Eight Bad Dates: Hard Hat Bill

Fourth in a Series –

By Eva Trieger

SOLANA BEACH, California — Bill was not my usual kind of guy. Despite the fact that my profile said I was looking for an educated, fit man in my approximate age bracket, Bill had selected me from the tomes of the Dates R Us library. His two-minute video gave me a voice stamp, but somehow the majority of his face was obscured. We arranged to meet at a local Starbucks for coffee. You could see Bill had been burned by actually having had to buy a meal before, and he wasn’t willing to make THAT mistake again. Nosiree Bob!

I decided to work in my work out, by riding to said coffee shop. When I arrived, I secured my trusty Target bike, and saw Bill on his cell phone (do you detect a trend with me and dates on the phone?). I waved to him, and he nodded but continued holding the phone to his ear. He appeared to be waiting, so I pantomimed and mouthed “Are you on hold?” “Yeah.” I tried to make small talk. “How do you like my hot racing bike?” “Nice,” offers Bill. He completed the phone call, and walked back in, finding himself a seat with a woman and child. Oops. It was the wrong Bill. Not too embarrassing for me.

Then Bill the first’s double comes in. Now, I’m not saying that all bald construction workers in white t-shirts look alike, but I mean, these guys were separated Siamese twins. Okay, let’s try this again, Eva.

“Hi, I’m Eva. Are you Bill?” We opt not to enter Starbucks, but wind up at Jamba Juice, where Bill proceeds to take my hand, and read my palm. Okay, I’m a little creeped out. We talk about his daughter, his ex-wife, his construction business and his house, of which he is very proud. We talk about other light topics and we exchange numbers. Bill asks me if I’d like to go to the races with him on Friday, as his ex-wife will have his daughter for the weekend. Ever the adventurer, I agree.

Friday morning arrives, and Bill phones to tell me, “Change o’plans.” My daughter’s mother can’t take her. Howseabout if you come over to my house, and I fix us dinner and we take my daughter to the races with us?” Okay. I’m wondering where he lives because the Del Mar racetrack is right across the street from my house. “Sounds great. Can you give me directions?” Bill proceeds to give me the directions to his home in Santee. We are not going to the Del Mar horse races, apparently.

On the 45-minute drive to Bill’s I am wondering what I’m doing. I arrive in a subdivision of small bungalows and am nearly knocked over by two huge dogs. The house is small and actually much cleaner than I would have guessed for a lone man and his four-year old daughter. The four-year old daughter is less clean than I would have liked, given that she insisted on sitting on my lap and playing with my hair, while eating the fried chicken and macaroni salad with her hands.

Following this feast we load into his pick-up and head to the races. Stock car races that is. The parking lot is filled with big men with big bellies and big boxes of beer. As we find our place among the other spectators, I am struck with one singular thought. 70% of those on the benches are grandmas. It seems everyone is drinking cups of beer and smoking. I tell myself I am a sociologist, studying some other culture. I know not what god they worship, nor why they have ritual hollers and shouts. The carnage on the track is really too much for me but Bill and daughter are having a ball. Well, I thought I was demonstrating the appropriate enthusiasm, but can you imagine? He never called for a second date.

Next: The General and His Troops

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Eva Trieger is a freelance writer who specializes in coverage of the arts. She may be contacted via eva.trieger@sdjewishworld.com