Scotland-Mr. Tesco

Mr. Tesco

For all the girls out there: Have you ever thought, "Why can't some nice guy approach me in the grocery store and ask me out for lunch or on a dinner date"?  Or maybe while I'm out on a morning jog, a nice boy asks to go get a cup of coffee together?  Albeit I'm a bit sweaty, no make-up, hair in a pony-tail, a non-matching running outfit as true athletes obey by, pounding it out on the path with my i-pod, but always taking the time to offer a smile and a " good morning" to each passerby.  And half of the people stare back at me blankly like I have rocks in my head.  Maybe the smile muscles don't work that early in the morning for some people.  But why is it that no guy (that I’ve ever met) has enough courage to just say "Excuse me Miss, I appreciate the fact that you love to exercise as do I.  I know you must be an extremely interesting person and beautiful after a shower, would you like to have dinner with me?  Or maybe a nice guy in a grocery store drummed up the courage to start a conversation.  Do all encounters have to be over a pint at some rowdy bar?  Let's be honest, you're probably not going to meet the love of your life at that bar.  If the former ever happened to me, I'd be quite flattered.  Well, it did happen.

I had just returned from the Great Wall of China Marathon, still jet-lagged, threw on my trusty black sweat pants and northface red fleece because even though it's May, it is still freaking cold in Scotland, hair in that trusty pony-tail, and found myself on the grapefruit juice aisle.  I'm quickly scanning the juices for the best price.  I'm the biggest bargain shopper you'll ever meet.  I hate to spend money on frivolous things.  I prefer charity shops and second-hand stores for clothes and Wal-Mart or a similar store for nearly everything else.  This isn't because I don't appreciate or like the finer things of life, I just think that money can be spent on a greater cause such as donating it to a charity.  Why support an over-materialistic society and buy everything new?  We were not put on this earth to suck up resources and not give anything back.  Only take what you need.  And recycle.  But I digress...

The juice aisle.  I am also debating internally whether I should buy apple juice or grapefruit juice.  I prefer apple juice, but grapefruit juice will speed up my metabolism right?  I only drink juice before my morning jog.  As I reach for the grapefruit juice, a nice man comments "Oh yes, grapefruit juice, I was going to go for that one too.  I especially like Tesco's brand as it has the bits in it."  I'm kind of caught off-guard as no one really ever speaks in the grocery store.  In general over the past year living in the UK, I've grown accustomed to people being not as friendly as they are back home in Texas.  So I smile and nod "Oh yes, I especially like the kind with the bits in it too".  Internally thinking, "I can't stand my juice with chunks in it, but the other smooth variety was 1 pound more so I chose this one, but sure Mr. Tesco, bits are great".  I put the chunky juice in my carry-basket and continue on.  Now at this point after the fruit and vegetable aisles, the basket is overflowing and quite heavy.  This always happens.  I start out with the carry basket thinking I won't get that much, and it always overflows.  So I end up doing what is practical, find a central location in the store, set my basket down, and continue shopping whilst returning to deposit my items in the stationary basket as I go.  People in general find this weird.  Now I'm on the cracker aisle, my weakness.  Well, crackers are a weakness but cookies (yes cookies not biscuits, there are some American colloquiums that I will forever hold dear to) which are also located on the "cracker aisle" are my real enemy.  My mom once asked me, "Well what's your favorite kind of cookie"?  I thought, well, really, if it starts with a "ka" and ends with an "ookie"...it's my favorite.

I'm reaching for a new variety this time, orange chocolate chip, when I hear a man shouting half-way down the aisle "Excuse me Miss, would you like to have dinner with me?"  I turn around, stare down the aisle, and it's Mr. Tesco softly reciting love poetry in my ear...or shouting at me while 4 other people on the same aisle stop to stare at the traffic accident.  I walk down the aisle and say "Yes my knight in shining armor... or....Who, me?" Mr. Tesco says "Yes, you, would you like to join me for dinner?"  "Tonight?  I have plans tonight".  I actually don't have plans tonight, but my natural girl instincts quickly come back to me remembering to not appear too available.  Why would I even be thinking this as it's been over a year since I've even kissed a guy is beyond me.  I should be walking around with a sign that says, please any available male on this planet consider me for a wife...my biological clock is ticking.  No, instead I play hard to get.  I offer the reason that I just returned from China and am quite jet-lagged.  Mr. Tesco says "Well, okay, how about Wednesday or Thursday or Friday night then"?  I'm quite flattered and impressed at this point so I think, well, why not?  "Ok, sure, how about Thursday night?”  He says perfect, can I have your phone number please?  "Yes you may, and what is your name by the way?"  "It's Will, and I was thinking around 7:30 at this restaurant around the corner called Howie's".  "Sure, that sounds perfect.  Wait, excuse me, I need to answer this call really quick.  Hello?  Oh, it's you Will, funny."  I'm so naive sometimes. 

Thursday evening.  What to wear?  A pink and brown skirt, trusty tan leather pointy-toe flats as they look dressy but are quite comfortable, a ruffly white top, gold earrings, and hair?  Oh, back to the usual debate.  Hair down or in that pony-tail again?  I just feel comfortable in my pony-tail.  Is that a crime?  It doesn't mean I'm ready to fire an AK 47 and will take no prisoners.  It's just practical.  I don't have to worry about it blowing in my face or getting stuck on my lip-gloss.  So I compromise with a low pony-tail pulled to the front.  It kind of looks down, slightly more feminine, but stays out of the way.  I walk down the street to meet Will.  He greets me with a kiss on the side-cheek.  This is one European custom I adore.  A kiss on the cheek is just so endearing and romantic.  Whether it's from a family friend or a boyfriend.  Will says he doesn't like the atmosphere of Howie's and has a better restaurant in mind, The Mussel and Steak Bar.  I think that sounds better too, and so we catch a taxi to the Grassmarket.  We walk in, the waitress shows us to a table, Will asks for the massive circular booth that seats 8, she says no as you're only a party of 2, he seems irritated, but agrees to the original table she had in mind.  This table seats 4.  And another dilemma.  Which seat do you sit in?  The one closest to the wall or the one on the outside?  I would think closest to the wall, little bit more space between us and the next couple, sticking true to my "you're invading my personal space" Americanism, but Will puts his suit jacket over the chair on the outside.  Alright, we'll be eating in the other couple's lap then.  The drink menu.  I'd really like red wine, but you can't order it by the glass here.  I feel guilty expecting him to buy the whole bottle of wine, so I ask for a diet coke please.  He says no wine?  I say, well, I do like red wine only, but diet coke is fine too.  He says, "Miss, we'll have a diet coke, 2 ice-waters, and what wine do you recommend?"  Oh, awesome, let the "show-off my wine connoisseur abilities" begin.  I like cabernets and Chianti.  But truly as long as it's a red wine, I can appreciate it.  "Sir, I'm not sure, let me ask the manager".  She's not sure?  I was a server in College Station for 6 months, wrong answer.  Mr. Manager comes over and recommends a screw-top pinotage.  I should've kept my mouth shut and said, I don't drink.  He brings the bottle, ever-so-elegantly unscrews the top, and pours a bit for Will to test.  At least Mr. Manager didn't spill the wine while pouring unlike my first night as a server in College Station where I spilled 2 full glasses of wine on my 1st table.  I actually stayed employed there but had to do some obstacle course training in the back of the restaurant initially.  Will swirls the wine for probably 2 minutes remarking how he's allowing the wine to breathe, inhales the perfume, tastes, and says it's excellent.  I try it with a little less elaborate of a ceremony, and agree it'll do.  This all seems so ridiculous to me to be honest.  Who actually sends back a bottle of wine?  How pompous is that? 

Now to order.  I order wild mushroom soup for a starter and mussels for a main.  Will decides on mussels for a starter and tenderloin for a main.  We get through the meal a little painstakingly as it's all of those "first-date" questions..."Where did you grow up, tell me about your family, where did you go to school, etc.”  By painstakingly I mean at this point I'm realizing there's something a little off about Will.  I do not care for people who are rude to the restaurant staff.  He keeps grabbing the waitress or anyone in a uniform in sight whenever he needs something...more water, more bread, another napkin...without so much as a please or a thank you.  Please and thank you.  Two of the most important phrases in the English language.  Will didn't learn these.  The conversation, rough.  He is shaking throughout the entire meal like he's had no sleep and 7 espressos.  He says his sister lives in town, but he hasn't spoken to her in 5 years.  "Do you have any pets?”  It's come down to that.  He has finished his steak, and I'm trying to get through my bottomless pot of mussels as quickly and as lady-like as possible.  He tells me to take my time as he enjoys watching me eat.  Right, now I'm done.  The waitress comes to clear the plates and asks if we'd like dessert.  Will says he's not hungry but maybe I'd like some.  Yeah right Mr. Tesco.  No thank you.  "Alright, then I'll just leave you 2 in peace to finish your bottle of wine."  The apocalypse has now begun.  Those might be the worst words ever uttered by a waitress throughout all of time if you're on the worst first date ever.  Please no.  Will fills up my glass.  At this point I'm wishing I were at a cocktail party where I can take my glass of wine conspicuously to the bathroom and pour 5/8 of it down the sink because I like to be aware of my surroundings.  But I'm not; I'm sitting across from the man who likes his juice chunky.  I excuse myself to the bathroom.  In the bathroom I take my sweet time, and I learn from a sign on the wall that mussels are actually quite nutritious.  They contain vitamins B6, B8, B12, E, C, D, A, and plenty of omega 3 fatty acids.  I return to the table more educated.  I tell Will I'm quite full, and maybe he can ask for that screw-cap back to take the bottle of wine home with him.  Don't get me wrong, I love wine, but it all depends on the company you're with.  He says no.  We sit literally in silence for 5 straight minutes.  I'm quite irritated at this point that he's not asked for the check yet, but I'm not giving in.  I will sit here in silence until the end of time.  "Miss, can we have the check now please?"  Thank God.  Usually at this point when the check arrives, I glance at it, reach for my purse, and offer to pay for half whilst batting my eyes and hoping he says no.  Not this time.  I'm pissed.  Mr. Chunky Juice can darn well pay for the entire meal.  We get up to leave.  I also take notice of all of the stares we are getting.  I guess I didn't realize how much older he looks than me.  I'm not opposed to dating older men; in fact I prefer their maturity.  But apparently, this looks quite scandalous.  Or maybe I'm being oversensitive now.  We catch a taxi and not 30 seconds down the road, Will does the "reach around the back seat of the taxi to my shoulder in an attempt to kiss me" move.  I put up my hand and block his advances with an "Umm, no thank you."  No thank you.  The 3rd most important phrase in the English language.  Silence.  Then the poor guy tries to start small talk but interrupts his questions of how am I going to spend my last 2 weeks in Scotland with "So at what point did I go wrong?".  Well, you were rude to the wait staff, you have nothing to talk about, you want to watch me eat, you have no awareness of the people around you or your surroundings, you tried to kiss me after knowing you for less than 4 hours, you might even be married for all I know, you should have just been honest in Tesco's and admitted you weren't interested in dinner at all, and suddenly I'm quite weirded out.  "Well, I wouldn't say you went wrong, I'm just not looking for anything more than friendship at this point in my life."  The nice version.  "Oh, well then would you like to go out again and can I walk you to your door?”  Seriously? No, I can't bear the thought of any more excruciating conversation and stalker-like mannerisms, and I don't want you to know where I live.  "Well, probably not, but I had a lovely time and the restaurant was wonderful.  Thank you for dinner."

So it's back to the pavement.  Romantic fairy-tale speech at the wedding reception of how we met on the juice aisle of Tesco's, not quite so.  Maybe the road would like to date me.