Congratulations, Your Night of Bowling Went as Badly as it Possibly Could!

When you arrived at the bowling alley for your date you thought “What could possibly go wrong?”  Then you met Harris.

Harris was in his wheelchair, waving at you, smiling with his mouth full of empty spaces.  He guffawed loudly as he powered his ways towards you, confederate flag brazenly slapped on every face of his chair so that his support for the defunct Southern government that unsuccessfully attempted to separate itself from federal authority nearly one hundred and fifty years ago was readily apparent to anyone who looked at him, troubling racial politics and all.  Then he introduced himself to you by saying:

“Aw jeez, I sure am glad y’all got them big titties and ya’s white.  I was worried you was one-a-them colored girls what when Glory told me ‘bout all the junk y’all are carryin’ around.”

He’ll be referring to your friend Gloria, who set the two of you up and no doubt, in brief, mentioned what she thought your best qualities were (tits and ass) while omitting qualities she thought Harris would not find interesting (skin color and level of education).  You’ll politely inform him that you had no idea he was handicapped and ask him if he wants to try going somewhere else if bowling is tough for him to do in the chair.  He’ll spit on the floor and laugh.

“Ain’t no way gettin’ beat by a buncha no abortion lovers is gonna keep me from bowlin’,” he’ll say before wheeling up to the bar and, after insisting you open a tab with your credit card, buying a bucket of beers for himself and setting them between his useless legs.  He’ll proceed to pound them as he relates the story of him losing his legs when he bravely tried to beat a woman getting an abortion with a pipe and was, in turn, severely beaten by a number of abortion clinic staff members while a group of Christian protesters looked on.  You’ll bowl for the both of you and, sure enough, the score that has your initials will be lower than the score that has his initials by a handful of points.  He’ll be a total dick about it.

Then he’ll insist you give him a ride home, which will involve you lifting him into your car, at which point he’ll grab your tits while trying to kiss you, which will mostly involve him spitting into your face.  Once he’s secured in his seatbelt you’ll have to load his chair into the back of your Toyota pickup, which will weigh almost two hundred pounds.  You’ll get some help from a young black man who works at the bowling alley, which will prompt Harris to tell you that he’s pissed off that he was set up with a “nigger lover” without prior notice.  He’ll chant that horrible phrase at you for most of the ride home, only taking breaks to give you vague directions on how to get him home.

Once you get to his place his mother will begin throwing eggs at your car as you unload Harris and his chair without assistance.  Eventually you’ll get him all unloaded and, covered in egg, hurry into your car and peel out to drive back to your home.  Unfortunately the residue from the eggs won’t come off your windshield and you’ll drive home, or try to.  But at the first intersection your limited visibility will lead to you being t-boned by an SUV.  You’ll be hurt, but your car will still be able to drive and, since you accidentally ran a stop sign, you’ll be at fault, so you’ll hand over your insurance information dreading the conversation you’ll have in a week or so.

When you do get home you’ll see a text message from Gloria asking you how the date went, and a text message from Harris asking you what you’re wearing.  They’ll both make you uncomfortable.  You’ll go to bed on your couch, still wearing your egg soaked clothing, with only three hours to sleep before work the next day.

Congratulations, Your Night of Bowling Went as Badly as it Possibly Could!