Blind date #7: Rusty
Rusty built grain silos in the Central California Valley. He worked in the East Bay, but happily commuted ninety minutes one way to work because he could listen to his Harry Potter books on tape. He was really riveted by the second installment and spent about ten minutes of our date acting it out for me, voices and all. I do appreciate a story teller with a flair for the avant-garde, as long as he isn’t dramatically challenged or truly unfunny. Near the end he used his wine glass as a prop a few too many times for my taste, but overall he passed, if only marginally.
Rusty and I happened to be sitting at the center table of the King’s Head Pub & Restaurant in downtown Campbell enjoying a Kapsreiter Pilsner. This was a very cool place, and sometimes I stood on the stage here, singing with the band from my current group-home experience. I share with my family that I was an official fill-in member of the Apollo Creeds, a band whose lead singer’s style was reminiscent of Janis Joplin. The band was playing in our basement one night, and I picked up a tambourine and joined right in. During the next song I danced around the room with my finger castanets ringing like crazy. By the third, I was wailing into the microphone like nobody’s business. I was in!
I really enjoyed Rusty. He changed the conversation from Harry Potter to his matchbook collection. I leaned forward with great interest because this was just the type of nerdy stuff I savor.
“Is it me," I asked, "or have you noticed that not many restaurants give out matches like they did back in the day?"
He nodded and shrieks, "Totally! There used to be a garden of matches near the entrance of every dining establishment and you could snatch as many as you desired. I used to collect matches from everyplace I went."
I told him that even though smoking was banned from restaurants, I still wanted matches. I liked free stuff. He then asked if I’d like another ‘free’ drink. Clever, he was. With a straight face, Rusty ordered a Rusty Nail. He was killing me! He shared with me that his matchbook collection spanned forty years, and he loved the art on the packaging. I asked if he displayed them in a giant brandy snifter on his coffee table, and he told me that I was stuck in the Seventies. He professed the new method of matchbook display was to group them by subject and slip them into plastic sleeves in special binders, or in shadowboxes.
He said his parents’ joke was that he was ‘a twig on the matchbook branch of the family tree.’ His father and uncles had shopping bags full of matchbooks in their closets to prove that they were loony enough to be committed. I suddenly wanted to meet them.
I asked Rusty, "Aren’t they worried about the dangers of fire? Or spontaneous combustion?" And that’s where he zinged me with his close-cover-before-striking joke.
Rusty gave me some things to think about. He had an impressive job, a very interesting background, and definitely an upbeat personality, but his favorite books, movies, and philosophy all come from Harry Potter. He also quite frankly said that he had the maturity of a 12-year-old, and that his last girlfriend was somewhere in his junior high days. I had to pass. And did I mentiojn he came to the date dressed in character as a sorcerer?