When George was twenty-three his boss set him up on a blind date with a woman who was a good customer for their auto parts business. George had been talking with her on the phone for over a year. The boss thought he should meet her in person.
“Dinner’s on the company,” George’s boss said.
George got the woman’s address and went to pick her up. She lived in Walnut Creek in a million dollar house. George rang the doorbell, and a little old lady answered the door. She invited George in and told him to wait in the library while her daughter finished getting ready.
George saw the family photo of the little old lady, her husband and two daughters. One daughter was thin and the other one . . .
George could hear his date coming down the steps, and he knew which sister he would be taking to dinner. He normally avoided anyone who weighed more than his truck – it wasn’t good on the shocks. His joke, folks.
To make matters worse, when George got to the restaurant, his boss and co-workers were seated in the bar so they could have a front-row seat to the joke.
The woman talked and talked. George couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
George went into the bar to get the drinks. He needed a break from Miss Run-at-the-mouth. The whole bar was filled with guys there to rib him. He went back to the table and listened to more chit chat from the giant one.
After the main course was done, George feigned a headache so he could take the woman home. He looked at his Timex. The date had lasted an eternity — one hour and twenty seven minutes.
Couldda Wouldda Didda
George never took out another telephone customer again.
Fortunately, fat-shaming is no longer acceptable. People come in all sizes. George never gave her a chance, even for a friendship.