You Can't Push It Underground

“I found you this one guy that you might like,” Brendon says. “You have a blind date with him, tonight at seven, so cancel whatever you’re doing.”

“Well that’s a little short notice. What’s the guy’s name?” Frank looks at his watch to see that it’s pushing five o’clock already. It’s been a day and Brendon’s already found a victim.

“Patrick. And trust me, he’s definitely not going to make you look like a dwarf.”

“Ah yes, but does he have vibrant red hair?” Frank says.

“Haha. Sadly he does not, but he’s a looker. You’re kind of an ugly fellow yourself Frank, so he might be prettier than you,” Brendon says.

“That’s very sweet of you to say. I hate you very much.”

“Figured. Call me as soon as the date is over, or the day after if you fuck him senseless.”

“Well, you know me,” Frank says with a shrug.

“That’s why I added that bit at the end. I think you’ll... well I don’t know. You’re kind of pretentious. Patrick is fantastic. If I were not spoken for I would totally go for it, but I am, so I won’t. He’s great, but you’re you. This is kind of like a trial to start out though. He’s just the first one though, so tell me how you feel about him, and I’ll go from there accordingly,” Brendon says.

“Fine, what’s he look like?” Frank asks.

“Short. Shorter than you,” Brendon replies.

“So he’s what? Like three feet tall?”

“Okay, calm down, he’s like two inches shorter than you,” Brendon says.

“Still short,” Frank replies.

“Yes, he is still short. He’s a friend of Ryan’s. They went to college together or something. I have been told he rather enjoys trivia, but I didn’t talk enough to him to figure out if that was true.”

“Right fine, where am I meeting him?” Frank asks, grabbing a notepad to write it all down.

Brendon gives him the name of the restaurant and then instructs him to wait at the bar for Patrick. According to Brendon he looks “baby faced” and “a little bit like an angel, but don’t tell Ryan I said that.”

Frank would be cheating if he stood the guy up, of course. He can’t cheat out on his and Brendon’s deal, because that would be wrong. So as uncharacteristic as it sounds, Frank does actually show up to the bar, a few minutes late, but it’s not too bad.

It’s a small restaurant that he would not normally have any interest in going to, because Frank’s usual place of hangout is the gay bar, but apparently that was out of the cards for a first date. Frank’s rather promiscuous, though he doesn’t see it that way, because he just sees it as a good time, but apparently it would’ve been inappropriate. Frank tried to remind Brendon that he is, in fact, inappropriate, but Brendon insisted, so he finds himself here.

It’s a Friday night, he doesn’t have work tomorrow, so that means he would very much like to fuck tonight, but instead he’s here. Hopefully Patrick is not a bore, but Brendon has such bland taste. Still, he’ll try to be open-minded, he’s just not going to be happy about it.

He steps into the place, and looks around to find the bar which is just around the corner. The room is fairly dark, and the ambiance is both excessive and dim, so it looks like he’s just entered the bottom of a cave. The carpet is out of place because it doesn’t make sense to use nice carpeting in a restaurant of all places, where people can spill stuff. Frank just sighs, and walks around the turn to see a long counter that stretches to the other wall. There’s four people at the bar, two women, an older looking fellow, and a guy that matches Brendon’s description of Patrick.

Frank cringes because he’s wearing a fedora, though he doesn’t judge him quite yet. He’s looking around the room, as if searching for someone specific. Frank walks nearer to him, where he’s sitting at the other end of the bar which is the furthest and most inconvenient place to get to from where Frank is. When he gets closer, Patrick’s eyes fall on him and he eases up a bit, because he apparently didn’t like sitting alone or something.

“Frank?”

“That would be my name,” Frank says, “You’re Patrick then.”

He nods, and Frank grins, “Brendon told me that if I called you Pattycakes I’d see just how hard a short guy can kick you in the balls.”

Patrick shrugs and the nod suggests that it’s completely factual.

“But then I told him that I am a short guy, I know precisely how hard I can kick,” Frank finishes, and sits on the stool next to Patrick.

“That’s why I sit so much, because it’s harder to tell,” Patrick says.

Frank snickers, “well then I’ll do the same. Though I think people will notice that our feet dangle.”

Patrick looks down and nods, “most people aren’t observant enough.”

“I think this is the first conversation I’ve had with someone who was shorter than me,” Frank says. Patrick seems to feel that two inches isn’t enough to be categorically different, but Frank just thinks he’s being overly defensive. Frank wants to try to demonstrate how big a difference two inches can make in phallic exemplification, but they’ve only just met so he decides he’d better not.

“Have you ever held a conversation without sarcasm?” Patrick asks.

“It’s been years since I last did, though I guess it’s possible if I put my mind to it,” Frank replies. “Did Brendon describe me as a sarcastic, sadistic asshole, because that seems to be the introduction he gives to everyone? Mind you, I am not a sadist, I just find it amusing to watch people blush.”

“I think his words were actually ‘ostentatious, but there’s some sort of soul in there if you dig really deep.’”

“That sounds about right. Though you aren’t going to dig deep enough with a shovel, you’ll need a bulldozer.”

Overall, after having a conversation with the guy for ten minutes, Frank decides no. Patrick is nice and all, but he’s not Frank’s type. He’s sweet, but he’d be better suited with a nicer guy, and Frank isn’t exactly that guy. He’d gladly point you in the direction of that nicer guy, but he’d run away from the responsibility of being that nicer guy.

“I am a firm believer in the fallibility of love at first sight, and would thus like to say that there’s definitely no hint of such a thing between us, Patrick. Do I consent that it is possible? I suppose it may be, though I would favor the word lust over love, and I more than believe in lust upon minimal inspection. There may be some of that here, but to say it’s anything more would be a lie to both you and me. I’m a strong purveyor of honesty though, and I don’t think I have enough of an emotional connection with you to even consider a repeat of this evening. I hope that doesn’t offend you, because, honestly you are such a nice, sweet person. The problem is in the fact that I don’t really like sweet, I like passionate, and I’m not saying you can’t be the latter, but I know one thing for sure is that I don’t believe we have a connection. I think you’re really great though, don’t get me wrong, but I am not the kind of guy you would be well-suited for,” Frank says longwindedly.

“That’s a lot of words to cram into telling me you’re not attracted to me,” Patrick says, but he doesn’t look particularly upset by the pronouncement.

“I’ve been reading up on the art of being sesquipedalian, because my neighbors are the most arrogant, vapid people I’ve ever met. They only seem to hear you if you use big words.”

“That sounds awful, do they bother you?”

“Day and night, and night and day. I’m getting so close to blowing their house up you have no idea. The danger is in the fact that my house might catch fire too, and I don’t really want that, you know? Like, that sounds inconvenient.”

“What did you mean a minute ago about lust? It’s hard to follow when you word things so volubly.”

“Ah, that I don’t really agree with the mental idea of love at first sight, but I have no trouble in vouching for lust at first sight. You’re not bad looking yourself, Patrick.”

“So I’m under that heading then? Should I feel disrespected?”

“What? Why would you be disrespected? I called you good-looking.”

Patrick shrugs, “Fair enough.”

“So you wanna get out of here?”

~*~*~*~

“So I’m guessing you two-”

“That is none of your concern, dearest Brendon, but if you’re curious, then yes we did,” Frank replies, grinning out the window. It’s far too early to be awake, considering when he knocked out last night, but it’s too late to turn back now. “Patrick isn’t for me though, man. He’s good looking and such, but I have to say that you can do better. He’s far too nice, I don’t like nice. Find me someone a little ruder. Not too rude, mind, but I don’t want a guy that’s going to treat me like a lady. If you hadn’t noticed, I ain’t no lady.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” Brendon replies with condemnation.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious, now try again. Preferably it’ll be a weekend so I can-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. I will try my best, though I don’t know as many jackasses as you do.”

“Are you saying I’m a jackass?” Frank asks.

“You are a fucking magnet for douchebags, Frank,” Brendon replies.

“Ah well then I’m not a douchebag myself. I can’t be! You took eighth grade science, Brendon, you know as well as I do that a magnet only attracts opposites.”

“It’s not a perfect metaphor.”

“Yeah, whatever. You know what to do, now get on it,” Frank orders, and Brendon groans.

“You seem to think I have a cesspool of guys at my beck and call, when I do have to do a little digging for this.”

“Yeah whatever. Do your thing. Friend of a friend or whatever, I don’t care. I just want you to give up soon so that I can get rid of those fucking pests.”

“They’re not flies or something, Frank!”

“Says you,” Frank replies. The comparison of a fly to his neighbors is quite extraordinary though. Both hang about when you don’t want them around, and both are filled with utter shit.

“Yeah whatever, I’ll call you with updates,” Brendon answers, and the phone hangs up a second later.

Frank sighs and collapses onto his couch, ready to watch meaningless weekend shows, when he’s interrupted by the doorbell. His eyes roll so far up into his skull, you’d think he was cast in the next Exorcist film.