Chapter Three - Trash Bags and Dates.

Going to the gas station had developed new meaning.

A new meaning that had absolutely nothing to do with grabbing a Pepsi or fueling my silver Honda Civic.

Its' meaning was fueling my soul, and completely tripping me out.

I was given a heads-up from the guy with the info as to what night Chevron guy happened to be working the coming week.

So I prepared...

I re-showered, blew-out my hair, and dressed in my shortest pair of shorts. 

(Back in the day when short shorts actually would've looked good on me)

It was about 7:00 or 8:00 at night, completely dark...and the five mile drive felt like 500.

I pulled in the station, looked inside the window where the cashiers often stood, and did not see him.

Great. 

I put my less than $5 worth of gas in my tank and headed inside to pay the cashier.

The cashier was a worker I was familiar with (well, actually I knew them all by that point), but he was acting extremely weird. 

"Uh...do you want a car wash too? I'll give you a car wash."

"Sure..."

The worker kept dragging the conversation on..and on...

I eventually escaped and left the building to begin walking to my car.

This is ridiculous.
Seriously, Jenny...Get a freaking grip...you have a boyfriend (albeit a boyfriend across the country)...but, regardless...get OVER this silly game.

As I walked the twenty or so yards to my car, I turned around and glanced inside. 

The guy who had acted so strangely was running like crazy to the back of the store, yelling something I couldn't hear and pointing in the direction of ....me.

That's when I saw him.

The Guy.

His co-worker handed him a couple of trash bags and he began walking towards the door.

My heart died - literally died. 
I think I was operating strictly in survival mode.

He opened the outside doors and began walking towards me
....me....

He was nonchalantly carrying trash bags, glancing away from my direction just enough to seem busy.

"Hey."

Oh man...he had a voice.

"Hi." I answered casually...as if I hadn't just spent two hours primping for my trip to the local gas station.

"Uh, do you want to take out the trash with me?"

What?

Instinctively I answered, "Uh...no. Don't think I want to do that."

Nice, real nice Jen...

"Oh, okay." he replied, sounding rather shocked that I had said no.

But, really, trash?

"Well...a group of us are getting together this weekend, do you want to come?"

What was that?  A date? A non-date? Seriously?

"Sure." 

As if I was going to say no.

"Okay. I'll give you the details in a few days."

"Okay. Bye."

One month, several heart attacks and a few possible pysch woard admittances had built to this climax...
...a 25 second conversation.
But, I didn't care.

It had happened.

There was going to be actual human interaction.
And, I was pretty sure that was what I wanted.

When I pulled into my drive way, I noticed one of my guy friends had been waiting for me.

(He was waiting with a broken heart, courtesy of my best friend)

Sadly, I'm sure I only pretended to listen to his story...sadness and elation don't typical carry each other well...and I was certainly...elated.

I asked his opinion as to whether or not I was actually going on a date, or if this was just a "thing" to do with friends.

"Trust me Jen, it's a date.  He just didn't want to commit to calling it a date in case you didn't want to go on one with him.  It's what we do."

Yes, a date.