The Cannibal Counterpart

Time Frame: February, 2011

Growing up, I had a lot of crushes on boys. It started like most first crushes do, with boys in my classes. I had a crush on the cute blond boy in my kindergarten Sunday school class. We use to pretend those little hollow, plastic shape blocks were actually cups full of kool-aid and we’d carry them around to our friends and teachers like a good little host and hostess. Then there was that other blond boy from my third grade Sunday school class, the wannabe bad boy from my church youth group, the awkward but cute nerd from my high school biology class, the track star from my high school track and field team, and all those old celebrity crushes. 

All little kids have those first crushes. Not just girls. Boys crush just as much as girls. For instance, one boy I know –who shall remain nameless –once pursued his childhood crush so eagerly that she pushed him down the stairs. To this day, he considers the encounter to be worth bragging about.

As time goes on, however, crushes soon turn into romantic interests and dating. Each gender has their own check list as to what constitutes as a date and how one should behave on a date. Likewise, each gender looks for those unspoken signals given to them by their companion. The signals that let them know whether or not there will ever be a second date, or if a second date is even something they want to go after.

Consequentially, along with dating comes dating horror stories. Everyone has them. Everyone has that one date that they look back to and shudder at the thought of. Some are just worst that others.

In February of 2011, with Valentine’s Day approaching fast, romance and crushes was the talk of the university. Everyone was gossiping about who was going out with who and whether or not what’s-her-name would get her ring by spring. Really the whole university was reduced to being a thirteen-year-old girl. Seriously, even the boys. Love was in the air, it was toxic, and people like me (I happened to be boycotting Valentine’s Day pretty hard that year) pasted black hearts on our doors and windows as if it were the blood of a lamb.

Just because I was boycotting all things pink, didn’t mean I didn’t occasionally listen in to the conversations going on around me, though. Really the romantic gossip was all one had for entertainment when stuck at work on a particularly slow day. 

Porsche –my best friend –and I had a dinner shift on Valentine’s Day. Neither of us had dates or plans so we were perfectly find leaving ourselves to a night of subs and salad bar. Only a handful of people actually showed up to eat that night, anyway. Most of everyone were out on dates. We weren’t particularly bummed about it, though our boss seemed to be.

“I wish I had a date,” our boss was practically laying on the counter of the sandwich station as she whined. Her name was Maria and she was a short curvy girl with pale blond hair and blue eyes so big that they belonged in an anime. A pair of earrings dangled from her ears and her makeup was done to perfection.

Maria was pretty quiet about her personal life. We knew little about her family or friends. She was nice, though, and we all loved talking to her. She was always dressed up in slacks or a skirt with a cute top. Always appeared to have her life put together.

“Even a blind date,” Maria grumbled then stopped and blinked as she stared at Porsche and I. “Well, maybe not a blind date, and absolutely not a blind date set up by my best friend. She’s a great girl but a horrible judge of character. Have I told you girls about the time she and I went down to New Mexico?”

I shook my head, Porsche said, “No. What happened?”

“Okay, it was spring break, right?” Maria grinned. “Oh, you’re going to love this story! Perfect example why you shouldn’t just go out with any guy off the street. Anyway, it was spring break and my best friend and I thought we’d take a trip to New Mexico. We’d never been before and going back home for a week sounded lame. So we saved like all of our paychecks for six months to go on this trip. We bought plane tickets, talked a few other friends into coming with us, and took off. It was supposed to be great. I mean, we had just turned twenty-one and were totally ready to spend the week bar hopping. Another thing you really shouldn’t do. Alcohol is bad,” she gave us a pointed look. “Stay sober.”  

Maria was serious for one a moment before bursting out into laughter. “Seriously though, we really just wanted to party.”

“I’m guessing you did,” I spoke up. 

“Oh, absolutely! We hit this one bar that was kind of a Mexican luau typed theme. I’m not actually sure how to explain it. There were a bunch of tiki torches, and lanterns, and stuff like that. Anyway, my friends and I drink a little bit and this guy comes up to us. He was real cute. Dark hair, to die for eyes, broad shoulders, and all perfectly tanned, right?”

“Uh huh,” Both Porsche and I respond.

“Well, this guy asks my best friend to dance. She says yes, naturally. The two of them dance for a while. We have some more drinks. Our plane back home left the next day, so we were trying to end spring break with a bang. As the night went on, we made sure not to have so much to drink that we’d be totally plastered. Eventually, we decided we should probably head back to the hotel. So, my friends and I called a cab and I went to find Jessica –my best friend –who was still dancing with mister oh-so-hot.”

Maria paused as one of our coworkers approached her. 

“The nacho cheese is almost empty, but there is no one here,” the girl who’d walked up to us spoke, “do I have to replace it?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Maria drew the word out and bounced on her heeled feet a bit as she thought. “Nah, don’t worry about it. We’ve only served about twenty people tonight and there’s only a half hour left until close anyway. If anyone says anything about it, send them to me.”

“Okay,” the girl said.

“Hey!” Maria called out before the girl could walk away. “You’re not terribly busy right now, right? Of course you’re not, there’s no one here. Stay for a second. You’ll want to hear this story.”

“What story?” the girl asked. 

“I was just telling these two,” Maria motioned to Porsche and I, “about this trip my friends and I took to New Mexico. To catch you up, we were at a bar, my friend Jessica was dancing with Mr. Perfect, and I was trying to find her because we needed to head back to the hotel and get ready to head back home the next day.”

“Okay,” the girl leaned against the counter, absentmindedly playing with a towel resting there.

“So, I’m looking for Jessica and I eventually find her and the guy making out in a corner of the bar. It was tongue, and teeth, and sloppy, and gross. And I was all like, ‘Get a room, you two,’ and he was all like, ‘that sounds like a great plan’. Jessica and I laughed a little and I tell her that we’ve called a cab and are going. So, she starts to say good bye to the guy and the guy pulls her in real close and asks her to go home with him for the night. Well, Jessica very politely tells him that she can’t, that she’s not from there, and that she has to fly home the next day. He was really bummed about it and tried to persuade her to stay, but she was adamant and didn’t give in.”

“Probably a good thing,” I stated. 

“I don’t like him,” the new girl responded. “Something seems off here.”

“No, duh. He could have been a murderer or something,” Porsche agreed. 

“Funny you should say that,” Maria smiled. “Now, here’s when things get really crazy. We go back home, right? And over the next few days Jessica breaks out in a rash. It was red and painful. Allergy medicine didn’t help, so she went to the doctor. The doctor looked her over a bit and then gave her a worried look. With a dead serious expression, the doctor told Jessica that the rash she had was commonly associated with eating human flesh.”

“What?!” Porsche, the new girl, and I all exclaimed. 

“Yeah!” Maria nodded vigorously. “Jessica freaked out and told the doctor that she’d never eaten a human being in her life. That’s when the doctor told her that she could have gotten the rash from being in intimate contact with someone who had. And that’s when Jessica realized that she’d been making out with a cannibal.”

“Oh my!” the new girl exclaimed.   

“Seriously,” Maria nodded. “That’s why she’s not allowed to set anyone up on blind dates. I mean, she made out with a cannibal. Just think what would have happened had she gone home with him! She’d probably be stuffed in his freezer!”

“Maria!” our conversation was interrupted by the cook yelling from the kitchen. 

“What?” Maria was yelling back as she headed away from us. Her high heels clicked on the tiled floor. 

Once Maria was gone and the other girl was off wiping down counters while mumbling to herself about never going to New Mexico, Porsche turned to me and said, “If I ever make out with a cannibal, you are not allowed to write about it, and you are required to save me.” 

“If you ever make out with a cannibal, I’m not going to let you live it down.”

“Likewise, sister. Likewise.”