During my junior year at UT, I took two audio classes. As a production student in the department of Radio-Television-Film, I was one of relatively few students who really wanted to work in audio. Most of my classmates wanted to run off to Hollywood and be the next Robert Rodriguez. Anyway, we audio students were in high demand by the filmmakers, especially since we had full access to all the audio equipment in the department.
So it was that several film students came to our class one day to ask who among us could help with audio on films they were shooting. Right away, I noticed College Pothead (CP). He was tall, a bit heavyset, and with long hair. I'd always been a sucker for long (but not too long) hair. I saw him glancing at me as he spoke and wondered briefly if I were being too obvious again. I swallowed and wrote down the contact information for each filmmaker.
CP was the only guy I actually emailed; I would have emailed the others had he not replied to me, but luckily, none of my classmates had beaten me to the punch, and he still needed a sound recordist. We were shooting on three consecutive nights, but I could only make two of them due to work. I offered to call into work so I could make all three nights, but CP said no, that was fine, they could get the Rich Guy (a whole other story) instead.
Friday night, the first night of the shoot, I arrived early and helped unload the equipment. CP asked me if I could be both boom operator and sound recordist; I denied him so vehemently that one of the grips doubled as the boom op. The boom op (a whole other other story) began hitting on me before we'd even spoken. Amazing. I tried to ignore him as I set up my Nagra, unwound XLR cables, and plugged in microphones. CP asked me if we could use wireless lavs and thusly avoid the need for a boom op. I again refused viciously on the grounds that wireless lavs sound like shit. I plugged in two AT 4071s and taught my impromptu boom op a few basics. He insisted that he had boomed before, which I doubted based on his goofing off.
"Lauren," he cooed into one of my 4071s into my headphones, "I am going to woo you all through the night."
"Oh God," I said. Secretly I was thrilled because he was incredibly cute, but I was there to work, after all.
"What?"
"Just hold the the boom pole." He held the boom pole accordingly as I tested levels and recorded room tone. I tried not to stare, reminding myself again that I was there to work. Besides, I decided, CP had dibs and was certainly less annoying.
Friday night, the first night of shooting went smoothly, despite winding up three hours behind schedule. I returned Sunday night, asking how Saturday night had gone—quite well. Sunday night went better than Friday had, at least in part because I shamelessly flirted with the boom op the whole time. He bought me a slice of pizza on our meal break and sat nervously beside me while we ate. I smiled to myself. He gave me a ride later, and I gave him my phone number. Obviously, that didn't work out, or this story wouldn't have happened.
I stayed in touch with CP during post production on the film. He asked me to do sound design on the film (which mostly involved Foley), so we saw quite a bit of each other. Since it hadn't worked out with the boom op and I reasoned that I had liked CP first, I decided to step it up a bit and flirt with him some. I suspected he was interested in me but too shy to say anything. I began to think he didn't actually like me after all when I found out quickly that he was interested in me. My assistant with the sound design invited me to a friend's birthday party at his place, and I ran into CP there. CP and I, the last to leave, wound up sitting extremely close on the couch, but nothing happened, to my annoyance. A few days later, though, he made his move. I had mentioned never having seen The Phantom of the Opera on stage, so we went to see it. In retrospect, the fact that the first date involved Phantom was clear foreshadowing. I hadn't seen it, though, so I wasn't to know.
CP and I had arranged to meet at a local coffeehouse before the show started. I hung around for over fifteen minutes, wondering where he was. 'Damn it,' I thought, 'nobody stands me up.' Thoroughly pissed off and therefore in the best possible mood to deal with bullshit, I called him.
"Hello?"
"Where the hell are you?" I snapped. Ah, the delicate finesse of young love.
"Um."
"We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago. Are you coming?"
"I had to stop at the gas station." Way to plan ahead, jackass. Not that I believed him anyway; it doesn't take fifteen minutes to put gas in a car.
"Fine. Forget the coffee; just meet me at the theatre."
He met me on the walk to the theatre, and I walked fast—faster than usual, mercilessly leaving his out of shape form to try to keep up with me. We arrived at the theatre at the last possible second. In the lights of the lobby, I realized that he was underdressed in khakis and a plain shirt. I don't believe in getting overdressed for the theatre, but one should still dress for the occasion, at least out of respect for the cast and crew. At the very least, he could have dressed nicer for a first date.
During the show, I cooled down a bit and allowed him to hold my hand. In retrospect, I of course should have left the coffeehouse, gone home, finished the sound design on the film, and never spoken to him again. Alas, I instead reminded myself of why I liked him in the first place and figured he deserved a second chance.
After the show, we got a snack at a nearby cafe and then took a walk under the stars. I pointed out constellations, and he leaned in and kissed me—promptly trying to stick his tongue down my throat, which I rejected. A few minutes later, he tried again, with much better results. The evening ended on a high note, and I agreed to see him again.
On our second date, he picked me up on campus, again arriving several minutes late. Annoyed, I sat mostly in silence in the car on the way there except to make a few worried noises regarding the ominous sounds coming from under the hood.
"Yeah, it does that," he said.
"All the time?"
"Pretty much, yes."
"You haven't taken it the shop?"
"Nah, it's fine." Not convinced, I made a note to do the driving myself next time.
Once in the restaurant, I relaxed and opened up a bit. We discussed films; it turned out we had similar tastes, which is vital with film students. Once we'd exhausted that topic, CP turned to a vacation he'd recently taken with a couple of friends to New Orleans during Mardi Gras.
"How was that?" I asked.
"There were titties all over the place," he said.
Time stopped.
I didn't say anything or even look at him for the remainder of the meal. As we got ready to leave, CP finally asked if I were okay.
"Fine," I snapped sarcastically.
"I thought you seemed bored."
"I was trying to decide whether to throw my drink or the lit candle in your face." Indeed, the only reason I hadn't was because I needed the ride back to my car. Even an uncomfortable ride in a dirty, clunky car beat walking a couple of miles after dark.
" . . . Sorry."
There followed an exhaustive debate on the subject.
"I was testing you," CP said.
"What in the fuck? For what?"
" . . . "
Yeah, I thought so.
Eventually, he thoroughly apologized, and I forgave him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I would never put up with that crap from anyone, but I suppose at the time I was lonely; that plus the fact that enticed me on another date by offering to take me to see The Triplets of Belleville, which had just come out. I had heard terrific things about it, especially the sound, so I couldn't wait. I reasoned that even if the company were terrible, I'd still get to see what looked like a great little film. Indeed, it is still one of my favorite animated films. In retrospect, it is just possible that CP hoped I would be beneficially inspired by the film while working on the soundtrack of his own film.
The night of our third date arrived. I parked near CMB (the film school) and walked over to Dobie Mall, where the theatre was. I slipped on the sidewalk when a car running the light almost struck me, and I dove out of the way and crashed to the curb, my skirt flying up and flashing the entire Drag. Annoyed but unhurt, I brushed myself off, examining my lightly skinned knee, and walked (more carefully than before) to the theatre.
Obviously, CP was late yet again. I sat at a table in the food court, looking anxiously up at every passing guy who even might have been him. At least ten minutes later, CP showed up as I was peering at my knee again.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I slipped on the way over here," I explained. I looked up at him half expectantly, but he didn't ask if I were okay. For a second, I thought he might have looked annoyed or amused, but the look passed, and I forgot about it. I briefly complained about him being late since I didn't want to be late for the film, which, luckily, we were not. I think we missed the first minute or so, or at least, the house lights had already dimmed when we entered the theatre. I noticed he didn't offer to buy me any popcorn, not that I wanted any.
Nevertheless, I loved the film so much I forgot about my previous irritation with him. We had a great conversation on the way out of the theatre, and I agree to see him again. I mentioned never having seen the Austin Zoo, so we arranged to go in a few days. Hoping to curb his tardiness, I said I'd meet him at his place that morning.
I arrived on the dot at the appointed time on the appointed date. CP's roommate answered the door on his way out and informed me that CP was still in the shower. I rolled my eyes and looked around the apartment while I waited. I noticed immediately that the end table by the door was coated in a thick layer of dust. The remainder of the living room seemed tidy, though. Then I stepped into the kitchen and stopped in shock.
The sink had dirty dishes piled quite literally to the ceiling, and in lieu of a trash can, they used a fifty-five gallon drum which was overflowing onto the floor. 
More appallingly still, the aquarium that housed his two small turtles was filthy. I was just pondering whether it warranted calling the SPCA when the shower shut off. I forgot the aquarium and decided to ask CP about trying to get ready on time in the future, not, I knew, that we had any future.
CP appeared in a moment.
"Listen," I began, trying and failing not to keep glancing back at the revolting mess in the kitchen, "could you please make more of an effort to be ready on time? I'm always on time, and it's annoying to have to wait. I've told you this before."
"But I'm always late everywhere," he protested feebly.
"No, you're not. You're never late to class. And you shouldn't be late to dates." It's true. Tardiness isn't a cute quirk; it says to the girl, "I have better things to do than hang around with you," which is probably accurate, but you shouldn't give the girl that message. Not if you expect to get laid, anyway. CP most emphatically did not.
CP mumbled something about how he'd try to be on time next time, and we left.
We arrived at the zoo and walked through. The Austin Zoo turned out to be incredibly anticlimactic, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. The bright, sunny weather put me in a good mood, which only improved when we stopped by the turtle pen. Turtles are my favorite animal, so of course I was thrilled when they took a liking to my floral print skirt and nipped at it through the fence.
Then, as we watched awkwardly, one turtle climbed on top of another. Turtle sex is awkward to watch in any situation, but in the middle of a bad date is probably the worst. After a minute, a four-year-old girl in a pink jump suit with her hair in pigtails, complete with hair elastics with those ugly plastic beads on them, walked by. She took one look at the two turtles, screamed at the top of her lungs, and took off running in the opposite direction.
I burst out laughing and couldn't stop. I laughed until I cried, and CP joined in.
"People are awesome," CP said.
"Put that in your next movie. Please promise me you will put that in a movie," I begged.
Then a small boy passed by and drew an apparently different conclusion than the little girl had.
"Look, daddy, one of the turtles is trying to escape!"
"Um . . . No, I don't think he's trying to escape," the father said awkwardly.
CP and I decided it was time to move on and moved to the panther pen. The panther was terrific. He lay in the shade on the opposite side of his pen until we approached the fence, at which point he ambled to his feet and loped gracefully across the grass to a spot right in front of the fence, where he casually flopped down in the sun with his back to us. He lay there, sunbathing, for several minutes before returning to his original spot in the shade. I swear he smiled at me.
We left the zoo and returned to CP's apartment for some tea before I went home. I saw his room and noticed, horrified, marijuana paraphernalia. Well, that explained a lot. I think smoking is nasty anyway, but weed is a problem in a separate class. I didn't want to be around somebody who did drugs or had anything illegal in the house.
CP asked me out once more, to see the final Lord of the Rings movie. I really did not want to go on another date, especially not with a pothead, but I did want to see the movie, so I figured I'd go anyway and then not talk to him anymore.
We arranged to meet at Lakeline Mall, near my house. I confirmed that he had been there before so he would know where he was going, and I told him to meet me at four. The film actually started at four seventeen, but I didn't trust him to be on time, despite the chats we'd had previously. I was right. I sat on a bench in the lobby of the theatre, trying to ignore the stares of passers by who clearly thought I was being stood up. I repeatedly checked my phone, but CP didn't call me.
At four fifteen, I rose and went to the box office.
"One for Lord of the Rings, please," I said, inwardly cringing as I realized I was going to see one of the nerdiest films ever made, by myself, in a minidress.
I entered the theatre and sat down. After a minute, at the end of the previews, just as the film was starting, I recognized CP's silhouette, walking down the dark aisle. I prayed he wouldn't recognize me, but he did, and he joined me.
"Surprised you made it," I muttered in the darkness.
"I got lost," he said.
"You said you'd been here before."
"I was thinking of someplace else. I haven't actually been here before."
"You didn't think to check it online first?"
"Well . . . "
"You could have called me."
"I didn't want to in case you were in the theatre or your phone might have been off."
"What! No! Ugh. . . . So, yeah. I didn't think you'd actually turn up."
"We had a date."
"Yes we did. Twenty minutes ago. Not now. No date."
"But you said the film started at four fifteen; I thought you told me to be here at four because you knew I'd be late, so it would be okay."
"No. I said four o'clock; I meant four o'clock."
After the film, during which I said remarkably little, I got the hell out and went home, brushing off his attempts at conversation.
I didn't see much of CP around the halls on campus much after that. I finished his sound design with a minimum of contact, keeping it as professional as possible, which was no easy task since he now saw no reason to not act like a jerk in front of me. I remember I once got a cold and was coughing in front of him, to which he asked,
"Why don't you get over that?"
"What."
Recognizing by now the tone of my voice that boded nothing good, he mumbled lamely something about it having been a couple of weeks, and I was still sick. I didn't even try to stop him from seeing me rolling my eyes. I finished the film and stayed well away from him after that.
One year later, I unfortunately bumped into CP again. I went to hear Beethoven's Ninth Symphony at Bass Concert Hall, and, as I stood outside at the Will Call window, I inwardly groaned as I recognized CP there as well. He was on a date with a girl I had not seen before. I prayed that he would not notice me, but, as I am an atheist, I wasn't terribly shocked when CP did, impossibly, randomly turn right the fuck around and stare directly at me. And then—the horror—he approached me and spoke to me. A friendly greeting, which I returned with that faux-warmness so often exhibited by people in public who privately want to tear each other's teeth out. Despite not liking CP in the slightest, I was nevertheless pleased to note that the girl he was with was considerably less good looking than I. Women always are pleased at that. Even better, she saw me and sent jealous glares in my direction, which I dismissed with a gloriously arrogant toss of my head before sweeping past them into the auditorium.
After the performance, I was walking down San Jacinto Boulevard toward my car when, as I feared, CP saw me and called my name from across the street. I pretended not to hear, but he abandoned his date and ran across the street to say hello. I twitched uncomfortably, which, impossibly, all the passers by noticed, yet he did not.
"How was the show?" he asked.
"Oh, it was great; terrific," I gushed. I had sat in the balcony sandwiched in between an obnoxious businessman and an obese woman who fell asleep and snored loudly throughout the entire third movement. "Beethoven's always been my favorite composer."
"Oh, yours too?" I nodded. "So of course you'd want to see it."
"Well, it was either staying in town for this or driving to Houston to see Lynyrd Skynyrd," I said.
"Oh, right," he said, laughing a little. I wondered how it was that he failed to note my barely concealed agitation, or the impatient glares his date was sending him. Taking pity on the poor bitch, I asked pointedly,
"Why don't you get back to your date?" CP blinked, we exchanged good nights, and I dove into my car, grumbling slightly to myself all the way home. In truth, the narcoleptic woman in the next seat had been the real reason for ruining my night, but this just capped it off.
Luckily, I did not bump into CP ever again. Our time together was brief and terrible, yet it was not without its value since I raised my standards as a result. I never again went out with a pothead or a bad driver, and I never again let a guy get away with crude or sexist remarks, especially early on in a relationship. I also refused ever again to date anyone who showed up late. Several years later, he still stands out as one of the worst guys I ever dated, and he managed to achieve that status inside a couple of weeks.
Oh, by the way, CP works for Alex Jones now. Go figure.