LABELED: "Facebook Fatalities" by PK

 

I have changed the name of the city and the people in this story to protect the innocent. I live in beautiful California. You can drive to the beach then to the snow in less than a few hours, and happy hour is always happy, whether you spend it indoors or outdoors. A friend of mine called me not too long ago to tell me that she met a guy on Facebook. For some reason, all my friends think that I am an advice guru and are always calling me to either ask my opinion or tell me about their experiences.

 

She was nervous as I told her he was either the love of her life or a serial killer. Thank god it wasn't either. I told her that if I was her, I would meet up with him...why not? And the guy lived in my city, so we could meet up for drinks afterwards and of course talk about the date. I told her that she needed to meet him in public and in the daytime. Preferably around noon. So she relays the message back to the guy and he recommends a park by his house. I guess I was not detailed enough. I also told her that I would call her at approximately 1:32 and see how the date was going. If she picked up I knew it was bad and if she didn't then I would call again at 2:00 for good measure. If the guy was great and they got along, she could sheepishly tell him our stupid little plan. However, if she did pick up the first time, she would need to tell the guy that there has been an emergency and she had to go. Clearly at that point the date was a bust.

 

 

So I called her at the time proposed.

 

"OH MY GOD! ARE YOU OKAY!," she screamed on the other end. "ARE YOU SURE? NO, YOU SOUND HORRIBLE. THE AMBULANCE? I AM COMING!"

 

I just stood there and drank a glass of wine while she yelled at me on the other end. We meet at a bar about half an hour later and she looked severely beaten down. She immediately ordered a shot of Patron and did not say as much as a hello to me.

 

"So how did it go?," I asked her, assuming I already knew the answer.

 

"He was not the guy in the photo."

 

"What? Didn't you make sure that he had at least dozen photos?," I asked.

 

"Well it was him. But not him."

 

I was confused.

 

"Those photos were taken 2 years ago. Before he gained 100 pounds," she replied.

 

"You are kidding." She had to be.

 

"Oh, it gets better. He joked that he looked a little different, but he was working on it."

 

"Continue…"

 

"He took me out for drinks, though."

 

"Well...that's good."

 

"He went to Chevron and got a 6 pack of Lime-A-Rita. He told me knew the girls liked the strawberry ones. And then we drank the "beers" at the park on a bench while he told how much curry his Mom had made for him that day."

 

"I thought you said he lived alone?"

 

"Oh, he does. He just stays the night with his Mom every night."

 

"Well, he is good to his Mom. That's a great sign."

 

"He was going to bring her."

 

"Well what stopped him?"

 

"The fact that his Mom was still preparing his dinner by the time he had to leave."

 

I took a shot with her.

 

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