Going out with....

I don’t know what they call it these days, but when I was at school, if a boy and girl got together it was called ‘going out with’, as in, Dave is going out with Shirley. I don’t think Dave and Shirley actually did go out with each other; if I remember correctly, Shirley was more interested in Dave’s mate, Phil. People would never ask directly if someone would go out with them, they always did it through a third party. I can’t be sure, but I seem to think it was more usual for the girl to ask the boy, rather than the other way round. I say I can’t be sure because it was never a ritual I was very much involved in. Lack of both self confidence and eligibility saw to that.

The only time I remember joining in the ‘going out with’ game was at the weekly school dance, when one girl decided her friend needed a boyfriend and went prowling round the dance floor asking boys, at random, until one said yes. I’m afraid I was the first idiot to say yes, completely unaware that I was probably the fourth or fifth to be asked.

The next hour had me in a state of bewildered anxiety. To draw an analogy with the old football league table, this girl was probably upper second division, whereas I was middle of the fourth. This mismatch left me feeling completely out of my depth; you don’t jump in at the deep end when you can’t swim.

News travels fast when you would rather it just sit down and stay put. It wasn’t long before someone came and congratulated me; I think he found the situation harder to believe than I did. Someone even gave me advice; a division one boy, actually. These interventions only left me feeling even more out of place, and as the end of the dance got nearer the fear grew stronger.

As I was standing there thinking I would obviously be expected to do something about something when the dance ended, but having no idea what, there, out of nowhere, the girl was standing right in front of me. She looked me straight in the face and said, ‘I don’t want to go out with you,’ and then just walked away. I can still remember the hot tingling sensation that started in my face and then spread to the rest of my body.

Perhaps it was considerate of her to say anything to me at all: she could have just gone straight home after the dance, leaving me to wonder what had happened. All I can say is that it didn’t feel considerate at the time. I suppose we were both victims of her friend’s thoughtless stupidity, although I can’t help feeling I was the most injured casualty of it.

While the incident was devastating at the time, I don’t imagine it had a long lasting effect on me, I was probably over it in a few days. On the other hand, all our experiences go into the mix as our character is forming, although I can’t say how much influence this particular experience had on what was to become the adult me. I still don’t have much self confidence in social situations but I like to think I’m a bit wiser than I used to be. Now, if a woman asked me if I would go out with her friend, I would be a lot more cautious with my answer.