Fury Road

Story Sent in by Wayne:

Back when I used to browse dating sites, I found Rachel. She worked in banking and traveled a lot but we pinned down a Friday night to go out for drinks and what-have-you. I picked a bar, we agreed to meet there, and it was a done deal.

I arrived there first and waited for her. She didn't show for a little while and I called her up to ask if everything was okay.

She replied, "Uh... yeah. Where are you?"

I said, "At Wolski's. You on your way?"

She said, "No. You said you'd pick me up."

For the record, I never once told her I'd pick her up. Why would I have? It was a first date. Would I really have asked for her address by that point, unless she told me herself?

I told her, "I never said I'd pick you up, but–"

"Oh, you said you'd pick me up."

"Okay. What's the address?"

She told me her address and I made for it. It was a middle-class house with a one-car garage in the suburbs. Once I arrived, I went up to her front door and rang the bell.

She answered the door in her pajamas. "Can I help you?"

I asked, "Rachel?"

"Yes. You're Wayne?" she asked.

"Yes. You knew we had a date tonight, right?"

"Yeah." And she looked at me like I was a moron who was interrupting her down night.

I said, "So I'm here to pick you up."

She said, "Does it look like I'm ready to go out?"

I said, "You just told me to come here and pick you up!"

She said, "Well if you're gonna be a jerk, forget it!" and she slammed the door shut.

I took a few moments to figure out what to do next. At that time, her garage door opened and she backed out a white sedan down her driveway and into the street. Her tires screeched as she drove away to destination unknown, while (I guessed) still in her pajamas.

I left and went home.