That Guy Whose Prom I Went To

June 12, 2003

Ginny ran into Creepy Craig today at Staples.

She paid with a check and when he looked and saw her name on the check, he asked if she knew me. She was like “yeah, she’s my sister,” and he said “We went to prom together once.” She was like “yeah, I know.”

She told me I should tell you all the story of Creepy Craig, so here it is.

I was a junior in high school. My mom worked with a woman whose younger brother had no date for his senior prom. He wanted to go to the prom very badly, and he wanted to take a date, so somehow my mom and this woman conspired to make me go with him. Mom talked me into it, saying it would be fun and we might hit it off, and besides, going to another school’s prom was a mark of coolness for some reason.

They traded phone numbers, and Mom brought home a photo. He wasn’t the most attractive guy in the world, but it wasn’t a great picture. Besides, I’d already said I would go.

So one night Creepy Craig called. We started to talk and he asked me what I was into. Since I was the classic high school overachiever, I rattled off my list of activities – band, sports, work, volunteering, et cetera. Twenty minutes later, I finished reading him my resume and was like “so what do you like to do?”

He said, “I like to watch TV.”

I tried to be nice about it. I tried to draw him out, to get him to talk more about himself. And oh, did he ever.

Creepy Craig went on to ask me if I’d ever seen the Goth kids hanging out around the downtown market. I said that I had, and he went into an animated explanation of how those kids were all playing Magic: The Gathering in real life, and that he was really into that scene, and he was a Werewolf, and he could cast Spells X and Y and Z, and it was really cool and I should try it sometime.

I feigned interest outwardly, while inwardly freaking the hell out, and when we got off the phone I went running to my mother and told her I couldn’t possibly go to prom with this guy because he was a freak.

She said that we’d already said yes, and that it was too close to the date and to back out would be inexcusably rude, and that if it turned out to be really bad I could just say I had a curfew.

So the big day came, and I got all dressed up, and he came to my house to pick me up. He had this Drew Carey thing going on, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, I suppose. But then I felt like a jackass because we had agreed on the phone not to do flowers, and then he showed up with a corsage and I didn’t have a flower for him. Eek.

We went to a certain steakhouse named after a state for dinner. He ate half my food in addition to his own and got ketchup on his tuxedo shirt. Then we headed downtown to the hotel where the prom was being held.

It was actually quite nice. The hotel is a very old one and quite beautiful, and they’d hired a good DJ and a caterer. I danced a few brief dances with Craig before bowing out – I was completely legitimately recovering from foot surgery and couldn’t spend too much time on my feet. But the whole time we were dancing, he stared down my dress at my boobs. Fun. (He’s 6’4″ or so, and I’m about 5’4″.)

We were sitting at our table for a long time talking, and while he was nice enough, he was also weird, dorky, and kind of boring and so I started talking to his friends. His best friends were actually completely kick-ass, and the girl (who was wearing an antique dress and chucks, very cool at the time) and I hit it off and she suggested that we ditch the prom and go to get ice cream somewhere. I was all for it, and we rounded up about 14 people who were with us.

Whose date blew the plans? Whose date said that he’d spent too much money renting a tux to waste it at an ice-cream parlor?

That’s right – mine.

So we stayed.

I said I had to be home by midnight, so he had to leave early to take me home. At an intersection downtown, he didn’t yield the right-of-way while making a left turn and came within inches of causing a horrible car accident. I was all freaked out after that, and doubly traumatized since I’d very recently been in a car accident myself, and he kept trying to persuade me to go to his after-prom party and I was just like “please, take me home.”

No kiss in the car, thank Jebus. He hugged me instead and I went inside and told my parents everything that had happened.

He called a week or so later and asked me if I’d like to go out with him that weekend. I said I was sorry, I had other plans. Of course he would be the kind of guy to be like, “what about next weekend? What about June 30th? What about August 17th at noon?” and I finally had to say, “I’m really sorry, I had a good time [lie] at your prom but I’m just not interested in dating you.” I felt pretty guilty about that but couldn’t think of another way to get out of it.

So. He works at Staples now – go visit him sometime! And be sure to ask him how the Werewolf spells are working out.

Filed under: old diaryland entries

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