Mr. Unavailable #62: The SEAL Team 6 of Dating

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 1989-1990, senior year of high school, the suburbs of Buffalo.

Vital Stats: 5’9”ish. 17. Bodily, I remember him being fairly evenly proportioned, although my best friend, who didn’t even go to my school, often remarked on the oversized nature of his head. Aesthetic: Generally, he was a clean-cut suburban public school boy. Demeanor: I'll save my comments for the end.

What Happened: I had a massive crush on #62 starting in September of our senior year. I also possessed a great deal of patience (which, from another angle, could be seen as a great deal of tolerance for going unnoticed), so when Sadie Hawkins rolled around nearly six months into the school year, I had had plenty of time to go all SEAL Team 6 on my asking strategy.

Strategy in Action: One day after social studies, we were walking out and I casually veered toward him and walked in step. Nearing the yearbook room, I segued from talking about yearbook, for which he was writing a story, to talking about a certain dance that was coming up.

“I wanted to ask if maybe you might want to go to Sadie Hawkins with me?” I cleverly asked as if I was asking permission to ask him to the dance not now but, rather, at a future, unspecified date.

There was only silence. And then he broke into the kind of pained smile that comes with an unwelcome surprise and stuttered, “O-o-o-okay.” But the message was clear.

I should probably mention that my high school was built in the early 1970s and, in an effort to promote a communal atmosphere and heightened concentration, had no walls. Only low-ish bookshelves, tallish cabinets and thin-ish partitions separated one classroom from the next.

That meant that as we approached the yearbook “room,” my friends saw everything.

After #62 walked away, three of them gave me the outside perspective. “Well, you looked really, really nervous and he was bright red and looked shocked, like you’d just told him something horrible had just happened.” We were in yearbook, after all, so we were into detail. They would have gone on, but they saw me shrink at what they'd said.

“But he said, yes, right?” one of them asked, trying to give things some positive spin. “So that’s great, Tar.”

I didn’t allow myself to get excited about the date. Instead, I threw myself into finding the perfect dress. I imagined an off-the-shoulder affair and pictured a 1990 version of the dress from Disney’s "Sleeping Beauty." But, after a trip to the sprawling, low-slung cement compound that was the Eastern Hills Mall, I wound up with a blue-and-white floral-patterned Diane Chambers frock with a neckline that was, indeed, at the neckline.

The actual dance was in the school cafeteria. I don't remember how we got there or what it was like. I vaguely recall perking up while dancing to "Bizarre Love Triangle"—New Order was my salvation then, as it sometimes is still now—but, except for the staged photo under the heart-shaped trellis that captured the supreme awkwardness of it all, the rest is thankfully lost to the recesses of my mind.

Signs of Hope: When he said yes.

Red Flags: His mouth said yes, but everything else said no.

Turning Point: When he said yes. It was all down hill from there.

Diagnosis: For him: He might have been gay. Now wait, I’m not just saying that because he wasn’t at all interested in me. Seriously. He had sort of a funny, nasally voice and always took his friend Stephanie as his date to every dance—except, of course, Sadie Hawkins 1990. For that, he was all mine.
For me: You have to admit I had balls. I knew what I wanted—him—and after six months of SEAL Team 6-level preparedness, I got him.