Just for Shits & Giggles

Just for Shits & Giggles

Author's comment: So often I feel that any LGBTQ stories I read or documentaries I watch are so depressing. I didn't want that for my essay; though I have experienced my fair share of trials and tribulations, I thought I would take a more humorous approach to this prompt and write about my introduction into the dating world.

Just For Shits & Giggles

It was in the summer of my 15th year that a succession of rather regrettable mistakes took place...or I guess I should say, I made a series of regrettable mistakes. It, at the time, would seem like the world was caving in around me; but rather, it set my life on course towards the life I now lead today. And I could not be more grateful.

The Chinese are known for many innovations.They invented gunpowder, printing, paper, goldfish, you name it. Oh, and water torture. Can’t forget water torture. But my personal favorite of all contributions, likely to receive similar amounts of praise from many Americans, includes sweet and sour chicken. And that is what I ate before my date--my firstEVER official date--one cool and breezy summer day at the local mall. I was about to meet up with an online admirer, a guy I had met through mutual friends on Instagram. We had corresponded via Kik. That should have been my first sign that this was destined to not end well. (Rarely do serious romances blossom from the phrase “Got kik?”)

So there I sat, with two friends, who I brought along just in case the man I was to meet up with was actually some serial killer disguised as a rather cute sixteen year old, unaware of the looming storm that would soon rage inside of me. Several minutes passed while I devoured the sweet and sour chicken and wondered whether or not I was a good kisser, when he caught my eye: there, walking towards me, Auntie Annie’s pretzel in hand, was my date, Alex. He was taller than me by an inch or two, and scrawny, and had a fair complexion. He had shining black hair, swept to the side with gel. He wore a graphic tee with the name of some alternative band, and cargo shorts, and a worn pair of grey vans. My back was to the windows, so the light that bathed the room reflected off of his striking forest green eyes. I certainly liked the way things were looking for me.

Within about an hour, we were wandering around the mall. Past the Teavana and its free samples. Through Hot Topic and Old Navy. Past the Dippin’ Dots stand. We found ourselves inside of the regal and refined Von Maur. Greeted by red marble floors, we found ourselves at a mahogany table with a dazzling arrangement of seasonal florals in stark oranges, reds, and yellows. Sour, old women judged our adolescence from afar. The air stank of perfume gone-bad. The moment my feet touched that cool, stony floor, hell began to break loose.

My stomach made a gruntled, low moan. I sounded pained. Alex darted his eyes towards me, like green marbles trying to roll their way towards freedom, and asked if I was alright. I replied with a quick “Yes, I just think I need to use the restroom” attempting to cover up the sounds of my stomach imploding. Or maybe exploding. Whichever was worse.

We made our way towards the restroom, walking near the chrome railing, its ledge peering downward towards someone with fair blonde hair, in a grey suit, playing the baby grand piano. It was likely some classical piece, with a light and delicate melody; but in my mind, I heard the keys forming a crescendo, each note building in loudness and foreshadowing a dark and terrible force. Should I have known what was coming, I may have chosen to jump.

Now the men’s bathroom at Von Maur is nice. Like really nice. It’s plastered with a green and gold floral wallpaper, and grey marble tiles lining the floors and creeping halfway up the wall. The fixtures are adorned with glittering, gleaming brass, and while it was stark, it felt like a throne fit for royalty...perhaps even a CEO’s private bathroom. In the corner stood a janitor, mopping the cold, stone floors. Alex went to one of the urinals and I hurried to one of the stalls. The doors stretched from floor to ceiling. I clicked it close, and hellfire began to rain down. I wondered if one of my ancestors had angered a great Chinese shaman and perhaps this was the curse making itself known. All that could be heard was a tinkling sound about five feet away from me and the ringing of the mop, all of which were overshadowed by the sound of the complete and utter destruction of my bowels. Not much more could possibly go wrong at this point. My date stood right outside of the door, so I had no route of escape. As if I would have been able to escape at that point anyways.

What can my extremely uncomfortable, blushing, 15 year-old self do to make things worse and to relieve me of my stress, (as if I needed to relieve myself any more), but laugh. Shit hit the fan. I broke into a laugh of mass hysteria, a sad attempt at covering up the stream of rage spewing from my bum. And I couldn’t stop. But luckily, the door to the bathroom had opened and closed and I was glad that my date had left me and my humility in the bathroom to sulk.

I could only imagine what the janitor was thinking as he heard my diarrhea accompanied with an array of giggles.

The hellfire slowly ceased and I finished up what I had gone there to do. I opened the door, and, head down in bitter defeat, ran smack into my date. He had not left. The janitor had.

I washed up, red-faced and unable to say a single thing, and we left the bathroom. On the way out of the store, I spotted the janitor, talking to one of the salesclerks, laughing, and pointing in the direction of the men’s bathroom. In that moment, I had effectively redefined the phrase “just for shits and giggles.”

That first date experience was a harbinger of how the relationship was to soon end some two weeks later. Though I had likely scared my date away, all worked out in the end. I was able find someone who would love me for all my quirks and tolerate me even when I eat Chinese.

I know that, if I were never gay, I would never have experience that embarrassing of a first date. I know that, if I were never gay, I would never have such a fun introduction into the dating world. Sometimes, love is just a funny story.