Daves Comments and quips
Shallow Dave – After my divorce I tried a number of venues to get back into the dating scene; bars, AOL Chatrooms, newspaper personals, etc. (never tried a pay dating service). There were at least three dates that stand out from the rest, the first of which I will call Shallow Dave.
I met a woman in an AOL chatroom that wanted to get together. She asked for a recent photo of myself so I sent it. When I asked for one in return, she declined making various excuses.
Later on in life I was to find out that people often lie about their age, their appearance, their occupation, and more. We agreed to meet for a drink on a Friday night at a bar in Garfield, NJ. I was supposed to pick her up at 8PM. At that time, I had custody of my children every other weekend so my “free” weekends were important to get things done I couldn’t do otherwise.
Finding the apartment was not too much of a problem and there I was, at the door, getting ready to ring the bell. Now I must digress a moment. I do not consider myself to be a “Shallow Hal.” This modern “body image/body shaming” movement is close to my heart having two daughters myself.
That said, I rang the bell. From a muffled distance inside I heard a low guttural sound. Slowly it grew louder, and I could make out, “I’m coming.” When the door opened, I kid you not, was a woman with a walker. You see my friends; this woman was obese. A person in the medical field would call her “morbidly obese,” as in she was 5’6”, over 300 pounds.
She spoke first, “Now that you see what I look like, are you still going to take me out?”
I replied without hesitation, “I promised you a drink and will keep my promise!” At this stage of my life, I might not have been so kind.
As we walked toward the parking lot she asked if we were going to go in my car, or separate cars. Well, separate cars sounded like a better plan to me. She asked me to follow her because much to my surprise, she wanted to pick her up girlfriend. Yes, my night might be saved after all!
When we got to her girlfriend’s house, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was another woman, not much smaller than my date, waiting for us. What were the odds? We finally got to the bar, and as we entered, we were greeted to a chorus of her friends who were already there.
This is where the story begins, because you see, she belonged to a, what are the right words, “Obesity Club, Heffer Society,” and I was the prize she was going to show off to her friends.
So, I fulfilled my promise, bought her a drink, and a short time later a band started to set up. By band I mean a middle-aged man and woman who were going to sing to canned music.
I said to the herd, “I’m off to the men’s room” and was actually thinking a lesser man would bolt.
Suddenly one of the ladies actually said, “Are you planning on jumping out the window?”
It was not too much longer until the “band” started singing disco music badly. My date looked at me saying, “Well, SOMEBODY better ask me to dance or I don’t know what I am going to do!”
That was it, I snapped. A man can only take so much. I stood up, exclaimed “That’s it,” and BOLTED.
On the way home I stopped for a drink at “The Hungry Peddler” in Cresskill. I was telling the story of my night to a bartender who was laughing so hard he was tearing up. The End
I was just out for my sunset walk and heard a hammering sound like broken glass coming from behind a truck accompanied by a voice...”Yeah, yeah, you like THAT? I’ll show you! Go ahead, make my day!”
I had no choice but to sneak around the truck and observe my elderly neighbor slamming a plastic soda bottle against a cinder block to break up the frozen soda, pour it out the small opening, so he could recycle it.
He never saw me. I walked away to the sound of, “Who’s your daddy? I’ll show YOU the meaning of discipline!”
The question asked of me today on FB, what was the grossest food you ever ate? This was my true answer: Ok, France on my Honeymoon..cold, drizzling, terrorist bombs exploding, and “The Dinner.”
I asked the waiter, “Do you speak English?”
he said, "NO."
I pride myself on eating anything so I randomly picked a dinner. Something that looked like a giant sausage appeared and it looked bad, and reeked a little.
Remember that scene from Star Wars when Han Solo cuts open the TonTon to keep Luke warm? I cut into this thing and the odor was overwhelming, like DOODY.
Then, I asked the waiter, I kid you not, “ People EAT THIS HERE? (My diplomatic skills were weak)."
I bravely took a mouthful and swallowed: It tasted as bad as it smelled. Later, I found out it was “Stuffed Intestine,” which, I guess, is a sausage?
TRUE STORY TIME!
I was at a presentation on Lyme Disease directed to a large group of health officials and pest control operator's. It was held at a beautiful conference room in a hotel.
A representative from Dow Chemical who manufactured a tick pesticide was presenting. The man was young, extremely nervous, and started to stutter minutes into his presentation. Finally, when he lost his train of thought, the FUN began.
"Now, Lyme disease is transmitted by...by...uhhhh, infected DICKS. What? What did I say, I meant TICKS. So sorry, oh my God. Ok, uhhh, now, you find infected dicks, TICKS, in the BUSH."
At that point the entire audience was completely in hysterics. There is actually a part 2 to this story, for another time.
There were three firsts in my life. All three happened in one day.It was my first colonoscopy, the first time I was ever put under full anesthesia, and my first open-back hospital gown.
There were at least five steps: a pre-screening, a meeting with Dr. Dasani, a two-day prior diet, the one-day prior diet and chemical cleansing, and then the big show. When I met Doctor Dasani the first time, he wanted to go over the procedure, but I had already checked out Web MD and spoke to many of my FB friends and family.
I said to him, “Doc, correct me if I’m wrong, but you will somehow borrow the Hubble Telescope next Wednesday, squeeze it into my butt, pilot the thing though my intestines looking for binary stars and pulsars, and then wake me up when it’s over?”
When he stopped laughing he tried to explain it like this (Indian accent): “Mr. Volpe, the camera is no bigger than my pointing finger (I hope he uses the camera, and not the finger I am thinking). Then, we look for polyps and if we find them, we cut them out.”
Later I Googled polyps and got this, “a solitary or colonial sedentary form of a coelenterate such as a sea anemone.” They must have gotten in when I was swimming in the ocean as a youth.
Armed with all my new knowledge, a one-page syllabus on the procedure, and more information from my friends, I stopped at the supermarket on the way home. From my syllabus, I bought yellow jello (There’s ALWAYS room for jello!), beef/chicken bouillon cubes, and ginger ale to mix something that tastes horrible with. Then I stopped at the pharmacy and handed in my script.
The pharmacist, a girl who looked like she was 22, had advice for me too; “Sir, I am sorry you have to do this, but it’s for the best. You also have to pick up an over-the-counter med to aid in the cleansing.”
This probably wasn’t a good time to ask for a date.
Lying in bed that night, trying to fall asleep, I developed a new colonoscopy analogy in my mind; it is like a moon shot (pun intended). There are a team of scientists watching monitors as you enter the launch pad. A nurse says, “Please remove your pants and underwear, and lie face down on the platform.”
I make a mental note to memorize the color of my underwear because I have heard stories about dentists. As I start to lay down flat on my stomach, I see the ship out of the corner of my eye up near the ceiling, the letters NASA emblazoned on the side. It must be equipped with propellers or rocket engines because it will navigate through miles of intestines, right? It also must have laser beams to kill the polyps.
This is like Fantastic Voyage except I will not be meeting Raquel Welch. Since the ship is not manned, there is probably a camera sending images to the pilot and co-pilot. There must be a weapons officer to fire the laser as well. I wonder what happens if there is a power failure during the procedure or a monitor goes down? Do they abort the mission?
Suddenly, a new thought occurs to me, how does the ship enter this unknown part of space? Then I remembered a movie called “The Core” with Hilary Swank. Of course, the ship must have some type of a corkscrew mechanism in the bow. Next, I understand there is a count-down, except they tell YOU to start counting backwards….10…9…..8…..7……6….but you never get to hear them scream “IGNITION” because everyone says you go unconscious at 9 ½.
You are asleep now as they travel through your innards. At some point there must be a signal to hit the retro-rockets and head back, probably when they see your tonsils. They say the next thing you know, someone is tapping you on the shoulder and telling you to wake up and put your underwear back on.
Now, my father has said he did this more than once. Supposedly, I will feel “great” because there is no food in my body to slow me down. He took it a step further and said, “You may like it so much, you’ll want seconds.” That is hard to imagine.
EPILOGUE: I am home from the “procedure.” The reality was waiting for two hours in a hospital gown because the person before me had “complications.” Then an aide told me the doctor wanted to “sterilize the camera.” Hey, I’ll wait a week for that.
Some young nurses on the other side of my curtain were discussing how many times a week they wash their bras.
I swear, if one of the male patients said “diarrhea” ONE MORE TIME!
My little waiting area had the linen closet in it so I met the ENTIRE staff.
Going BACK for my necklace. Thank you to my sister, Ramona Volpe , for driving me and taking me to lunch!
The END. – Dave Volpe