The Drought (The hilarious laugh-out loud comedy about dating disasters!)

by Steven Scaffardi

I jumped up from my seat and marched straight over to Shaila. Dick was standing at her desk, holding an excel spreadsheet and giving her some sort of instructions.

  “Shaila,” I said, slamming my hand down against her desk. My tone obviously took both of them by surprise. They both looked at me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I mean, Shaila,” I said her name in a strange high-pitched tone, a big cheesy grin on my face.

  “Yes?” she said with a perplexed look across her face. I glanced at Dick who stood with his arms folded, and gave me another little wink. The wink gave me more desire to end this now and I turned back to Shaila.

  “I just wanted to say that you are a woman and I am a man, and as a man I like women,” I raised my eyebrows and nodded at Dick, who had an unsettled expression on his face. I turned my attention back to Shaila. “And as a man who fancies women, I think you are incredibly attractive.”

  Shaila didn’t flinch, but Dick looked slightly uneasy and now stood with his hands on his hips. Finally he was getting the message, but just in case he wasn’t totally clear I continued.

  “So as a 100 per cent heterosexual male,” I emphasised the word heterosexual for Dick’s benefit, “I would very much like to take you out for a drink sometime.”

  There, I did it. After months of admiring Shaila from a distance, I had finally taken the plunge. And who said men couldn’t multi-task? I had just managed to put Dick straight – or at least make it crystal clear that I was straight – and asked out the girl of my dreams. All in one hit.

  “No,” Shaila said in no uncertain terms.

  “What?” I gasped, gobsmacked. I had been so sure she would say yes.

  “In fact, if you don’t leave me alone I am going to report you to HR.”

  Shaila locked her eyes on me, while Dick rubbed his chin ever so smugly. “Has this man been sexually harassing you, Ms Saxena?” Dick said.

  “Yes,” Shaila said, her cold eyes locked directly on me. It felt like she had pierced my chest with her accusation and ripped out my heart. “He emails me all day, makes inappropriate jokes at every opportunity, and has been poking me on Facebook non-stop for months.”

  “Is this true, Hilles?” Dick’s tone changed. “Have you been poking Shaila? Because this is a serious accusation.”

  I broke out in a cold sweat. How had this backfired so spectacularly? How I wished at that moment to go back to the days when Dick and I shared our bizarre – albeit one-sided – sexual tension.

  “It’s okay, Mr Mussel,” Shaila said, pronouncing it Moo-Cell. “I don’t want to take the matter any further as long as I have some reassurance that the emailing, the joking, and the poking stops here.”

  “Hilles?” Dick said looking at me over his glasses.

  “I promise to stop emailing, joking and poking.” I said sheepishly.

  “I hope so,” Dick said taking a step toward me. He was so close I could feel his breath on my face. “Because I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, and if you step one foot out of line, you will face the consequences. Understood?”

  I wasn’t too sure if he meant he would have me sacked or he would have his wicked way with me. “I understand.” I said and scuttled back to my desk.

  “Get your bag and let’s get the hell out of here,” I told Kelly, practically dragging her out of the building.

  *

  We took our drinks and sat down. I pulled out the piece of paper and pushed it in front of Kelly. “What is this?” she asked.

  “This is the plan,” I said, pretty pleased with myself.

  I watched Kelly’s face as she read through Jack’s 10 Commandments. She held it up in front of her. “You have got to kidding, right?”

  “What?” I asked, smiling.

  “This is not a plan,” Kelly said, putting her glass down on the table. “This is a recipe for disaster.”

  “Please present your case, Miss Campbell.”

  “My pleasure,” Kelly said holding the piece of paper in front of her and clearing her throat. “Point one, getting the party rocking. I think you have already learned from previous experiences that getting wasted has not helped your chances with the opposite sex.”

  She had a point.

  “Number two, Groundhog Day? Oooh, you wish, Daniel! If only you could find a girl who would agree to do it over and over and over again.”

  Two-nil Kelly.

  “Chat-up lines do not work, and dancing to power ballads is a big turn-off.”

  Kelly was building up quite a healthy lead without reply and she was only halfway through the list.

  “Randy van Warmer? I don’t even know where to begin with that one, and trust me, girls know when you boys play your ridiculous transparent scoring game. And as for David Hasselhoff...”

  “Now stop right there,” I cut her off. “You can say whatever you like about the other things on that list but don’t you dare badmouth the Hoff. The man is a God.”

  Kelly laughed and handed me back the piece of paper. Her phone beeped and I could tell by the expression on her face that it wasn’t good news.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “It’s just Paul again. I told him I was going for a drink with you and he has got funny about it.”

  “Why?”

  Kelly gave me a strange look, like she didn’t want to tell me what the reason was.

  “What is it, Kell?”

  She put her drink down. “Remember when your friends sent me that text from your phone? The one they sent to loads of people in your phonebook?”

  How could I forget? Ever since that day Dick had been trying to coerce me into some bizarre homosexual cult-type relationship with him. But I had even managed to screw that up. I was pathetic. I couldn't even seal the deal on a sure thing, even if it was a gay relationship with a middle-aged man.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Paul was going through my phone the other day and saw that message. I told him it was a joke and explained what had happened, but he got really angry about it.”

  “I’m so sorry. Why don’t you invite him down one night after work and I’ll buy him a beer to apologise?”

  “No, there really is no need,” Kelly said. “I told him it was ridiculous – you know, you and me? Besides, I was more angry that he had been going through my phone.”

  “Would it really be that ridiculous?” I don’t know why I said it. It just came out. Even Kelly looked as though she was blushing. “Nah, you’re right – you don’t even like the Hoff,” I quickly said to kill the moment.

  “Exactly!” Kelly replied. “Maybe I should tell Paul how much you love the Hoff and that would put all his fears to rest.”

  “Bloody cheek!” I joked.

  And just like that we were back on track. However, I couldn’t help but think about what had just happened there. I think Kelly was thinking about it as well, but neither one of us mentioned it for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 16: Road Trip – Friday Night

  Friday, May 15, 2009 - 6.32pm

  Drought Clock: 133 days, 18 hours, 5 minutes

  “Shotgun!” Jack called as we loaded Rob’s car up with our weekend bags.

  “You can’t call shotgun, Jack,” Ollie argued.

  “I’m afraid I am well within my rights,” Jack fired back. “Shotgun can be called on anything as long as you are in eyesight of the object.”

  “I know the rules of shotgun,” Ollie said. “But you are shorter than Dopey, Doc, and Grumpy. There is no way I am squeezing into the back seat, while your short arse sits up front with all that leg room.”

  “Hey, I called shotgun. Rules are rules.”

  “What about if I take your rules, wrap them round your little head, and then shove them straight up your...”

  “The back seat is fine,” Jack said before Ollie could finish his sentence.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ollie said crushing his cigarette under his feet.

  I clambered into the back of Rob’s car next to Jack and we
prepared to set off for Tour de Big Gun 2009.

  “Okay, gentlemen, time to establish the rules of the road trip,” Rob said, putting on his Ray Ban sunglasses and pulling out of his driveway. “On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.”

  “Agreed,” said Jack.

  “If you have to go, go in a cup,” Rob continued. “If there is no cup, go out the window. If you're not comfortable with that, hold it.”

  “Out of the window it is then,” Ollie said.

  “Rule two, no sleeping,” Rob said looking around at us all. “It is your moral duty to stay awake with me as the designated driver during this journey. If you fall asleep, you will be rolled out at the nearest service station and left there.”

  We all nodded in agreement.

  “Rule three, music,” Rob turned to face Ollie. “As the co-pilot Ollie, you are in charge of the radio. This is a very important job. You must keep the whole car entertained and away from stations like Heart FM. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” Ollie replied.

  “I think I can assist you here Ollie,” Jack said handing him a CD.

  “What is it?” Ollie asked.

  “Put it on,” Jack said with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  Ollie slid the CD in and we all eagerly waited to find out what would come on. The first song of a road trip is vital – it can set the tone for the whole trip. We once went on a road trip where the first song was Saturday Night by Whigfield. We never fully recovered after that. It pretty much ruined the whole weekend.

  I was perhaps more anxious than anyone, as I desperately wanted this trip to be perfect. I closed my eyes and almost immediately my fears disappeared as that sweet music started to pour out of the speakers. It was the type of song that defined a trip. The type of song that had the potential to turn a good trip into a fantastic trip. The type of song that deserves to be number one on a road trip playlist.

  Here I Go Again by Whitesnake.

  Each one of us took turns to sing a line as we built up to the guitar explosion at which point we all went mental, winding down the windows and singing badly at the top of our lungs. It didn’t matter if we stopped at traffic lights; you had to continue singing your heart out. This was pure power ballads at their very best.

  For the next hour we listened and sung along to Foreigner, Bonnie Tyler, Mr Mister, and Phil Collins amongst others. Power ballads really are the best driving anthems in the world. We roared along the open road to our destination. Well, we popped along the A23 anyway. The key to breaking my drought would be change, and Brighton offered all of that and more.

  *

  I looked out at the busy streets as we drove along the seafront, and wondered if the girl to end my drought was out there. We pulled alongside a blue Ford Fiesta at a set of traffic lights. Three girls sat in the car with one guy sitting in the back.

  “Hello girls,” Jack said leaning out of the window. The girls all smiled and giggled. “I’ll tell you what, lose the goon in the backseat and get yourself over to the Imperial Hotel.”

  The guy in the backseat exploded, trying to clamber into the driver seat to shout something back at us. The girls didn’t seem to mind though and simply laughed. The traffic lights turned green and we sped off, all pissing ourselves laughing.

  “Did you see that?” Jack managed to say in between laughs.

  “That was too funny,” Ollie said. “That guy looked like he was ready to kill you.”

  “Forget him,” Jack said. “Those girls wanted us bad.”

  “This is going to be a good weekend Danny boy,” Rob said lifting his designer shades on top of his head. “I can just feel it!”

  We made it to the hotel just before eight in the evening, and true to the rules of Jack’s 10 Commandments, we dumped our bags in our rooms and made our way to the nearest bar.

  “I’m telling you, Dan, watch me in action and you’ll have no problem getting your willy wetsuit back in the ocean,” Jack said as we headed into a bar called Stripes.

  “Sure,” I said patting Jack on the back and laughing.

  “Hey, I’m happy to do my buddy a bro favor,” Jack replied, pronouncing bro favor like the Spanish por favor.

  “Gentlemen, please get your purples out for the whip,” Rob said as we all handed over a £20 note. The first drink went down a treat. It had been a warm day and the girls around us were certainly dressing less.

  “Great rack,” Ollie commented as one girl walked past; our eyes all following her as we lifted our beer bottles to our mouth.

  “You know, I nearly called Tit Monday this week,” I said.

  “What’s Tit Monday?” Ollie asked.

  “You’re kidding right?” Rob questioned him, as Ollie shrugged his shoulders and curled his mouth downwards.

  “Tit Monday is that glorious Monday morning when you wake up with a bit more of a spring in your step,” I started. “You feel chirpier than you have in months but can’t quite put your finger on it.”

  “All morning tremors in your pants are registering on the Richter scale,” Jack took over. “They come with pleasant regularity and that is when you realise it.”

  “Realise what?” Ollie said, hanging on our every word.

  “That Tit Monday has finally arrived,” Rob said. “Tit Monday is that special day in the male calendar when, for the first time that year, the temperature rises and girls start to show off a bit more flesh.”

  “Oh, you mean the end of the hibernation season,” Ollie said. “When fit girls start appearing from nowhere.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Tit Monday!”

  It truly is a great bloke holiday. After months of covering up, women the world over suddenly dispose of the winter wardrobe of thick woolly sweaters and long skirts. Breasts of all sizes are out on display. Breasts busting out of low-cut tops, white shirts bursting at the seams, braless vest tops. Girls you would not normally look twice at suddenly appear out of your league. Life is good when Tit Monday arrives.

  “This is going to be a great weekend,” Jack said, finishing his bottle of beer. “Another one?”

  *

  We bar-hopped for a while, checking out the women and ogling at anything female with a pulse. It was all just a prelude to our final destination: Club Tropic. Rob had it on good authority that Club Tropic was the place to be if you were looking for girls who put out quicker than the London Fire Brigade could put out a candle.

  “Take a look at this lot,” Jack said as we entered the main room of the club. “Wall to wall fanny, Danny! You can’t go wrong in here sunshine.”

  Jack had such a way with words, although I did have to agree with the sentiment. Club Tropic was true to its name; full to the brim of tropical-looking women of all colours. White girls, black girls, Indian girls, Chinese girls – it was like looking into a packet of jelly babies or turning up at a Playboy-themed United Nations meeting. It was heaven in Brighton.

  “If you can’t pull in here, Dan, then you really have got no hope,” Rob said as we headed towards the bar past a group of lush-looking girls.

  “No pressure, then,” I said.

  “These birds are making me bad,” Jack said. “I’ve got to get involved soon or I’m going to do some real damage to myself.”

  “Which hand will you be using to do that?” Ollie said, causing Rob and I to laugh.

  “Probably your sister’s hand,” Jack fired back with a smile and flipping Ollie the finger.

  We grabbed our drinks and took a stroll around the club. The hunt was on. We were like a pack of wild dogs on the prowl sniffing out our prey. Here I was, the gunner, with three of my most trusted wingmen. I was a man on a mission to pull and get laid, in a club where it was deemed bad manners not to end the night having sex with a complete stranger.

  So to find my pack standing around an hour later not really saying a great deal to each other came as a huge blow. Our stealth mode had stagnated somewhat.
We had fallen into that classic nightclub trap of being rendered immobilised by hesitation, beers tightly clamped to our chests. We were just cruising on the outskirts of the dance floor, on hawker’s row, staring at the female bodies gyrating to the DJ’s beat. Even Rob, our great leader and very own Don Juan, looked out of ideas.

  “What a blow-out this night has been,” Ollie said.

  “You said it, Lurch,” Jack agreed.

  “Come on, guys, the night is young,” I almost pleaded looking at my watch and realising it was anything but. I was just about to concede defeat when our leader decided to take control.

  “Dan is right,” Rob said. “We have come all this way to help him out and we are not going down without a fight.”

  That was the spirit. Just like that we were a pack united again for one common cause. I knew I could rely on these guys. They were the type of friends who would lay their life on the line for you; who would stand side-by-side with you in battle.

  “Go and talk to that girl,” Rob instructed me bluntly, pointing at a cute blonde standing on the side of the dance floor.

  “What?” I gasped. What happened to going into battle side-by-side?

  “Go and talk to her,” Rob repeated. “Tell her you are a dolphin trainer or something. Girls like that shit.”

  “Yeah, and hurry up about it Slomeo,” Jack said. “It’s your round next.”

  I couldn’t believe it. My pack had abandoned me. I turned to face the blonde and sighed before making my way across to her.

  “Dan?” Ollie called out to me.

  I turned back to face Ollie and there was something in his voice that told me that maybe I had been wrong. I looked into his eyes and felt a warmth inside me. Something profound was about to happen. I can’t explain how I knew it; sometimes with your closest friends they don’t have to say anything at all. But I knew Ollie was about to speak what was on everyone’s mind.

  “Find out if she has got a fat mate for me?”