The Red Truck Clue

I learned a long time ago that blind date meetings require some sort of physical cue.

My grandmother once tried to set me up with a grandson of a friend of hers. He wanted a picture before he would agree to come across town from Wests Side to East Side to meet me.

In 1988, that meant having a camera, taking a photo, having a picture made, putting it in an envelope, sending the envelope from NYC to Florida. I’m not sure what would have happened to the picture after that – maybe a hand-off to the other Grandma and a re-mail back to NYC?

I thought that was ridiculous, and said so. If he wanted to meet, we would – outside of the Museum of Modern Art on an evening I had an invitation to attend an opening, plus one. Height and brown hair was pretty much all I had to go on.

In a light drizzle, pressed up against the building under the tiniest of awnings, I waited. Because, I was early, of course.

A man in a smart trench with matching umbrella slid into the spot next to me and smiled. “Are you Rob,” I asked. “No,” he replied. “Sorry,” I said, “… blind date.” He laughed and said, “Me, too.” His date showed up, mine did not.

A few minutes more, and it was time to give up. Yeah, I was annoyed, so as I pulled open the entry door, and a guy is wet, disheveled tweed ran up and asked me if I was Jodi, I might have looked over my glasses and said, “Yeah,’” like are-you-seriously-showing-up-now?

As far as the rest of the evening, let’s just say I enjoyed the event, the hors devours, the beverages and the art, and leave it at that.

All of this reminiscing is just a lead-in for the fact that it’s very nice to be able to say I’ve actually learned from my experiences.

We needed recognizable tangibles.

Jeff’s was a red truck.

Mine was a home-made fabric flower pin.

Quote for the Week:

Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links: 

Girls Like Guys Who Drive Trucks:

Trucks & Stars:

F-150 Generations:

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