So what's up with dating at Dartmouth? I happen to be friends with two individuals who tried this rare and endangered form of courtship at this college. I heard both sides of the story. Needless to say, their two accounts did not exactly coincide. It went something like this ...
She said: I couldn't believe it. A date. At Dartmouth. In daylight. Was I dreaming? They told me it didn't happen ... but whatever, I got the blitz. Lunch. EBAs. Between my 10 and 12.
I knew the date started off right when we got to EBAs and he opened the door for me. A point for him. So, maybe it was worth the three hours of agonizing in front of my closet choosing the perfect outfit for an afternoon lunch. I wanted to look casual yet sophisticated, seductive yet conservative, playful yet mature. I was glad to see that he had put effort into choosing his attire as well. That polo shirt was a nice touch. Point number two.
So we sat down and the menus came. I didn't want to order anything too expensive, but at the same time ordering a salad would be too stereotypical. I also had to take into consideration the mechanics of eating whatever I ordered. For instance, spaghetti would be a definite faux pas -- way too messy. Also, anything that had a remote chance of adhering to my teeth such as spinach or broccoli was out of the question. That left one item on the menu. A cheese calzone.
Then he ordered. A large cheese pizza with fresh garlic, onions, peppers, pepperoni, sausage, spinach, broccoli and japapenos. Minus 10.
Now for round two. Conversation. I was debating whether to bring up the student assembly elections, whether he was going to rush next year, or his classes. Luckily I didn't need to decide because he asked, "So what do you think you're going to major in?" I was impressed. Good choice for an ice-breaker. Plus five. I said probably English. But the conversation took a nose-dive when he followed up with, "So do you like to read?" Minus 15.
Then the food came. I was starving. Just as I had finished placing my napkin on my lap and neatly cutting my first piece of the steaming calzone, I looked up just in time to witness him polish off the last slice of his pizza. I was about to point out the tomato sauce that had dripped onto his shirt when he asked, "So, are you going to finish that?" I thought to myself, "What do you think? I haven't even taken the first bite yet and I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon because I had a chem test from 6p.m.-12 p.m. and then I just figured I'd spend the night at Steele since I have a 9 there, so yes buddy, to answer your question, I am going to eat my ENTIRE calzone. Thanks for asking, though." But instead I just said, "You can have some if you want." Minus 25.
Since he was now roaming around in negative territory, I gave him a chance to redeem himself when the bill came. Foiled again -- he didn't pay for me. Good thing the bank is next door. Minus ... who cares at this point?
He said: So, I blitzed this girl who sits in front of me in economics and asked her if she wanted to grab some EBAs after class. She accepted. .
I was a little nervous when we approached EBAs because I saw the girl I had hooked up with last weekend and forgot to blitz, walking towards us on the other side of the street. Fortunately, I had just enough time to grab the door to the restaurant, swing it open and hide behind it, while still remembering to say, "After you." Whew.
So we sat down and I noticed that my date looked pretty cute. This morning I had rummaged through my hamper smelling each article of clothing trying to decide what to wear. I had finally settled on the only pair of sweatpants that didn't have a hole and the only shirt that didn't smell. Good thing my roommate stopped me as I was heading out the door and said, "Geez, you look nasty. You're not wearing that out, are you?" So he forced me to wear his polo.
I didn't even need to look at the menu to know what to order. The usual.
I thought I was pretty suave when I whipped out the question about her major. I thought my follow-up question was pretty ingenius too, but I guess she wasn't in the mood to talk. Oh well.
The food came. My pizza looked good but her calzone looked even better. I thought it might be fun to try some of hers and she seemed to agree. Cool.
So the date was going well. I could tell I was racking up major points. When the bill came, I thought to myself that living in the '90s definitely has its perks. Maybe feminists really do know what they're talking about.
So there it is -- dating at Dartmouth.
