Week 7 - Blind Date

“Don’t think I’m weird or anything,” the man’s voice said on the phone.

Oh, geez. This ought to be good.

“Are you single?”, the voice continued.

"Who is this guy," I thought to myself. He had been in the office for the first time yesterday for a presentation on our new benefits package. He wasn’t unattractive, but I seemed to remember he had a wedding ring on.

“Uhh, I guess so,” I responded.

“Well, I have this brother-in-law, and I think the two of you would really hit it off.”

Great, a setup. I hate blind dates.

When we met at the restaurant, I was immediately struck by how far from a match this guy was. He was a complete prep. Judging by his hair, he probably spent more time in his bathroom getting ready for this date than I did at work today. He was probably 25 or so, a few years younger than me. That certainly wasn’t a disqualifier, unless like most 25-year old guys, he was still mentally 17.

I reminded myself to never again accept a blind date from someone I’d only met in the last twenty-four hours.

“So,” he asked, interrupting my attempts to block out the rest of the evening, “where did you grow up?”

“Outside of Pittsburgh, mostly. We moved to Chaska when I was in high school, and then I went to the U.”

“Oh, you went to the U? Me too, what years were you there?”

I rattled off the years I was at college, glancing over his shoulder out the window; toward the clock on the bank sign across the street. Strangely enough, the time hadn’t changed since the last time I’d looked.

“Oh, I was there from ’94 to ’97,” he replied. I was right, he was about 6 years younger.

“Mm,” I said, paying more attention to the last bite of my food than the conversation, “you were there the same time as my brother.”

“Your brother,” he said, deep in thought. “Wait, Sorensen… Rick Sorensen?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” I replied, looking at the last piece of chicken on the end of my fork, trying to decide how long choking to death on it might take.

“Really? Wow, small world. I used to party with him.”

Oh. My. God.

“You know,” I said, reaching for my car keys, “I meant to tell you before dinner, my boss scheduled a meeting early tomorrow morning with one of our suppliers. I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind if I take a raincheck on the movie?”