It was the summer of 1991. I should have known better than to drive from New York to Miami with my girlfriend, Danielle. Nonetheless, she insisted on driving her new Camaro to the Sunshine State instead of flying.
Take your pick on her rationale for such a thing:
“we don’t spend enough time together” “it will be fun” “flying is so passé”
Yet, there I was – an A1, major league sucker packing the car and heading to Miami.
Danielle was a beautiful blonde, 27 years of age. She was a year my senior. Danielle had a great job, master’s degree in micro-biology, and could be as charming as the sweetest of sunsets. However, she possessed one trait that did not become her – jealousy. Not the rationale controlled jealousy many possess. Sadly (for me) she was prone to eruptions reminiscent of a volcano unmercifully reigning havoc down on innocent villagers. When she got ready to blow even Beelzebub took cover. “Run for your lives,” as a friend of mine once quipped witnessing her wrath.
Fortunately, these episodes were far and few between. Frankly, they often caught me off guard. However, the more we dated, the more I simply figured this would fade into the background of our lives. After all, she would surely grow more secure, right?
As we left the comforts of Long Island on that fateful Thursday evening, I drove first. Danielle quickly fell asleep. Much to my surprise she slept, and slept, and slept.
Needless to say, the original plan of ‘you drive three hours and I’ll drive three hours’ lasted as long as a Kim Kardashian marriage.
By 6:30am the next morning my eyes were bloodshot as the sun shined brightly over the Georgia sky. It was an immaculate day which I was far too incoherent to acknowledge.
Danielle finally awoke from her never ending slumber.
“You poor dear – you have been driving all this time?” she said. I began to feel a bit better as she realized how much I drove without stopping once.
We pulled off to the side of the road. Cheerfully, she climbed into the driver’s side as I lazily made my way to the passenger side. I saw the pillow Danielle had been resting her head on for the past seven hours or so. I heard it call eerily to me, “Robert – lay on me F-O-R-E-V-E-R!”
Heaven awaited me. I buckled the seat belt and adjusted the pillow against the seat and car door.
“Babe,” said Danielle. “Would you mind staying awake while I drive? You know I hate to drive when I don’t know where I am going.”
Was she kidding?
So there I was – eyes blood shot and suddenly developing hunger pangs. This would not do.
Much to her chagrin, I made her pull into a Waffle House. Through her protests, I made a reasonable argument that if I was going to stay awake, I needed the energy to do so. With the look of a disgusted nurse who truly didn’t believe her patient needed pain medication, she gave in. To the ‘middle of nowhere’ Waffle House it was. I was relieved. Danielle was aggravated.
We sat in a booth at the back of the Waffle House. As we walked the length of the aisle, we passed bikers, truckers, and a few folks desperately in need of a dentist. However, I would not be deterred. I needed my breakfast despite the protests for moving on with our journey.
That’s when it happened. That’s when she first came into my sights – the bouncy, bubbly waitress with the blonde hair down to her fanny. Her hips swayed as she made her way past the first couple of booths toward Danielle and me. As she closed in, it was quite evident her gold Waffrl House top was way too small for her figure. My imagination told me this uniform mishap had to be arranged by the manager to enhance what needed little enhancing to begin with. Worse yet (yes – already knowing Danielle’s reaction, this was certain to be bad) there were way too many unbuttoned protectors of the goods and I knew my feeble man-brain would not allow me to look away.
She reached over and handed Danielle and me each a menu.
“I’m Bunny,” she said as she pointed to her name tag conveniently placed over the left side of the stressed uniform. “Oops – forgot the coffee and cups. Silly me! Be right back!”
“Ok,” I said smittenly. Even though I was dead tired, I perked up as she smiled at me and walked away.
“You looked at her,” said Danielle sternly.
I had no reply since I knew Mount St. Helen was about to bubble over.
She repeated herself, this time much more slowly and sternly. “YOU. LOOKED. AT. HER.”
Now this was bad. I could tell by the strain of the blood vessels of her eyes that pieced through me like a hot knife through butter I was in hot water.
I tried something crazy. I tried something so against the ‘guy code’ it could have potentially revoked my club membership for a decade. It was insane but I was going for it.
I decided to tell the truth.
“Ok, Danielle – you caught me. I looked at her. Sorry, but I just couldn’t help it. Should we order now or do you want to make a federal case out of it?”
I could hardly believe what came out of my own mouth. Had I not been so tired, I probably would have chosen another course of action. A ‘baby, no way’, or ‘who’s better looking than you?’ would have flowed from my lips. Yet, I somehow felt a strange combination of liberation mixed with discomfort.
I cringed as I expected a stealth-force outburst.
It never came. Calmly, Danielle sat there, lower jaw hanging down, exasperated.
Who would have thought ‘the truth’ would be so effective? I never realized the power contained in my manly admission. The pendulum suddenly swung to me and it felt great.
Danielle didn’t say a disparaging word about me the rest of breakfast.
Of course that didn’t mean Bunny escaped her wrath. As coffee morphed into breakfast and eventually receiving the check, Danielle pelted Bunny with a combination of insults and demands. As she discussed the waitress privately with me, Danielle dragged Bunny into the deepest of mud.
“I bet she is a part-time stripper, that one. Oh yeah, definitely a stripper and, probably, not a very good one,” Danielle complained.
Unfortunately, she didn’t stop there. Danielle was full of complaints and criticism about the meal and Bunny’s service. The meal came too slow. The table had not been cleaned in decades. Bunny leaned too forward while pouring coffee. Her voice was annoying.
Worst of all, ‘thank you’ made a permanent escape from Danielle’s vocabulary. Bunny would serve every whim Danielle had without so much an acknowledgement. Internally, I envisioned this as the greatest of Danielle’s sins. It was one thing to talk about another person within our private conversation, it was quite another to outwardly express arrogance and mistreat someone. It was embarrassing, yet I knew I had somehow escaped her bitterness. I attempted to keep all this in perspective.
“Don’t say anything to her stupid,” I said to myself. “You have to spend the rest of the week with her!”
As the check came I had a revelation. It was a perfect way to erase all the wrongs done to Bunny – I would leave a really big tip! Danielle wouldn’t know, yet it would seem serving us worthwhile. It was a masterful plan.
As we stood up to leave the booth, I initially didn’t leave a tip. I knew Danielle would notice this and be grateful in her own devious little way. You see, knowing her to the degree I did, doing this would firmly posture myself on Team Danielle. It would score points akin to a dozen roses or a romantic dinner. However, the key was purposely leaving my sunglasses behind to have an excuse to go back into the Waffle House. Once back inside, I could leave a nice big tip and escape unscathed.
I eventually got to the cash registered and paid the $13.65 bill. As we headed to the door, I turned to Danielle. “Go on to the car, hun, I forgot my sunglasses.”
It was perfect. Danielle walked out to the car and I walked back to the table which had not yet been cleared. I reached into my wallet searching for $10 but all I had were twenties. Should I walk to the register and get change? No way – there was no time for that. It was way too likely Danielle would be wondering what was taking me so long. So I dropped a twenty on the table, retrieved my glasses and headed out.
I made my escape and felt better about whatever mistreatment Bunny had endured at the hands of Danielle. As I walked towards the car, I reached into my pocket for the keys and opened the door. I ran over to the passenger side and insisted Danielle let me drive a little longer.
“Please let me drive?” I said “I want to since you are nervous about driving.”
It was pure genius. Danielle agreed as I reached for the passenger door.
Lost in my own maddening superiority, I suddenly heard a voice in the background. More than just a voice, however, it was reminiscent of a scene in a teen-age comedy from yesteryear when all seems to be going smoothly for our hero until he is interrupted by an uncontrollable force. The needle scratches the record. Harmony disrupted.
“Hey – hey wait a minute,” called a sweet voice.
I didn’t look, but I knew what was coming my way. As I slowly turned, there was a vision I would have appreciated except for the fact that the pressure-cooker I dated was destined to blow in sixty seconds. Bunny walked swiftly passed the rows of parked cars, then parked herself inches from me.
“You are sooooo sweet,” she proclaimed.
My mind raced as I internally begged her not to do this.
Looking momentarily at Danielle, she repeated herself, “He is so sweet. I have never, ever, gotten such a large tip in my life. And you were so nice. He is great, you are so lucky to have him,” she gleamed at Danielle.
“Oh yeah, he’s a peach. A real peach,” said Danielle.
“I mean, guys usually just check me out and I thought you were too at first. But you are sooooo nice; I just had to thank you. I hope the two of you have a great trip. Come back soon, now, OK?” she said as she strutted back into the restaurant – hips shaking, hair bouncing.
I slowly turned and gave my most innocent smile to Danielle. With her hands crossed on her chest, she appeared to be biting her lower lip so hard it looked as if it could bleed at any moment. But it was those eyes that scared me the most. It was that icy stare which looked through me like a laser beam about to castrate its prey that shook me to the core.
I got in the car and drove. It was a very long ride to Miami.
So for those guys out there who wonder if honesty is really worth it, he’s the deal – it probably is, however, not when it comes to another woman whose name tag reads ‘Bunny.’ Enough said.