Could you please tell me what you think of my short story? its cheesy and naff?

April 11th, 2010

There are butterflies in my stomach.
Part of me wants to get up and walk out of the door and forget this ever happened. But the other part of me wants to stick it out. Surely there’s no harm in it? People go on blind dates all the time. But I am not one of those people. Blind dates are for people who are so hopeless in matters of the heart, that are lost causes who need friends and families to intervene. I am not one those lost causes.
‘Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip!’, I muttered to myself as I cast a quick casual look at the door. It’s 4.37pm on a Saturday afternoon and here I am waiting at what must be world’s most greasiest, and most unhygienic café. Why would you willilingly arrange to meet a stranger here? Clearly my blind date needs to be introduced to finer eateries. That is if I stick around that long. The large wall mounted clock tells me that he is 15 minutes late. I think. It’s hard to see the numbers under all the grime and dust. Actually, I can’t see the second hand moving. I can feel the greasiness and the smell of eggs combined with stale smoke settling into my skin and seeping into my the dress I bought specifically for this now-show of a blind date. Something that says, ‘ I am highly successful and this is a pity date. And I’m also damn hot.’ So far the only eyes that have clocked my 20% off midnight blue dress are the ageing waitress with the yellow finger tips and the man in the denim overall. Who is looking at me. Again. Yet another reason why I need to get the hell out of this place.
It’s time for a plan, and seeing as plans are what I do best, I plan. I’ll wait five more minutes and if he doesn’t show then I am leaving. His loss. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Actually, come to think of it, it might be my loss. He might be 6’2”, baby blues with a dazzling smile and dimples. Actually, make that 10mins.
My heart lurches again as the door swings open. I chose a table directly opposite the door at the other end of the room. If my date has a beer belly, excessive jewellery or leather pants then atleast I’ll have the 30 seconds or so it takes to walk from the door to my table to mentally prepare myself. I let out a breath that I didn’t even realise I was holding when the white haired man in a cardigan took up a stool at the counter. My relief was short-lived as a dark shadow cut off all remaining thoughts about the possibility of a granddad aged blind date. Surely my co-workers weren’t that cruel?
‘Hon, are you SURE I can’t get you anything? Maybe cheese on toast?’, asked the waitress whose name tag read Charlene.
I don’t deserve this.
“Oh, no, no, that’s ok. I’m just waiting for someone. He’ll be here soon though,” And just for extra measure I flashed her a smile that didn’t quiet reach my eyes.
‘Alrighty then’, said Charlene. ‘You let me know whenever your ready and Charlene’ll be here’, she said as she walked back near the counter to serve the white haired man with a look of pity in her eyes. Who could blame here? How many times did I see pretty girls restlessly checking their phones, glancing at every guy who set foot in place just in case. Just in case it was him. And it never was. It was time to leave. I can’t believe I fell for this ‘We-know-just-the-guy-for-your, he’s-perfect, and-we’re-so-concerned’ bullshit. I laid out a £5 note for the glass of water Charlene had bought me and my eyes began to blur. I’m successful, I have a good paying job, I’m not hideous, I have friends, family, all people who love me. Then why wasn’t that enough. I don’t need a man to feel validated, and I definitely don’t have to sit around to wait for some jumped up Joe Six-pack who still obviously has trouble telling time. As I get up, I lose balance on my too high heels and stumble backwards into the chair. Burning with humiliation and feeling all eyes on me, I head towards the door with as much grace as someone like me can manage. In case your wondering, it’s not a whole lot. It’s already dark outside and the cold winter air hits me with full force. I know that the frost that looks like silver glitter strewn across the ground will be a b*tch to drive in. Not 5 seconds outside and I can already feel the tips of my ears and nose tingling with the cold. Breathing out a warm sigh, I hitch my bag on my shoulder and begin to set off but don’t get too far. The moment my too high and way too inappropriate for this weather heel touches the ground I’m propelled forwards.
Face, I’d like you say hello to your new best friend – the kerb.
I’ve always found it funny that whenever disaster strikes, not matter how big or small, time slows down and thoughts speed up. Why is that just as that glass of red wine is hurtling towards the floor that your brain is working overtime and useless thoughts fill your head. ‘ Ohh that’s going to stain! Actually, I can catch it if I’m fast…Ah, too late now! I need to shave my legs tonight.’
As my face was hurtling towards the kerb for a holy re
Maddie – kerb/curb – i guess that a US/UK thing, right? 😛 haha, but seriously, all taken aboard! if i ever do need a reader i’ll send more your way!

One Response to “Could you please tell me what you think of my short story? its cheesy and naff?”

  1. Maddy says:

    The story is interesting, but while our narrator was waiting all that time with the monologue, it was disappointing that no one showed up. Rather anticlimactic. But maybe the rest of the story justifies this?

    To become a great writer, you must take my criticism as well. There are a few spelling errors here or there such as:
    willilingly -> willingly
    kerb -> curb.
    and any #’s in written work should be written (unless it’s a research report with data) in full form. Such as 5 minutes into “five minutes”

    However, I enjoyed reading this – so if you edit your work, I’ll give it a twice over if you need a reader.

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