First Dates

Do you remember your very first date?

Through the wonders of the internet and Classmates.com I was contacted by a high school friend, Judy Friddle, whom I was delighted to hear from and catch up with what she has been up to for the last 35 years.

It took me a couple of days to recall, but she was my very first date! I remember it now so vividly because, through no fault of Judy's, it was a disaster!

In high school I was pretty outgoing but, like most teenage boys, lacked a certain confidence level when dealing with girls. I had postponed dating, through sheer terror of rejection, until my senior year in high school when I finally, after dozens of dry runs, called Judy for a date. She apparently accepted, because I cannot recall any of the conversation, and we decided that we would go to her high school play (she attended Pinole High School and I attended DeAnza High School). It seemed like a safe first date.

Having no car of my own, I was forced to ask the old man for the use of his car, a green 1965 Ford Galaxie 500 with an awesome 390 cubic inch engine. His response was typical of any dad... a short and sweet "NO!". I pleaded with him, and after finally confessing that I had a "date", he responded:

"With a girl?"

Apparently pleased that it was indeed a girl, Dad relented and agreed to let me use the Olson family's "second car", an old, grey, 1960 Pontiac Catalina station wagon that my Dad salvaged from some fellow worker who was ready to completely junk it. Dad would tinker on that car for many weekends and finally got it running but I was always suspicious about it's lifespan and it had a annoying quirk of refusing to restart if you were ever listening to the radio.

I was dressed and ready to go about 5 hours early. Finally, after giving myself ample time to drive to Judy's house in Pinole I cruised in my pimped out ride and being a typical teenager...I turned on the radio!

Ater the normal meet the parent pleasantries we headed to the Catalina station wagon and I dutifully opened the door for her and hopped into the driver's seat, turned the ignition and...

Nada! Nothing, ziltch, not a peep from that freakin' pile of dung...it was dead as a doornail!

Bent on showing my prowess as a mechanic I quickly popped the hood and stood with all the masculinity I could muster staring at the jumble of wires, pipes, filters and belts that comprised the beast's innards.

"Must be a dead battery," I said as I leaned around the hood.

The thought then came to my mind that we could "compression start" the vehicle by getting it rolling. As fortune would have it, Judy lived at the top of a street that was straight with a slight downhill slope to the barrier at the end of the street.

"Slide over to the driver's side, put the car in neutral, and I will push you, then you can start the car!" I instructed confidently.

The old Catalina station wagon started her journey down the street with me pushing from behind and began to pick up speed where I was basically holding on to the back of the car. It was at that point that the ignorance of youth, and my inability to inherit anything remotely mechanical from my father, was made manifest by the fact:

YOU CANNOT COMPRESSION START AN AUTOMATIC TRANSMISSION!

Now the Catalina station wagon is really rolling with me in a dead sprint behind it! I'm yelling to Judy to hit the brakes which she attempts with her entire 5'2'' frame standing on the brake pedal. The car is not stopping because, of course, with the ignition off, the power brakes are not going to work.

A vision of the Catalina station wagon and my date careening down the street and crashing through the dead-end barrier flashed through my mind when finally, the Catalina station wagon began to slow and stopped just short of the barrier.

Crestfallen from this lame attempt, I knew that my date was toast. Fortunately, Judy showed some compassion and said,

"It's okay, we'll just walk!"

We walked 4 miles to her school with me trying to make small talk and mentally scolding myself for being such an idiot. We got there well after the school play had started and luckily got a ride back to Judy's house from one her friend's mom.

The humiliation was almost unbearable.

Judy invited me inside for ice cream and after a little while I left, walked down to the end of the street got into that stupid, grey, Pontiac Catalina station wagon and turned the key.

It started right up.

I drove home with the radio blasting so loud you couldn't hear me swearing at that old Pontiac Catalina station wagon.