A Little Perspective From Tom Church

Class Date Synopsis

Here it is! The class date! But first-

DEAR ZACK. NO CALLING ERIN DEAR FROM NOW ON.

-THOM.

(Hahahaha, c’mon! And don’t call it creeping on our blog, Tom, that’s driving away viewers. WE LOVE ZACK (Dwight).

-Erin)

[NOTE TO ALL: Loving all of our viewers doesn’t give them permission to call us “dears.”]

Now that that’s over and done with, (Zack creeps on our blog, I like to joke and say that it’s not loyalty, it’s just weird. [DWIGHT]) I can tell you all about:

*CLASS DATE*

(The class date! The excursion of epic proportions!

I originally came up with this idea a while ago. Tom and I have been writing a journal called: How to be Classy, a Guide. And this was my idea of putting our skills to the test. )

And we did put them to the test. I’ll summarize:

We turned our bags into classy dining survival kits: Tablecloth, candles, electric tealights, jelly beans, silverware, plates, fancy paper napkins, a patterned dishcloth-placemat, and LOBSTER CRACKERS (not food. Lobster crackers are like Nutcrackers for lobster and crab claws).

(We also dressed up very classy. Tom looked dashing in dress shirt, tie, khakis… I wore a long black gown and gloves and pearls. It was like going to prom. Without any sign of prom)

We showed up and went in, and when the cashier (a bashful looking kid who looked maybe a year or two older than us) asked us what we wanted, I asked if they served lobster.

“No.”

“Oh… (we both stare sadly at our at-the-ready lobster crackers) sorry, we’re from Maine…”

The guy sort of believed us, I guess. I couldn’t really tell. But he said “Whaddya want instead?” I asked him for a number ten, short and simple. 10 Chicken McNuggets, which are kind of like mini-abominations. Erin asked for “une hamburger avec des frites,” which I translated for the guy: “A burger with fries.” The guy was like, “A meal?” “SURE.”

(Avec un petite poulet et la salade?

When we got back to the table, we unwrapped the food and put it on the fine china and poured our Dr. Pepper into the cups we brought. I took the bun off my burger and was HORRIFIED to see that the patty…

Well, the patty was in pieces.

It was sort of like someone took ground beef, tried to make a patty, and failed miserably.

IT WAS GROSS.)

So we went back to our table; we’d already set everything up.

(Let me point out here that we had lit a candle. Nothing big, just a little thing, but the point is: THERE WAS FIRE. And upon looking around, we discovered that there was also NO FIRE ALARMS OR SPRINKLERS ANYWHERE. We could have caused total destruction of the McDonald’s and nothing would have actually tried to stop it.)

 The janitor people were staring in disbelief at what we’d done. I thought to myself “Maybe they think I’m taking here on a nice first date, and it’s just not the place to go.” If they were thinking that, they were, fortunately for me, mistaken. We sat down, doing our best to openly ignore peoples’ stares and comments. But quietly, we smiled to ourselves and whispered things like “This is crazy!” to each other.

(If this was our first date…

oh dear.

Sigh. [Tom says: It woulda still been pretty hilarious.])

People approached us, asked us what was up. The first was some lady on her way to the ladies’ room. “Is your guys’ prom tonight?” she asked.

“No-” “YES.” Erin, then me.

(The poor woman stared at us dumbfounded: “Yes…no?” I sort of glared at Tom and he explained:)

I explained, “There’s a pre-prom-party tonight, at some friends’ house, which we’re going to. And then tomorrow is the actual thing.”

“Oh!” she said. “How pleasant.” (CLASS)  Then we had her take a picture of us.

A McDonald’s worker tried taking a picture but her battery was too low to turn her camera on. She called us “totally cute,” and then walked back through the door into the kitchen. People stared at us through the little window.

(Totally cute. We got that A LOT from everyone. “Oh, are you two dating?! THAT’S SO CUTE. I WISH MY BOYFRIEND WOULD DO THAT FOR ME.”

Me: Back off, bitches.

Also, with the staring.

Tom went INTO THE BATHROOM to take pictures, and document the experience fully. No, not of him going to the bathroom. Just of the sterile sinks and trashy trashcans… while he was gone, I was busy cutting up my burger with a knife. Not like it needed to be cut up, since it was falling apart anyway. But when I looked up, there was a guy at the counter TAKING A PICTURE OF ME. Just all chill: Snap, save, walk away. Double-you tee eff?)

We wrote a little in A Technicolour Glasses Party, the second installment in a series about two teenagers in different mental hospitals that write to each other through letters. It’s pretty cool, and we both really like it. And the two characters’ve just met at a zoo in Washington, D.C.

(IT’S LEGIT. When we finish writing it, maybe we’ll share it with other people.

Maybe not. We’re kind of selfish about sharing out thoughts. It’s not like we write a blog or anything.)

It’s pretty cool. Anyways, while we passed that back and forth, we cut up hamburgers and chicken nuggets with forks and knives, like classy people. I didn’t touch a fry with my hands the entire night. And neither did Erin; we were both very, very careful. She spilled her fries, which was hilarious, and a bunch fell on the floor. A lady came by to clean them up.

(In classic small-town dialect, she said: “Move a bit so I can sweep up the fries.” But it sounded like:

Muhnuhnuhnuh.

Me: What?! … OH! THE FRIES. The… fries…)

We took a break and went to the playplace. The playplace has been, and always will be, my favorite part about McDonald’s (what else would it be, the food? Ronald McDonald?) We sat down in there, I snapped a picture of her, and then-

“GEDDOUT.”

(It was sort of a growl:

GERRRDOWOUTTTTTTTTT.)

We turned to see a tall, lean man in a green- and white-striped shirt. He towered over us. He pretended to not have said anything to us, it seemed like, because he said “You’re too big to play.”

(Just like that. Too big to play.)

“We know,” began Erin.

“Unless you’re just taking pictures…”

“Yeah!” said Erin.

“Well, you can’t play.” He turned and walked out.

He wasn’t an employee, he was just some guy.

(We decided on calling him a duty-er. Like he was performing his civil duty by ruining out happiness.)

After taking pictures with some staff members and stuff, and a bug that was crawling on the windows, we packed up and left.

(We got so many stares and questions. And we changed our story every time. After the PROM story, we had:

This was all we could afford.

It’s a psychology project.

This is a hidden camera TV show. Ashton Kucher is waiting around the corner right now, actually.)

 It turned out that a squad car we’d seen belonged to the tall guy that ruined our fun (I really wanted to play in the playplace. I’m not lying.). We cursed at him, but he couldn’t hear us through the windows. He was messing around on a laptop. At one point, when we were in McDonald’s, the tall guy walked into the bathroom. Erin was like, “You should go in there with him (which’d be sketchy, since I’d already been in once that night to take pictures. Erin took pictures of the ladies’ room) and he’d be like ‘You’re too BIG to piss.‘ ”

We died.

-Thom (and Erin, who wrote in italics and parentheses)

Aestheism not astheism.

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Comments on: "Class Date Synopsis" (1)

  1. Learn from this, grasshoppers.
    Learn well.
    XOXO ERIN

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