Here's a funny dating story about what NOT to order in a crowded restaurant on a first date. My date has a "whooping" attack while diving into a plate of strange food. It's Murphy's Law in technicolor.
One of 23 true funny travel stories from my ebook, Normally Peculiar.
Sometimes you can just try too hard.
I think that’s what happened after a I sang some funny relationship songs at a concert in a western city. A very lovely woman approached me and handed me her card. She told me her name (let’s call her Blanche), and said she did seminars on male-female communication. She thought perhaps we might be able to help each other, or in some way network a bit. Maybe even do some work together.
I felt my ears prick up when she said the magic words: “male-female communication.” (I have so much to learn.) I had already recited some of the best pick up lines I had heard over the years in my head. So I suggested we meet for lunch the next day before I left town. She agreed and told me about a restaurant that sounded good.
The next day I met her at noon, and Blanche was dressed to kill. I definitely got the impression that she wanted to make a good impression, if you get my drift. Sometimes you can just tell, and I didn’t even need any courses in body language to know it.
So we ordered some food and soon the salads came. We were chatting and munching, and I was enjoying her conversation.
Soon the main course showed up. I couldn’t recognize what she’d ordered, so I asked her what it was.
She said, “Oh, you have to try this! These are green chili wontons. I get them every time I come here, and they’re fabulous!”
And with that, she took a bite.
What happened next was surreal. She immediately turned red and started whooping. Not coughing, not choking, but whooping. Like, “Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!” She was definitely having some kind of reaction, but what? I couldn’t tell, and it scared the dumplings out of me.
I asked her what was wrong. Could I help? Should I call 911?
She shook her head and kept whooping. Then she stood up, still whooping, quickly now, every second or so. By now the whoops were really loud, her face was quite red, and everyone in the place was staring at us. They were looking at her with concern and fear. They were looking at me like, What have you done to her? And why aren’t you helping?
But I had no clue what to do. Heimlich maneuver? She shook her head. Hamlisch maneuver? (Singing “The Way We Were” until they throw up.) No, no time for humor.
Now she was whooping louder and faster and I was really getting worried.
Then suddenly she ran into the ladies restroom. Now the whooping was echoing off the tile walls in there and reverberating through the restaurant, “Whooooop! Whoooooop! Whoooooop!”
A minute later a couple of concerned waitresses scurried in there to help, and I felt a drop in my anxiety level. Still not knowing what to do I sat down, feeling helpless, worried, and stared at from all corners of the restaurant.
Finally, the volume and frequency of whooping in the restroom began to subside a bit: “whoop..............whoop.............whoop......” then eventually stopped altogether. There was silence for about 5 or 10 minutes.
Those few minutes felt like an hour.
Eventually she emerged from the restroom and walked over to the table, looking red, exhausted, and all wrung out. I stood up and asked if she was okay, and she said yes, but she was so embarrassed. I told her there was no need to be embarrassed, but did she need anything? Should I call somebody?
No no, she said, she was fine, but she just felt so foolish. She thought I must think her a real idiot to tell me how great those things were and then they almost killed her.
Gosh no, I told her, you just had a reaction. It could have happened to anybody. Don’t worry about it. The main thing is you’re okay.
But she just wouldn’t let it go. She said she just felt so stupid, and sat down. You must think I’m such a dope, she said. And as she said the word dope, she was moving her arms down for emphasis, and her right hand hit her fork, which was buried in her salad.
It was Murphy’s Law in vivid, technicolor 3-D.
Salad sprayed everywhere. It flew all over the table. It landed on her dress, in her lap, in her hair. Basically everywhere but on me. And at that point, there was nothing to do but laugh.
Well, anyway I laughed. I can’t remember if she laughed. I hope so.
But for some reason, I never heard from her again.
© 2014 Greg Tamblyn and JokeQuote.com
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