A Single Southern Guy in America

February 21, 2003

She (KL) Responded.

Okay, the story of the KL of Dallas environs a.k.a. the boss’s daughter. A week ago Thursday, my boss comes by my desk as he is leaving and asks what kind of things does a person do for fun in this town after dark. His 26-year-old daughter is in town after completing a job interview in Little Rock, and he was going to meet her. I rattle off a few places and then mention that due to the excessive amounts of coffee I had drank after 4 p.m., that I would be at the sports bar after work to have a few beers and relax. Being in one of those wonderful little burgs that dot the south known as “dry” towns (alcohol is illegal), you have to be a member of a private club to go and purchase alcohol (also known as al-key-hall) in a bar/club. I offer that if they would like to come by later, I’d be leaving the office around 7:30 and I’d sign them in as my guests.

Now you must understand, I love my boss. We have a great working relationship, he is firm, but also a gentle teacher. A stand-up guy if there ever was one. That being said, I fully expect that the boss’s daughter is not going to be some kind of attractive, interesting, and intelligent person. I assume that she I’ll be nice and polite to the boss’s daughter and she will not be someone I’d be interested in at all. Plus, who needs the headache of trying to deal with the issue of dating your boss’s daughter? So I put my trust in my assumptions, and let it rest there.

Around 8 o’clock, as I’m sipping my beer talking to the owner of the local cable system (several actually), I noticed someone entering the doors. It’s a double set of glass doors you enter and when the initial portal is breached, the second set of doors shake just enough for you to tell that an arrival is imminent. I look up to see an absolutely gorgeous blonde walk in whom I’ve never seen before in my life (insert “you ain’t from ‘round here are ya?). An older gentleman with light and graying hair accompanies her. Immediately, my mind processes: Hmmm, you don’t see that here in the South too often—young beautiful girl, old man together. California for sure, but not so much here. I watch as their eyes scan the room and astonishingly enough they begin to wave. At me.

Damn! It’s my boss and she—she must be his daughter!!! Damn! Who’d thought CL would have a daughter who is a babe! I make a quick mental note—Mom must be gorgeous…This is going to be a tight spot….Knowing full well the tendency for weird, unusual and odd circumstance to orbit me, I am instantly in fear. I stand up, bid my friend the cable guy farewell with a quick apology and explanation, grab my jacket, and shift up into pleasant, smiling, and cordial conversationalist. Knowing that if I shift into that gear, no one will know be able to tell the sheer calculations of terror in how to approach and deal with this situation. Mind continues to whir; a tip of a phrase begins to formulate….persona non grata…no, that’s not it, have to make her feel welcome…persona non…non…non…oh hell…permita. Person not allowed for me. Ding! I have it! Just keep in mind, that you and Allah forbid and you’re home free.

As I reach them I flash a warm and festive smile and am introduced, sign them in and we repair to the bar. We all order a beer and begin to chat. I chat equally with boss and boss’s daughter about various subjects, etc, etc. Basic corporate family entertaining I’m thinking. After three rounds, I look down the bar to see that boss is standing and putting his jacket on as if to leave. KL, the boss’s daughter isn’t budging. I assume he must be cold. I assume wrong (again). He IS leaving and she’s not moving. Now, it must be understood that this was either pre-arranged or just arranged and not a word of it was shared with me. It now appears as if boss is leaving and daughter is staying with me. The appearances bear out. He bids us farewell and leaves!

In my mind, a constant almost shouted mantra of my new phrase created for the occasion “persona non permita” is repeating itself in my head much like a scratched compact disc. I am thankful for the subconsciousness’s assistance. Then another thought hits: Hey, this is your first time having to do the corporate tradition of entertaining the boss’s wife/son/daughter, etc. You can do this, just roll with it and remember persona non permita.

Encouraged, I return to conversation with KL. She is enchanting, interesting, intelligent, and gorgeous to boot. Blonde about 5’7”, trim, proportional. Wearing a nicely cut and professional looking black pant suit with red blouse. We talk, we play songs on the jukebox—surprisingly similar tastes in music. I fend off rednecks, one asks her name, I interject with “Sally” –protect her identity. She finally gives in to a dance with one of the locals—a fast number; avoids the prospect of the slow dance. I wait for the slow dance I know is coming—I picked it, not with this in mind. It comes on and we dance. We return for another round of cold beer (also known as co’ beer). I have completely lost track of time and the bar is closing. It must be after one a.m., but I feel safe enough on the time still to suggest a post drinking meal at the ever popular Waffle House imitation across the street.

We go to my Jeep and get in for the quick drive across five lanes. I open her door and, wonders never cease, she is parked next to me. She orders up a waffle and something, I have a greasy mix of eggs, hash browns, sausage, toast and who knows what else. We talk, we eat, we talk, and talk and talk. I must have been under a strange enchantment spell, because again I have lost track of time. And to this point, I have remained a perfect gentleman and adhered fiercely to my creed of persona non permita. She succeeds in convincing me to let down my guard and downshifting into serious, sensitive, and not wise cracking Adam. Just my luck, she has to be the boss’s daughter.

We leave the restaurant and I open her door again at the Jeep. Returning to my side of the car, hopping in, I turn the key. Norah Jones cd continues to play, I look down at the clock. DAMN! After 4 a.m.!!!!!!!! I am out with the boss’s daughter after 4 a.m., on a work night, knowing that I have to drive to Greenville Mississippi in the morning and finish the day in a 24-foot U-Haul in a five hour trip to Bentonville, Arkansas! DAMN!!!! This is the boss’s daughter. I look at her and calmly say, wow, it’s later than I thought. We better get you home.

As we pull back across the street, the cell phone in my pocket rings….flashing briefly through the mind—what if that is BK, NLF, another prospective date…no way…family trouble…OH DAMN! The boss! I look at the caller id as I hit silent—DAMN! THE Boss!!! I look over at KL.
“That was your dad.”
“Answer it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Let me talk to him.”
The phone beeps, indicating a voice mail has been left. We are at her car and she is opening the door. I agree to drive over to the boss’s apartment so she can follow me and I can be certain she is safely home. A last futile attempt at ensuring the appropriate level of corporate entertaining.

“Well, we’ve got to be going for sure now, K.” We talk and I give her my phone number. We talk about maybe something tomorrow. She gives me her email.

The familiar Nokia tune sings out again. Damn! He’s calling back!

I look down at the phone, across the car at her, down at the phone, across the car at her. Having no clue what to do and much fear of talking to the boss at 4 a.m. and trying to explain why is her daughter is still out with me, an unseen force extends my hand holding the phone to her and say, “It’s your dad. You talk to him.”

She answers. She begins to read him the riot act. I hear several curses from him. DAMN! I think maybe I should have answered…She tells me not to worry, no problem etc. Than adds this caveat just to be sure I’d sleep well, “Wow, he used the s-bomb (the word shit) twice. He never drops the s-bomb.” Great.

She follows me as I lead her to the boss’s place. We roll our windows down and promise future communication. I get home, in bed, by 4:30. Damn! Minimum of 8 hours driving tomorrow and I have to be at the office at 8. Quick calculations…set the alarm clock for 7:30, set the phone vibrate alarm and hold it in my hand. 3 hours sleep, thank God I’m not drunk.

I wake up at 7:55. Damn! Take a flying shower and make it to the office by 8:15 to get Jeff to take him to the Greenville airport. Jeff is enmeshed in conversation with his boss in the front hallway. I begin an erratic orbit through the office, following paths expressly designed to avoid encountering the boss and to throw said boss off my trail if he begins to seek me out, and to periodically circle by Jeff to gauge how much longer he’ll be talking. Finally, I pick up the universal southern conversational signal that a discussion is about to end—“Ok then.” I end the orbits and wait. A few minutes go by and I start to resume my orbits when I hear Jeff’s boss say, “Ok then.”

I stop and another minute goes by. I look to the far end of the hall and my fears are realized. It’s my boss, bearing straight down on me, looking directly at me, walking with a purpose. Oh hell, here we go. I contemplate my options a) approach him and be a man about it, besides up until now he has been very fair, why not?, b) stand still and wait for the coming train wreck, or c) Bolt the other direction, circle back around to the doors, hide in the car, and occasionally peek through the tinted windows to see if Jeff has emerged.

I start eyeing the escape routes….

TO BE CONTINUED
(because, DAMN, it’s Friday night. I’ve got to go gather material for next week!)

Posted by Adam H at February 21, 2003 04:41 PM ~ Link Cosmos | Trackbacks (0)

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