispenser set up in the corner.

     “That is your dinner?” she asked.

     “Pudding. Eggs and milk for protein. Flour for carbohydrates and starch. Sugar for quick energy. And the cherry is my serving of fruit for a balanced diet. Hard to beat. All that for 75 cents.”

     “You are very poor then like John?”

     “He never leaves you a tip then?”

     “Always 25 cents. You, a dollar.”

     “You remember how much I leave for a goddamned tip?”

     “Of course I do. Please do not use profane language in front of me. It is disrespectful to the gods and you risk their anger.”

     “Sorry about that. I’ll watch it. Yea, I’m poor. I’m a student. There’s nothing to be done about it. Thanks for being such a cheap date.”

     “You are most welcome.”

     “You know, I didn’t mean . . . oh, never mind!” Clueless JOJ girl!

     “You have said JOJ a couple of times now,” said Gwen. “What does that mean?”

     “An update of FOB. ‘Fresh off the boat. Just off the jet.’ Derogatory Asian American slang for a recent immigrant. If we were Latinos, we’d call them mojados. Any other vocabulary questions?” I continued.

     I thought in my head. “I thought Johnnie said you were from Hawaii.”

     “I am.”

     “So were your family some of the sugar cane plantation workers there? I remember learning about the Japanese migrants to the Hawaiian Islands in an Asian American studies course I took as an undergrad. They were one of the later waves of Asian immigration. My own family goes back to the Chinese railroad workers . . .”

     “I really don’t know anything about such things. I cannot tell you anything other than that’s where I am from.”

     “What kind of work did you do?”

     “I worked in a hotel.”

     “Doing what?”

     “I was a maid.” I sat there expectantly waiting for her to go on and on like Johnnie had said she would. “Yes?” she asked.

     “Aren’t you going to go on?” Johnnie’s theory did not seem to be working on her. “So you would like, change sheets? Empty ashtrays? . . .” I motioned for her to fill in the blanks.

     “That is correct.” Nothing else came out.

The silence between us grew large and oppressive. Thought I would try to keep the talk going. “My dad was stationed there for a time. In Hawaii. He was in the army. We were there when I was born. It was his last duty station and we returned to the Los Angeles where my mom’s family was and he became a typesetter. I don’t remember a thing about the place.” Still nothing else from her. OK, that exhausts anything I have to say about Hawaii. Sensing the pause, we both ate our food. I could tell we were both eating slowly so we wouldn’t have to take up talking any time soon. I should have gotten the corn so as to eat one kernel at a time.

As I sat there with this girl whom I had temporarily moved out of the “non-entity” box in my head, circumstances kept me wanting to put her back. Recalling my dad just then took me back to a talk he had with me when I took a girl to the prom.

     “Social outings, dates especially, mean a lot more to women than they do to men. If you are out with a girl, you take on the temporary duty of being her provider and her protector, like a husband, from the minute you greet her until the time to see her safely to her home. If nothing else, you will see to all her needs, that she has adequate food, transport, warmth, comfort, clothing, access to restrooms, clear directions and plans of what’s to happen, and above all her safety. She has given that over to you and it means she has given you her trust. Do NOT breach it if you are an honorable man, even if you it turns out you do not like her. You will ONLY say kind words. Is that clear?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “YOU, son, have a problem with kind words. If you cannot do that, you have no business going out with a girl. You have a sarcastic mean streak in you. I highly suggest you learn to restrain it or you will spend most of your life alone.”

     “Aren’t I supposed to make her like me and have fun? Do things like tell funny jokes.”

     “NO. It’s HER job to decide if she likes you and if she has fun or not. You can’t do anything about that. Just do what you normally do. She can’t make a valid choice about you if you don’t present who you are.”

     “But they have all the power in romance then?”

     “No. The power you have is invitation. You grant her the power of rejecting you. It’s fair.”

     “I like your father,” said Feng.

     “He’s dead,” I said.

     “A pity, but that’s to be expected. You should place a tablet for him in the shrine when have our festival for the dead soon. What did you do with that advice?”

     “Like a good father, his words haunted me at that time, and challenged me to be better than who I was being to Mariko. Be a gentleman or end it right there. I decided I would be a gentleman for my Dad’s sake. I said in my head: ‘Sorry Dad. Time for a change.’

     “Mariko? Would you like a dessert? I am happy to go get one for you.”

     “No, thank you. I am fine.”

     “We should probably make our way over the theater now so that we have adequate time to get settled and find our seats.” I stood up, stepped over to her, pulled her chair while she rose. Before she had a chance to do so herself, I quickly gathered all the dishes, and collapsed them onto one tray. “I assume you know where the restrooms are. I will bus these back and meet you at the front.” She put her hands together, faced me, gave me a quick nod and moved on.

After entering the theater, without asking her, I bought her what I thought were the most popular snacks, buttered popcorn, a foiled tube of Ghirardelli Flicks chocolate drops, and a drink—in her case a cup of iced water since I noticed she did not touch any of the sodas that had been set out in the cafeteria. I did all the things that my father would have expected of me. Hold the door for her, let her select the seats. The whole date project seemed to move along a lot better with Dad’s approach rather than mine. Be like a butler and it will work.

The movie ended and we found ourselves outside in the dark night air.

     “Did you like the movie?” I asked.

     “It was very funny, but too loud.”

     “I am glad you got some enjoyment from it.”

     “Thank you for taking me.”

She gave me a bow of gratitude. We just stood there, neither know what the next step was. I was severely unpracticed at dating and she was a foreigner, so it was only natural for us to feel unnatural. I felt she had gotten a good look at the real me, and that I was unpleasant to be with, and we were done with each other forever, so I moved to close things out.

     “I must apologize for not being better company. But thank you for joining me. I will walk you to your home.” She seemed disappointed, as if there should be something else.

     “You do not need to walk me home. I am capable.”

     “I’m afraid I must insist.”

     “And why is that?”

     “It’s dark, this is a high-crime neighborhood, and until I see you to your door, you are my responsibility.”

     “I work the evening shift at my restaurant and walk home by myself every night in this neighborhood.”

     “Then you’ve been lucky.”

     “I am not lucky, I am careful.”

    “This is my sixth year living in this neighborhood as a student. I’ve known things to go down, and had friends mugged.”

     “THEY were probably not careful. You are done. I release you from any responsibility. Please go.”

Dad didn’t tell me about this situation. But he did say see her to her door.

     “Do what you want, go where you want. However, I am seeing you to your door.”

     “Why?”

     “Because … because it’s the right thing to do according to my father.”

     “You are a very strange man.”

     “It’s a free country. I am allowed to be strange.”

She turned away from me and started walking. I started walking after her about five steps behind. She stopped, I stopped. She turned around.

     “Go away, go home. Stop following me.”

She started up again. I ignored her and obeyed my father. She ducked into a Thrifty Drug store. I waited outside. I checked my watch. It was 10:45 p.m. This could be a long night. She came out empty-handed and proceeded on. She walked to her restaurant. I lingered on the sidewalk as she went in to chat presumably with her coworkers. I placed myself where I could see both the back and front doors. She exited the rear service door, and I picked up her tail again.

She turned down a side street and broke into a run. I ran as well, keeping my distance. After a while, she’d take another turn and go back to a walk. We kept up this interval-style relay race for a while, but this apparently looked suspicious to someone and before long a police black-and-white unit pulled alongside us and flashed a light on me and announced on a speaker for us both to stop.

We both produced our identification cards and corroborated our stories that in her words “we HAD BEEN on a date” and in mine “WE'RE STILL on a date.” The torn ticket stubs in our pockets was the evidence.

     “Son,” he started (I never appreciated older men I did not know calling me that), “why are following her?”

     “My father told me once that a gentleman always sees his escort safely home. Call him if you want. If you ask me, I think this is a rough neighborhood. You oughta read some of the newspapers about this part of town.” I was tired and somewhat peeved. I decided that sarcastic remark was probably not a good thing to say to the officer right then. But he seemed to let it pass. But NOT without a glare.

     “Why were you running miss?”

     “I was trying to lose him.”

     “Did he threaten you in any way?”

     “No.”

     “Your ID says you’re only two blocks away from home. Son, will you feel you’re duty as a gentleman is done if we drive her home from here?”

     “I think my father would approve of that, yes.”

     “Miss Morishima, is it? Please get in the car.”

     “No thank you, I prefer to walk home. But tell him to stop following me.”

     “Will you stop following her, Mr. Wong?”

     “I will see her to her door, then I’m going home.”

     “The only way we can stop him Miss Morishima is if you want to file a complaint.” She looked at me, then at the cops. She was very angry at this time.

     “I am not doing anything else but just going home.” She turned and started walking.

     “Good night officers,” I said and started after her.

As for the black-and-white, they crept alongside us as we made the remaining two blocks to her four-plex unit. We had run past it at least twice. I guess she didn’t want me to know where she lived. I stayed on the sidewalk. She got to her front door, fished in her purse for her keys, opened up, turned around, gave me a jerky bow, entered and slammed the door. Thank goodness that was done. My watch said 1:30 a.m. I wasn’t sure, but I don’t think I had ever spent that much time on a date with any girl. I felt like it was time wasted, but I was going to run this by Dad the next time I saw him and see if I did it right.

The next Monday Gerry, one of the other earth science TAs, joined me after we were done with our morning sections to walk to the union and grab some lunch. My usual was a cup of pudding and a pack of chicken nuggets. We turned the corner going back to the staff lounge with our takeout and nearly fell on top of young woman wearing a brown polyester uniform from Ben’s Diner. It was Mariko.

Without so much as a word she confiscated my lunch from my hands and handed me a packet wrapped up in cloth. She looked inside the sack that contained my lunch.

     “Such bad food. You eat this every day?” She seemed appalled and disgusted.

     “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Sister.”

     “I do not need to try it. I sell it. Sorry you had to waste so much time on Friday on my account in seeing me home. Now we are even. The debt is paid. I will come back tomorrow at this time to get my box. Goodbye Mr. Wong.”

     “Can I have those?” Gerry asked Mariko, pointing to the sack.

     “It’s garbage!” she said shoving it toward him and then moving down the hall.

     “What do you got there? It smells GOOOOD,” said Gerry.

     “Hell if I know. Probably poisoned Play Doh food.”

     “Poisoned? Who is that?”

     “Some girl who hates me.”

     “A girl who hates you make your lunch? I should be so hated. Come on, let’s get inside and have a look. This has got me all curious now.”

Thinking about this now, that had been a romantic comedy movie, this would be the time that I would have handed Gerry the package, run after her, and then declare my love for her and plant a kiss on her. But that’s not what happened. Gerry and I went into the lounge got a paper plate and split the lunch Mariko had made. It was not Play Doh food. It was some kind of curried pork cutlet, steamed vegetables, and balls of rice wrapped in seaweed—OK the onigiri always looks highly contrived. But it was love at first bite for Gerry and I told him I’d properly introduce him when she showed up Tuesday.

But, as I washed up her lunch boxes, I decided to save her the trouble of going way out of her way to find me again and return her boxes when she completed her shift. I finished up some work in the lab and headed over to Ben’s Diner to intercept her. The manager said on the phone she got off shift at eleven so I went over to catch her.

     “Rico,” I yelled. She was startled to hear me say that as she came out. I approached her.

     “What did you call me?”

     “Rico.”

     “Don’t. I don’t like it. Don’t just give me a nickname. I saw a movie and that was the criminal’s name.”

     “Don’t worry. You’re never going to see me again. Lunch was excellent. Thank you. I brought your boxes so you don’t have to make a trip to the lab.”

     “I am glad you liked it.” She took them from me. “Now we are even.”

     “No we’re not. We were even on Friday, or Saturday, if you want to be technical.”

     “I will not going to argue with you about it.”

     “Good. You know, my colleague Gerry has now fallen in love with you. He’ll marry you for cooking alone. I shared my lunch with him. He hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in over a year. Lives on instant ramen. I think he’d love to meet you.”

     “He is the fat one with you this morning?”

     “He’s heavy. But I guarantee you he’s a lot more friendly and entertaining than me.”

     “No thank you. I am not looking for someone like that.”

     “If you don’t mind my asking? Who ARE you looking for? What kind of person? Why did you allow Johnnie to set up a date with a totally unsuitable guy like me? You’ve seen me at the restaurant.”

     “What do they say? You don’t know what you are looking for until you start looking?”

     “That’s true. A lot of scientific inquiry is exactly that.”

     “John thought you might be a kind of person for me. That’s all.”

     “OK. I won’t take up any more of your time. Good night.”

     “Good night.” She stopped after several steps. “Why are you following me?”

     “It’s late. It’s only a few blocks. I’ll make sure you get home safely. Besides I owe you for lunch.”

     “You do not owe me anything! Leave me alone. Go home.”

     “Or what? You’ll call the cops?”

     “Shut up. Do whatever you want. I do not care anymore.” So I saw her home and expected that to be the end of it. Except she showed up Wednesday after my morning section class with lunch, and I walked her home that night, followed by lunch on Friday, etc. We had started a cycle of debt and repayment that we did not know how to end. Well, I knew how to end it; but I hate leaving unfinished business.”

© Copyright 2012 by Vincent Way, all rights reserved.