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

by Steven Scaffardi

  Or maybe he just wanted to find out if she had a fat mate. I didn’t say a word. Jack just nodded in agreement while Rob pointed his beer bottle in the blonde’s direction. The fear of rejection was already heavy on my mind. I glanced back at my friends, who were waving me on. I turned back to the girl and decided to take the plunge.

  “Excuse me?” I said, repeatedly tapping her on the shoulder with my finger, like an annoying child trying to get attention.

  “Yes?” the blonde responded, looking a touch aggrieved at the tapping. I took another deep breath, full in the knowledge that the next words out of my mouth would either make or break this situation. I needed a sentence that would lyrically flow and grab her attention.

  “Yes?” she asked again. Quick Dan, say something.

  “Er, do you know if they sell dry-roasted peanuts at the bar?” I panicked. Her impatience had rushed me into uttering the single most ridiculous pick-up line in the history of pick-up lines.

  “I have no idea,” the blonde replied, slightly bemused.

  “Okay, thanks,” and with that I turned tail and ran back to my friends.

  “Well?” Rob asked as I returned.

  “She isn’t sure what bar snacks they sell,” I said. My friends had the same bemused look as the blonde had done just moments before. “Forget it. Can we just get out of here?”

  It was finally time to concede defeat. I’d had enough. If I had to spend the rest of my life a sexless cretin then so be it. It had to be better than living a life of disappointment. Maybe I could go off and live in a convent, away from temptation. Nah, I’d probably try it on with the nuns.

  “Here you go,” I felt a tap on my shoulder. “They do sell dry-roasted,” the blonde said handing me a pack of peanuts.

  “She’s holding your nuts,” Jack whispered into my ear.

  “Thanks,” I said, pushing Jack away. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about you return the favour by buying me a drink?” she said.

  “Sure,” and I walked away with her to the bar.

  “So, that was a pretty good chat-up line,” she said with a grin. “I mean the question about the peanuts. That was ingenious.”

  “You think?” I asked smiling. “It was either that or dolphin trainer.”

  “Good choice. My name is Jules by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jules,” I said shaking her hand. “I’m Dan.”

  “I’m sure you can do better than that,” Jules said, signalling to the handshake and leaned in to kiss me.

  Club Tropic really was the type of club you couldn’t fail to pull in. Here I was, a bottle of beer in one hand, a packet of dry-roasted in the other, and snogging the face off a blonde in a mini-skirt I’d met just five minutes earlier. Life didn’t get any better than this.

  The next hour flew by. Jules told me she was in town visiting her sister who was going to university in Brighton. Then we snogged a bit more. I told her about my job at Maxwell Media. Followed by some more snogging. I managed to resist her pleas to hit the dance floor by, well, snogging instead. I only hoped that she wouldn’t notice the tent I was pitching in my pants. After five months out of action you could hardly blame the little fella for trying to poke his head out and stretch a little. And surely this time my luck was in.

  “Jules!” I felt the shake and looked up to see a girl trying to get Jules’s attention. “We have to go, Tina is really drunk. I need to get her home.”

  “Well, take her home then,” Jules said. “By the way, Dan, this is my sister Vicki.”

  Vicki hardly acknowledged me. “There is no way I’m leaving you here. I know what you are like. You’ll end up going home with some stranger, like him,” she said waving her hand in my direction.

  “I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” I said playing the gentleman, trying not to come across too desperate.

  “I’m sure you will,” Vicki replied, looking none too convinced as she wrinkled her eyes at me. “I can already see you’re on the verge of bursting out of your trousers.”

  Damn it, I’d been caught out.

  “I’m not leaving you here,” Vicki said uncompromisingly.

  “I’m sorry darling,” Jules said turning to me. “I’d better go.”

  “But we haven’t even opened my packet of nuts yet,” I said. And I wasn’t talking about the dry-roasted variety either.

  “I’m sorry,” Jules giggled. “Take my number and drop me a line sometime and we’ll hang out.”

  “How about tomorrow,” I blurted out a little too hastily.

  “Sure,” Jules said. In my eyes that was as good as a binding contract.

  Jules typed her number into my phone, while I tried my best not to turn my nose up at her sister who was clearly ruining my plans. “I’ll drop call you so you have my number,” I anxiously told her. “And then we can meet tomorrow,” I just couldn’t stop babbling.

  Her sister dragged her away, which probably did me a favour as I was on the verge of begging her to meet me.

  I took a deep breath and told myself to relax. I could hold out for another 24 hours. I knew I would have to put up with Jack chipping away at me about breaking the 10 Commandments (Rule 2: It's Not Groundhog Day) but I didn't really care.

  I sat there for a while, contemplating how close I was to finally ending the drought, and allowing the excitement inside my trousers to slowly disappear in the process. I got up and decided to go and find the boys, but I didn’t have to look far as I spotted them hurriedly walking in my direction.

  “We’ve got to go,” Jack said, his eyes darting all over the place.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Remember that bloke in the blue Fiesta?” Jack said. “The one who took exception to me calling him a goon so the girls he was with could get round to our hotel?”

  “Yeah, what about him?”

  “He’s in here,” Ollie said.

  “So?”

  “With about 20 of his mates,” Rob said raising his eyebrows.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I replied downing my bottle of beer and heading for the nearest exit.

  Chapter 17: Road Trip – Saturday Night

  Saturday, May 16, 2009 - 1.33pm

  Drought Clock: 134 days, 23 hours, 4 minutes

  “Maybe you were a dare,” Jack said, shoving four chips into his mouth as we walked along Brighton Pier.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, staring at my phone.

  “Her mates dared her to pull you.”

  “You mean like when we play pull-a-pig?” Ollie asked.

  “Yes!” Jack said laughing. “Dan, you were the pig! Oink oink.”

  “Piss off,” I muttered and put my phone back into my pocket. It was already lunchtime and Jules had not replied to any of my texts.

  “How many times have you texted her?” Rob asked.

  “Once or twice,” I lied. It was actually seven, including four I sent immediately after leaving the club last night:

  1.47am: Hi Jules, it’s Dan. I hope you got home safely x

  2.10am: I just wanted to say it was great meeting you tonight. Dan x

  2.22am: I’m guessing you crashed out as soon as you got home! I’ll give you a call tomorrow x

  2.31am: Goodnight x

  9.34am: Morning, this is Dan from last night – the guy with the dry-roasted peanuts. How is your head? x

  12.29pm: I’m heading to the pier – give me a shout if you’re around and fancy meeting up x

  My seventh, and final text, sent 10 minutes ago, was a picture of myself, in case she had forgotten what I looked like.

  “Danny boy, put the phone away and forget her,” Rob said. “We still have tonight.”

  Rob was right. I was coming across a little obsessive and that is never a good look. A drought will do that to a man. I needed to just relax and whatever will be, will be.

  Perhaps I should make sure my phone was on vibrate as well as ring.

  “Give me that,” Rob said, sn
atching the phone out of my hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Maybe he’s taken up stalking?” Ollie suggested.

  “No, I have not taken up stalking thank you very much,” I said. I wouldn’t even have a clue where to start if I did want to stalk Jules.

  “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times,” Ollie started. “Get yourself a large lass. Three words – Up. For. It. All the time.”

  “That’s six words,” I pointed out.

  “Eh?” Ollie looked confused, counting the words on his fingers.

  “Maybe Ollie is right,” Rob said. “Perhaps you need to drop your standards.”

  “Agreed,” Jack said. “Just pull some low-renter and get it out of the way. At least then you can go back to being a happy stalker.”

  “I am not a stalker,” I said, grabbing my phone back off of Rob and checking to see whether Jules had replied. “Do you think you get service on the pier?”

  “It’s official. You’re a lost cause,” Rob said.

  “Even Ollie has got more game than you, mate,” Jack shook his head in disgust.

  “Cheers, mate.” Ollie said smiling.

  “That wasn’t a compliment, numbnuts,” Jack reprimanded him.

  I looked at my friends. It was clear they had lost all hope in me. My behaviour had descended into a farce of desperation, and that is never a cool thing to let your friends witness.

  “Don’t give up on me,” I pleaded, shoving the phone back into my pocket. “I have got game.” I looked at them hopefully.

  And then looked at my phone again to make sure it wasn’t on silent.

  *

  By the time eight o’clock rolled round I had finally given up on waiting for Jules to respond. I had allowed my bruised ego to get the better of me, and had sent her a pathetic message telling her I wasn’t bothered that she hadn’t replied because I didn’t fancy her that much anyway.

  And the ninth message was sent by Jack, who decided to take it upon himself to text her from my phone asking for some dirty pictures while I was in the shower.

  Maybe I was a dare. Could it be that I was a pig? I tried not to dwell on it. My self-esteem had taken enough knocks over the last few months and I didn’t need to add to it.

  “Are you going to be ready to go in five minutes, Bacon?” Jack asked. Luckily I had my friends around to keep the Jules incident off my mind.

  I buttoned up my shirt and stared at myself in the mirror. I might not have been Balham’s answer to David Beckham, but I was certainly no pork scratching either. The thought that I must have been nothing but a bit of fun didn’t sit too well. That was the man’s job; to take a girls number and not call. Was I so out of touch that the roles had now reversed?

  How could I have let this happen? I was nothing but a plaything to Jules; used for one night only and tossed to the side. I wasn’t just a pig; I was a piece of meat. I felt used.

  But then it hit me. What if I was looking at this from completely the wrong angle? After all, Rob had called Brighton ‘a party capital where the girls are just as wild as the guys’.

  I rushed into the bedroom where the boys were sitting on the bed watching television. I switched the TV off and stood in front of them, ignoring their shouts to turn it back on.

  “Listen!” I shouted. “I get it.” They all stared blankly at me.

  “Get what?” Rob asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “I get it,” I repeated, hoping it would sink in this time. Blank faces. “I’m talking about last night. I got used. And I like it!”

  “Well, it’s about time,” Jack said springing to his feet to meet me with a high five.

  The thought of drunken girls out on the pull, acting like men, filled me with renewed hope. I had been so stressed out about making all the right moves that I had completely forgotten that women have needs too.

  “I want to get used again.” I had a taste for it now. “Tonight!”

  “What are we waiting for?” Rob bellowed. “Come on!”

  The four of us strutted out of our hotel into the cool night air with purpose. If our lives were a Hollywood film, our soundtrack would have been Stayin’ Alive, because you could tell by the way we used our walk, we were on the pull, no time to talk.

  We barely got 200 yards from our hotel before we arrived at the first bar. “Shall we start as we mean to go on gentlemen?” I said pointing my thumb towards the entrance. “First round’s on me,” I added as Ollie rubbed his hands together in anticipation of that first drink of the night.

  The place was quiet. A group of lads sat in one corner while a couple of others stood at the bar. But this was okay; this was just a warm-up. I decided to set-up a tab.

  “Anyone fancy a game?” Rob said pointing towards the pool table at the back of the bar.

  Why not? A few games of pool and a couple of pints would get us in the mood and ease us into the night.

  “I'll break,” Jack said and he struck the white ball as hard as he could.

  “This isn't a bad place,” Rob said.

  “They do a nice pint too,” Ollie chipped in, taking the cue from Jack. “Good choice, Dan.”

  “I plan on making a few good choices tonight, fellas,” I cracked.

  “Let's hope there are a few girls up for pull-a-pig,” Jack quipped as he lined up a shot, but the joke was on him as he managed to pot the white. “Oh bollocks.”

  “Nice shot, mate,” said a guy sat the corner of the bar, smirking. We all turned around a little unsure what to say. Was he taking the piss or being friendly?

  “I beg your pardon, pal?” Jack said in his best cockney accent, shifting around on the spot.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean any offence,” the guy said, still smiling. “I'm just waiting for some mates and I got here a bit early doors. Would you mind if I played the winner?”

  We all looked at each other. London folk aren’t keen on talking to strangers at the best of times, let alone letting them join us in a game of pool.

  “You can play him, Jack,” Ollie said. “I am going to have a go on the fruity.”

  We all stared daggers at Ollie as he strolled over to the bright lights of the fruit machine, but Jack saw an opportunity. “Why don’t we make it interesting and play for a tenner?” Jack asked the stranger.

  “Sure,” the stranger said. “I'm Ethan by the way.”

  I moved across to Jack as he slapped a £10 note down on the side of the pool table. “What are you doing?” I whispered to Jack as Ethan hung his jacket over the chair.

  “Don't worry, I've got it under control. Haven't you ever seen The Colour of Money? I'm going to hustle this guy.” Jack moved over to Ethan and shook his hand. I stood next to Rob. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I sensed that something wasn't quite right. Ethan broke and a red flew into the top right corner pocket.

  “Beginners’ luck,” Ethan said.

  I watched as he placed a second red into the middle pocket, before chalking his cue and making another excellent shot to thunder his third red ball down. That's when I realised what was wrong.

  “This guy is a ringer,” I said out of the corner of my mouth to Rob. “He’s hustling Jack.”

  “Of course he’s hustling Jack,” Rob said without flinching. “I knew that the moment I set eyes on him.”

  “Why didn't you say anything?”

  “Because I thought it would be funny to watch the cocky little git get a taste of his own medicine for a change.”

  I couldn’t help but smile as Jack grew agitated, watching another red ball disappear into the pocket. Surely it was only a matter of time before his £10 disappeared into Ethan’s pocket.

  Ethan concentrated as he lined up his next shot, but this time the ball ricocheted against either side of the corner pocket and rolled out to safety.

  “Unlucky buddy,” Jack said, not even bothering to hide his delight. “Now watch an expert in action.” Jack strutted around like he was Ronnie O'Sullivan, skilfully working his way a
round the table with that cocksure swagger of his, potting yellow after yellow. After sinking each ball he would look over at Ethan and shrug his shoulders almost apologetically. The final yellow went down and Jack lined up an easy black. This one was in the bag.

  But Jack allowed his arrogance to get the better of him and he missed the easiest shot of the game, screwing the ball wide of the pocket.

  “That's not fair,” Jack said. “This table is on a slant I think.” Jack bent down and closed one eye as he inspected the level of the table.

  “Looks okay to me,” Ethan said as he potted another red.

  “Me too,” Rob said with a big smile on his face.

  Ethan sunk the rest of his balls until just the white and black ball remained. Jack was crestfallen, and bowed his head to accept his inevitable defeat. Ethan chalked his cue and made the shot.

  But he missed.

  “Yes!” Jack said, clenching his fist. “Time to pay the piper.”

  Jack concentrated as pulled the cue back and struck the white sweetly. It hit the black ball and with perfect accuracy arrowed the ball into the top left pocket. Jack spun round with a huge smile on his face, but Ethan simply raised his eyebrows and nodded back towards the table. We all watched as the white ball trickled ever so slowly back down the table and dropped into the middle pocket.

  “I told you this bloody table was on a slant,” Jack moaned.

  I chuckled as Rob scooped up the money and handed it to Ethan. “You lost fair and square, Jack,” Rob said.

  “Thanks mate,” Ethan said taking the money before turning back to Jack. “Can I give you some advice?”

  “Like what?” Jack replied like a sulking child.

  “You should work on positioning yourself slightly lower at the table. It will help get the right type of spin on the ball. Let me show you.” Jack reluctantly watched as Ethan showed him how to play the shot. “Why don't you try?”

  Ethan handed the cue to Jack who once again showed his reluctance to listen to the stranger who had just beaten him at pool and taken his money. Jack bent down across the pool table.