After precisely 33 minutes of the most trying first date she had ever endured, Jennifer stood up. “Excuse me. I have to visit the restroom.”

Bob, like the gentleman he considered himself to be, also rose from his bar stool. “Sure,” he said. “Everyone has to pee.” He giggled at his own funniness. “Just kidding. It’s right down that hall toward the back door. Can’t miss it. Only door on the left. Says ‘Ladies’ on the door. Or ‘Women.’ Maybe even ‘Gals’. I’m not sure. I never go there.” Bob giggled again.

“I’m sure I’ll find it,” Jennifer muttered, rolling her eyes and grabbing her purse.

“Take your time,” he told her out. “I’ll be right here when you come back. Unless another woman tries to pick me up, of course.” He laughed and pointed to the hallway. “That way.”

He was very pleased with how the date had gone so far, confident that he’d scored major points. Although Jennifer had looked around the room repeatedly while Bob shared everything going on at work, he was sure she was impressed with his details and ability to carry a conversation, albeit one-sided. At times she crossed her arms, slumped her shoulders, stared at him awestruck, or lowered her head and shook it slowly, which Bob took to mean she couldn’t believe how incredibly interesting he was. Every nine or ten minutes he stopped talking, but Jennifer said nothing until Bob asked her, “Pretty cool, don’t you think?” Then she said only what?, as in What-the-hell-are-you-talking-about?, as if she hadn’t heard a word. Right before she excused herself, she had begun to twirl her thumbs. During her absence, Bob cued up photos of his gold fish he knew she would love. Yes, indeed, the date was going better than he could have hoped for.

Forty minutes passed, and Jennifer had not returned. Bob lit a cigarette.

The bartender politely warned him. “Sorry, Sir,” she said. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Look around. Do you see anyone else smoking?”

“You should put up a sign,” he mumbled and tossed his cigarette on the floor.

Finally growing concerned, Bob asked the bartender to check the ladies’ room

“There was no one in there,” she said when she returned. “But the back door was open.”

“She probably had an emergency,” Bob said. “When she comes back, please give her this.” He scribbled his phone number on a napkin.

He exited the bar leaving no tip nor seeing the bartender throw the napkin in the trash, walked to the head of a long line of people waiting for taxis, and got in one that had just pulled up. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Bob looked back at the angry faces and middle fingers. “Sheesh,” he said. “What’s their problem?”

Crumpling the eviction notice on his apartment door, Bob entered to find his gold fish floating belly-up in their bowl. “What happened to you?” he asked, forgetting their lips-to-glass position all week.

He checked his voicemail. One was from his landlord, which he deleted without listening. “I wonder what she wants,” he mumbled. There was nothing from Jennifer. But he knew where she worked.

The office receptionist smiled and told Bob please take seat while she went for Doctor Jennifer. After a very, very long time, the receptionist returned.

“Doctor Jennifer says she’s not available now.”

Bob chuckled. “Don’t tell me she still in the ladies’ room.” He giggled.

The receptionist sat down and opened a bottom drawer, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s a joke, you see,” Bob explained. “We were on a date last night and it was going well, but Jennifer had an emergency and had to go to the ladies’ room. She was probably menstruating.” He grin proudly at his sensitivity for women. “I meant, wouldn’t it be funny is she’s still in there?”

The receptionist looked at him.

“Are you serious? Or just an idiot?”

Bob glanced down at the nameplate on the desk: Carine Wuthers.

“I think Jennifer really likes me, Miss Wuthers. And I want to take her out again,” Bob replied. “That’s all.”

Carine ignored him.

“Wuthers?” Bob continued. “You’re named after a book, right? Wuthering Heights?”

No comment.

He took a seat. “Please, let Jennifer know I’m out here waiting.”

After 35 minutes Carine still hadn’t left her desk. Instead, she glared at him, now and then shaking her head in astonishment.

Bob lit a cigarette, and Carine stopped glaring.

“Excuse me, Sir. Do you know this is a doctor’s office?”

Bob approached her desk. “You look upset, Miss Wuthers. Would you like to see pictures of my gold fish?”

Jennifer suddenly appeared around a corner in her white coat with files in hand and saw Bob standing in front of the receptionists desk.

“Oh my god! You’re still here?”

Bob grinned. “Hi, Jennz. I bet you’re glad to see me.”

“I tried to get him to leave, Jennifer,” broke in Carine. “But he won’t take a hint.”

“Please follow me,” Jennifer told Bob sternly. Halfway to her office, she turned on him. “And put out that damn cigarette!”

“Not here either?” he tittered. “Sheesh.”

Jennifer took her seat behind her desk, and Bob started to take another chair.

“No need to sit down, Bob. This won’t take long.”

Bob sat down anyway.

“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy and there is someone for you. But she’s not me.”

“Incredible,” Bob replied. “How do you know?”

“Because last night with you I spent one of the most boring half-hours of my life. When I got home, I cried.”

“I understand. I have that effect on women. But why didn’t you call me?”

Jennifer couldn’t believe what he said. But she answered. “You are pathetically self-centered. All you talk about is yourself. And frankly, Bob, I just don’t care.”

“Okay. Maybe the shoptalk was too much. Next time, what if I tell you about my college career?”

“There will be no next time, Bob. Goodbye. Please take a hint and go away.”

Momentarily confused, Bob stood. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow to see if you’ve changed your mind.”

On the way home from Jennifer’s office, Bob was soaked in the torrential rain. He’d ignored the weather report and carried no umbrella. When he arrived at his front door, he found all his furniture in the hallway and his apartment door fitted with a new lock.