This here is the ballad of Jared Barnett and the worst blind date in the history of mankind. It starts with me, age 19, complaining to a friend that all the guys I date are too boring and dull. I like a little excitement, some adventure, and so she tells me that she had a cousin who was “just like that”… Cousin Jared turns out to be a little man with a big personality, too big. Stunningly gorgeous… male modelesque and knows it. He walks with a slight limp and has a cool scar on his brow - kind of a James Dean type, all mysterious and dangerous. He talks a mile a minute, covering much more ground than he knows how to handle. For those of you familiar with Neil Cassady, Jared makes Cassady seem like a sedated grandmother - bopping and jiving, constantly drumming his hands on anything in reach. Always in motion and that mouth of his never stops for a second. So onto the date…
Jared shows up at six o’clock, which is rather unexpected, since he isn’t supposed to pick me up until seven. He then informs me that he lost his job and doesn’t have any cash. Being the low maintenance girl that I am, I say, “No problem, let’s go hang out at the park”, and throw myself together in ten minutes, praying that I can trust him alone in my living room for that long.
Leaving the house, we get to his 1970’s Camaro, which is rusted and looks to be on its last legs. We get in, and he immediately squeals out of the drive, gunning it to 50mph on my residential street. I sink low in my seat, hoping the neighbors won’t recognize me. I helpfully suggest several parks near my house, but he says he has one in mind. The Camaro tops nearly 70 on the main street, as he cuts people off and screams obscenities. Crossing the highway, he goes straight through the left turn only lane, narrowly missing a minivan and screeching “Asshole!” at the driver. It occurs to me that I should fasten my seatbelt at this point, and pray for my survival. I do both.
Exiting the highway, he shoots down a winding one-lane country road, lighting up a smoke. All of this at 70mph, eyes barely on the road, as he rambles on about how “five cheerleaders from my old high school were killed on this road a month back, got hit on a blind turn. Dumbass women, don’t know how to drive at all… should be illegal for - HERE IT IS!” We fly around the turn, my heart beating like a drum, ready to leap from my chest.
In the middle of nowhere, no sign of human habitation for miles, we arrive at his “park”. It’s a cemetery. A seedy little cemetery, with the majority of the headstones destroyed by vandals. This is actually sort of interesting, something that at another place and time I would like to explore, but at this point in time, I become aware of the fact I’m with a total stranger. Realizing that there is literally nobody for miles, I give a shaky laugh, “What are we doing here?”
“Going for a walk baby, going take a trek and see what’s to be seen…somebody I want you to meet, he’ll like you… I ever tell you how much you look like my last girlfriend? You’re prettier though, she was a fattie, almost impossible to - hey your hair smells good! Let’s go see my friend…” he rambles in his Jack Kerouac-esque patter, nearly a beat poet rhythm.
Every episode of the X-Files that I’ve ever seen begins rushing through my head. Who on earth does he want me to meet? Is he going to rape me and kill me and leave me for dead? His girlfriend - what? Is that what he calls his victims? Panic is rising in me like a red tide, but I do my best to retain my composure and keep my cool. I do though, manage to snake his keys off the seat of the car before we exit. I slip them into my pocket, and fervently wish I carried mace.
He takes me over to one of the tombstones, and begins speaking to it, “Hi, Mr. Joe, this is my friend here, isn’t she pretty… yeah, and her hair smells really good too… totally, how’s it hangin’? Good good… hey baby, aren’t you going to say hello to Joe?” He looks at me expectantly. “Uh, hello, Mr. Joe, pleasure to meet you sir,” I stammer. Who is this guy? Reading the tombstone, Joe Calloway 18xx-18xx, I recognize him as the founder of a local business. “Uh, Jared, how did you get to meet Joe? A relation of yours?”
"No no no babe, just a friend, we found each other one night when … " I begin to tune out this mindless banter as I try to think of a good excuse for escape. Hmmm… “Achoo!” Sniffle, sniffle. “Oh my hay fever is acting up, can we go?” I’ve never had hay fever in my life, but what does he know? As we near the car, I hand the keys back to him and am so relieved I could cry. All of a sudden, he grabs me and dips me in a grand ballroom dance type gesture, and gives me a long, deep kiss. My heart is beating like crazy, I am shocked and struggling at first, then giving in. His lips are fast, and I tell you it is one of the best kisses of my life. By the time he lets go I’m almost floating… maybe I’m wrong about him, I start to think, maybe I have him pegged all wrong…
Jared opens his mouth, spoiling the illusion, “Damn girl, you’re a great kisser, that was awesome, most pretty girls don’t know how to kiss… your lips are soft, softer than a black girl’s… only soft lips I’ve kissed are n***** lips, I ever tell you I was a skinhead neo-nazi? It started when this dumb coon…” I am stunned and appalled beyond words, my mouth agape, and beyond ready to call it a day. I have learned more about Mr. Barnett than I or anyone else should ever be submitted to. He’s not ready though, and wants to take me to the mall. On the way, he tries to make up for all the racist talk by making an ass out of himself with every minority he sees. Passing a middle eastern couple, he screams “Assa lama laka!” I slip lower in my seat. At a light next to a truck with two Hispanic men, he yells, “Buenos dios, brothers, have any tequila for me and my girl? Bonita, yes?” Lower still, my head is no longer even visible to those outside the car. Talking to a Vietnamese girl, “Chong chow ching baby!” Can he even be serious? I am on the floorboards now, trying to become one with the carpet.
We arrive at the mall, and he shows me off to his ‘friends’. This buffoon is also a mall rat apparently, and the envy of every freak under the age of fifteen. They regard him as a god, but in a Colonel Kurtz sort of way, nothing positive. I am ready for death. At this point, it is far preferrable to what I’m enduring. We then go into a store where he tries on a pair of $80 pants. A guy with no money, remember? He likes them and decides to buy them, but is seven dollars shy. Of course. “Would you mind baby, just this once?” He’d better believe it is JUST THIS ONCE. I shell out the cash, in the hopes of a quicker escape.
I order him to take me home, but no - he wants a bite to eat now. I point out that he doesn’t have any money, then I lie and say I don’t either. He says it doesn’t matter, and goes up to the man behind the counter at China Panda. Jared manages to convince him to give up a plate of food meant for the trash. Do I want some? Uh, no thank you. He then covers the entire plate with hot sauce. The man tries to warn him that is hot, but Jared is deaf to him. That’s no real shocker though. As we sit down, he’s remarking on that “dumb g**k, he really thought I was gonna pay, even tried to stop me at the end, knows better though, I’d git 'em good.” I have learned celestial grace and patience by this point. I am ready to be sainted at any moment. My lips are sealed.
He starts shoveling food in his mouth, talking the whole while, fork after fork dripping with fire. It’s said that the smaller the brain, the higher the threshold for pain, and I begin believe this. His face grows red, and sweat beads up on his fore head. Suddenly his eyes grow wide. "HOT! GOTTA GO TO THE SHITTER… BE RIGHT BACK, JESUS GOD THIS IS HOT. . . " I listen until the expletives fade out of hearing and then collapse in hysterical laughter. I’m still wiping the tears from my eyes as he returns. I inform him that we are going NOW. He takes the chinese food with him because, as he puts it, “maybe I can rinse it off and nuke it later.”
As he takes me home, the tempo of his banter rises, and he’s chattering at about warp nine. “Hey wanna meet my grandma, she lives over the hill, my parents are there tonight… hey don’t you wanna meet the whole family? They’d love to meet you baby, pretty face, huh? Cat got your tongue? You better speak up once we get there they don’t like quiet people, I ever tell you that you look like my girlfriend…”
“I WILL NOT, BECAUSE I’M NOT GOING THERE, I’M GOING HOME, AND I’M GOING HOME RIGHT NOW! SO WHY DON"T YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND TAKE ME THERE BEFORE I HAVE TO STRANGLE YOU?”
Finally, the first silence of the evening. Priceless. Fucking golden. Jared hurriedly changes the subject and rambles until we reach my house. He literally chases me to the door, me nearly sprinting at this point, my keys at the ready. “Hey baby, I had a really great time we should do this again, don’t you want to do this again… what are you doin’ tommorow cause I don’t have any plans… man aren’t your shoes nice, did I ever tell you that I worked as a shoe salesman, I once…”
SLAM! I breathe a long sigh of relief.
Thus ends the ballad of Jared Barnett. Take it as a warning, ladies of the Straight Dope. Be careful what you wish for - once you get it, it’s usually far different from what you expect. And no matter how hellacious your date is, remember this tale. It could always be worse. You could be spending it with Jared Barnett. I took the hit so you wouldn’t have to. You’re welcome.
