The Sound Designer

It was March of 2004, my junior year at UT. I was nearing the end of my ill-fated relationship, if it could be called that, with College Pothead. It was, more accurately, the end of a crush, and the crush of a dream. I so rarely got to actually date the guys I had crushes on, and I was quite disappointed with how CP was turning out. I had just about decided to end it when I met the Sound Designer (SD).

I went to my audio post production class one day when we were to have a guest speaker. I showed up early and was the first person there. Our guest speaker, the Sound Designer (SD), was already there, and he smiled warmly at me and introduced himself. One of my classmates who was working on Foley with me on some film arrived seconds later, and the three of us talked until the rest of the class filed in.

I enjoyed SD's lecture, and he and I spoke a bit more after class and then went on our separate ways.

The next day, my classmate and I were working on Foley together when we began discussing SD from the day before.

"Dude, I think that guy liked you," my classmate said abruptly, catching me off guard.

"Huh? Really?"

"Yeah. The way he was looking at you and talking to you . . . "

"He was talking to both of us."

"To be polite. He was really talking to you," he insisted.

"Huh."

"You should look him up."

"Eh . . . I dunno . . . "

"Oh, come on, you said yourself it's not working out with [CP] anyway." He had a point, but I was suspicious since he and CP were good friends.

"Eh, I know, but . . . "

"And you two weren't serious or exclusive or anything."

". . . Mmm . . . no, true."

"You should look him up," he repeated.

"Eh . . . I dunno . . . " My classmate gave up, but I gave the matter considerable thought.

Unconvinced by my classmate's urging, I consulted a friend on the phone that night.

"I have a problem," I said. There was an "I thought so" pause on the other end of the line. "It's about a guy." Another "I thought so" pause followed, and I clarified, "Only it's not about [CP]."

"Oh?"

"No," I whined. "I met somebody else."

"Oh boy."

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't do anything, of course—"

"—No—"

"—but, well . . . I really like this guy, and he seems interested, and it's obviously not working out with [CP]."

"Well, what's going on with [CP]?" he asked.

"Ugh, God, what isn't. Or rather, what is. He's . . . it's . . . not working out. He's . . . well, he smokes pot . . . "

"Oh." My friend disapproved of smoking as much as I did.

"And there's more. I mean I told you about what he said on the second date, and I tried to be forgiving, but I really can't get over that. And he's always late. We've been out about four times now, and he's late every time, and he didn't apologize or do anything about it when I complained about it."

"Hmm. Yeah, that's bad."

"Plus his apartment is gross. I told you about that." I'm not exactly a neat freak, but I do at least take out the trash and wash my dishes; CP didn't even do that.

"Ugh, yeah. So, what's this other guy like?"

"Well, I only just met him, and I barely know him really, but he seems really sweet. He's cute and kind of shy, plus he's an audio guy."

"Ah." My friend knew of my weakness for audio.

"But somebody else said, yeah, he really seems to like you; he was checking you out and stuff. I dunno, though; I only met him the once and don't have his number or anything, and he didn't ask for mine—"

"—Maybe he was too shy—"

"—and there's the thing with [CP]."

"Oh, what thing?" my friend asked testily.

"Well . . . I am dating him."

"Were dating him. You said yourself it wasn't working out because he's a loser."

"Uh . . . well . . . yeah."

"So why don't you look this guy up?"

"Ugh, I dunno. What he's not single or not interested? You remember what happened with [the Boom Operator]." That disaster, only about two months previous, hung fresh in my mind and still stung.

"That was him. He was a jerk. You said you found him annoying at first, and your first impression was right. This guy made a decent first impression. Give him a chance." Persuaded by common sense but nevertheless leery of disaster, I caved.

"Ohhhh . . . oh, all right, but I am blaming you if it doesn't work out."

"Good."

"I'll look him up and call him right now. I'll call you right back." I hung up, looked up SD's number, and dialed.

I would like to take a moment here and remind my readers of the saying "Third time's the charm." Not having learned a goddam thing from my ridiculously foolish plot to call the Boom Operator, I also didn't learn a goddam thing from this incident. It took the scarring trauma of the episode with TCR, years later, to finally teach me a lesson: Never, ever, ever call a guy first.

"Hello?" SD's voice asked.

"Uh, hello. Is this [SD]?"

"Yes."

"Oh, hi. This is Lauren Brown . . . I was in that audio class you guest lectured last week; I don't know if you remember me . . . "

"Oh, sure, I remember you!" SD's voice grew warm and friendly. I relaxed.

"Um. Ahem. Well. . . . Um, so, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up and see a movie or something—"

"Ah, well, that's nice, but right now I'm sitting next to my girlfriend of five years, so this conversation is getting a little—"

"Awkward," we both said at the same time. 'God damn you, ____,' I thought at my friend who'd told me to phone SD.

"Right, sorry, forget it ever happened," I sputtered, immediately hanging up. I took a deep breath and dialed my friend back.

"Well?" he answered.

"I hate you."

"What? . . . Oh!" I sighed.

"Yes. He was not single," I griped. "As a matter of fact, he was sitting right next to his girlfriend at the time."

"Oh, wow, yeah, that's . . . "

"Awkward," we both said at the same time. I laughed.

"But I'm still ending it with [CP] anyway," I said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, if this incident has taught me anything, it's that he's really not good enough."

"No shit."

"Yeah. It wasn't going to work out anyway; I'm glad it's definitely over now."

I never heard of SD again, though I did look him up in the writing of this story. Like most of the guys mentioned in this section, he has not aged particularly well. He seems to be married, probably to the same bitch who sabotaged our would be relationship. Ah well. At least that leaves me free to pursue somebody who takes better care of himself.