Patrick Walsh: May 2004

My new job in "Student Services" at Kaplan basically consisted of getting screamed at by parents about bad test results all day, every day. It was quite the ordeal to bite my tongue call after call. I always wanted to say, "Did it ever occur to you that your child might be retarded?"

It had been a month since my panel interview at NBC, and still no word. My friends had bought me a plane trip back to Saint Louis for Christmas, and so to take my mind off things, I went home for a week. Again, the reaction back home seemed to be one of horror. I didn't look well, I was irritable, I scared children. I told everyone it didn't seem likely I'd be getting that NBC gig I had moved away for, and had to face the pitying eyes and remarks. Still, it was great to be home.

So great in fact, that when I returned to my dreary Jersey City existence, everything seemed much worse. I began to wonder if I even wanted to stick it out here. My roommate and I had completely stopped speaking, though she made a point of telling me how furious she was that I hadn't told her I was leaving for a week.

Yeah. I hadn't even told her I was going out of town. I was a real dick.

She also mentioned, very nonchalantly, that I had a phone message. Had this been a movie, the camera would have zip-panned to our flashing answering machine. I still didn't have a cell phone, so I had no way of knowing when it came in. "Like a week ago," she mumbled as she went into her room. "Some Will guy."

Oh. My. God. The NBC Page manager was named Will. Could it be?

I walked a few circles around the machine and then played the message. It was him. No details, just asked me to give him a call. Didn't sleep a wink, called the next morning, and I was offered a spot as an NBC Page. Prayers answered, dreams cometrueified. I can't quite explain the euphoria. It was like I had been sitting under a nozzle that sprayed me with a steady stream of poop, and suddenly I had found the off switch.

He asked if I could start in two weeks, and I assured him I could. I hung up, ran around the block a few times, buried my head in my pillow and screamed like a pre-teen girl who just learned the Justin Timberlake tour was coming to town.

Keep in mind I had recently completed three weeks of rather intense paid training for my new job. I had to go talk to my manager.

MARK: But...you promised me. That's why we gave you the promotion. You promised me you were with Kaplan for the long haul.

ME: Yeah. I know.

MARK: But you're not?

ME: No.

MARK: That's disappointing, Patrick.

ME: I know. My bad.

I did my last couple weeks, and on my final day, Kaplan threw me an after-work going away party at a bar. It was a blast, and the freedom of knowing I wouldn't see these people again allowed me to move in a little more intently on a girl I worked with.

Let me back up.

When I started at Kaplan, I was seated next to a girl I had a major crush on. Let's call her Jessica. We flirted non-stop, it was a blast. She was very hot, very spunky, and we had a real chemistry that set the office a-gossiping from day one. We were the Jim and Pam of our day. I had casually asked her when I first started there to see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with me. We went together, but that night didn't go past hand-holding, as I worked with her and it seemed inappropriate. (Remember, at this point, I only slept with people I lived with).

When I got my promotion, I moved all the way across the office, and thus Jessica and I started e-mail flirting. This kind of flirting advances things even quicker because you feel a lot more freedom to say what you want when you're not facing the other person. You know, the kind of flirting that starts with e-mails like "Want to meet in the break room for a coffee?" and builds to e-mails like "So I was just talking with Amy and we were wondering how big your penis is?"

Jessica's favorite band was inexplicably the quite average pop/rock outfit known as The Thrills. I saw that The Thrills were coming to New York's Irving Plaza in a couple months. I asked her to be my date - careful to use the word "date," as there's nothing I hate more than the whole "So...what are you thinking of this as?" bullshit. She blushed and accepted my offer. Beautiful. Asking is most of the battle for me, I had overcome my shyness, I was excited.

Alright, so fast-forward back to my going away party -- hopefully you're following this Tarantinian narrative. There was drinking. There was dancing. There was a lot of near-kissing. She told me I'd have to wait until our big date to go any further.

May 24th would prove to be historic in my life. My debut as an NBC Page that day, my first official date with Jessica that evening. An evening that will forever be known as...

The Worst Date of All Time.

 
TO BE CONTINUED...

tags: story of my life  new york  temp  work  

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