*Note: Some people may wonder what being "Granola" is or how this boy got the name. Well, if you met him, you'd realize how appropriate a name it is. He is the quintessential preppy-hippy boy. A recreational drug using golfer who mainly wears polo shirts with sandals. That is my definition of "Granola".
Now fast-forward two years. I was a junior in high school, still a nerd but beginning to crawl out of my awkward stage. My best friend, Anne, and I tried to go run/walking at least twice a week at a local park to catch up on all the latest gossip. On this particular day, she had some very interesting news for me.
“There is someone who likes you,” she blurted out before we had gotten less than a minute into our walk. I was ecstatic and hoping it was the same person I liked.
Turns out it wasn’t the person I was hoping for but close enough. I really couldn’t be picky. I actually liked my best guy friend at the time but he was somewhat of a man whore. Anne gave me the run down of the gossip.
The boy in discussion was a senior, one of my lab partners in science class, and to top it off, he was kind of cute. I had a thing for him earlier in the year but another one of my friends had kind of placed dibs on him. So I stopped considering him as a potential crush months ago.
Anne proceeded to tell me that she had already given him my number. She informed me that he was waiting to call until she had spoken to me. Suddenly the past week in class made sense. All the weird questions, innuendoes, and strange looks somehow clicked into place within my head.
“So would you go out with him?” she asked again. I stared at the girl blankly for a second. Umm is the Pope Catholic? Of course I would! It wasn’t like I had anything else to do and in my mind I couldn’t be picky; I was seventeen years old and had never been kissed. It was official, I was desperate and he was cute. Anne told me she’s tell him to call me. So now all I’d have to do was wait.
A few days went by and I hadn’t heard from him. I figured he had changed his mind. I continued to go about my life.
Around this time, I had a job which basically entailed me being a chauffeur. The kids, who I had babysat in the past, were now too old to be babysat and now I acted as their personal taxi service. On this particular day, I was picking the kids up from a school trip. It was a massive sea of mini vans, mothers, buses, and children. The kids had been told were I would meet them. I saw the youngest boy get off a bus. I waved to him and he trotted over and sat in my car waiting for his sister, Megan. We waited for a good thirty minutes before we realized there were no more buses.
Megan never got off a bus. She was missing. I was frantic. Her brother sat next to me just as freaked out as I was. I ran to a teacher and asked where Megan was or where she could be. He was anything but helpful and didn’t really seem interested in the fact that he might have lost this child. I called her on her cell phone over and over and she didn’t pick up. While continuously calling the missing girl, it was at this moment that he, Mr. Granola, called…. Of course, when else?! I didn’t even mean to pick up his call. I was thinking it was the missing girl calling from a friend’s phone. It wasn’t.
Heads up, this probably wins the world’s most awkward conversation award.
“Megan, where the *&%$# are you!?”
“Who’s Megan?” replied Mr. Granola.
“Oh, hi, umm yeah Anne said you’d call. Can I call you back? I think I lost a child.”
“Sure, do you need…..”
Yep, I hung up on him. I didn’t really give him a chance to say much of anything.
This should have given me some idea to how our relationship would be. But I wasn’t that insightful yet. I found Megan eventually though, so it wasn’t as tragic as it could have been. Now it’s just funny.
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