Confessions of an Ugly Girl (6 page)

My boss Rich cleared his throat to get our attention and introduce Sam: “I’d like you to meet the newest member of the Information Technology department, Samuel Webber. He’s got a lot of experience with computer security and we hired him away from a rival company so that he could help us out with some of the issues we’ve been having. So please give him your full attention.”

Everyone looked at Sam. I bet anything that everyone was wondering why he was in a wheelchair and thinking about how weird it was, much more than they cared about computer security. Nobody cared about computer security.

“Please, everyone, call me Sam,” he said. When he smiled at us, I felt a fluttering in my chest. God, he looked good in that suit. “And I’m sure I’ll get to know the rest of you as you call the Helpdesk for your various computer issues. But today we really have to get down to business about security. This is a big deal.” He cleared his throat. “First thing is passwords. I don’t have access to any of your passwords, but this morning, I managed to hack into the files of nearly a quarter of the people in this department by just trying five of the same passwords. The word ‘password’ is
not
a secure password, people. And for the love of God, don’t make your password ‘love’ or ‘God.’ From now on, all passwords have to be at least seven characters, made up of letters and numbers.”

Everyone in the room looked horrified. “How are we supposed to remember our password?” someone asked.

“Well,” Sam said, “it turns out the human brain is capable of remembering seven characters, like a phone number, fairly easily. And I can tell this is a smart group. So I think you’ll be able to do it.”

Sam talked for almost an hour, giving some examples of computer security breaches at this company (some really mind-boggling), and talked about the changes that were going to be implemented. I was actually really impressed with Sam. He seemed to be a really smart guy. I was also impressed at how he managed to field all the stupid questions everyone kept asking him.

“You can’t give your password out to anyone,” Sam said. “Not your boss, not your coworkers, not your grandmother, nobody.”

“What if it’s an emergency?” Sheila, this pretty but ditzy blonde, asked. “Like if there’s a fire?”

“A fire?” Sam stared at her. “If there’s a fire, you should probably move toward the exits. So no, you should not give your password out if there’s a fire.”

The talk ended and I found myself walking over to Sam. He was talking to Rich so I waited. Rich was thanking him for the talk, and then added, “If there’s anything you need help with, like any accommodations you need, just let me know. I’ll help you out. I’m all about equal rights… or equal opportunities… you know, all that.”

Sam just shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll need anything,” he said tightly.

“Well, you let me know,” Rich said, and clapped him on the shoulder.

Sam seemed sort of irritated as Rich walked away. But his face relaxed when he saw me standing there. He actually seemed really pleased.

“That was a really helpful talk,” I said. I meant it.

“Gets more fun every time I do it,” Sam said. He slipped his thumb into the neck of his tie to loosen it slightly as he smiled up at me. “So are you caught up with your work yet? Can I take you to lunch?”

“Okay,” I found myself saying.

Sam paused a second, clearly surprised. Then he recovered. “No, wait, it’s too late. You waited too long. The lunch offer’s no good anymore.”

My stomach sunk. Damn, I knew I had rejected him too many times. “Oh…”

He grinned up at me. “Now it has to be dinner.”

My shoulders sagged with relief. It wasn’t too late after all. “Oh, um… okay.”

Now he was full-on beaming at me. “Awesome,” Sam said. “I’m busy tonight, but how about tomorrow night? Seven o’clock? I can pick you up.”

“That sounds good.”

We both stood there for an awkward minute. Finally, Sam said, “You don’t have to give me your address. Since I work in IT, I can just hack into the computer system and get it.”

“Oh…”

“I’m just kidding. I need your address. That is, unless your password is ‘password.’”

I found a slip of paper and wrote down my address for him. My hand was actually shaking as I handed him the paper. I’d never felt so nervous about a date before. I was really relieved when he finally left.

When I was walking back to my desk, this guy named Tim who works a few cubicles down from me grabbed my arm. When I first met Tim, I had a mild crush on him, but I soon discovered he was completely full of himself. Either way, he was really out of my league. “Hey, Millie,” Tim said to me. “Did that guy in the wheelchair just
ask you out
?”

It was none of his business but I shrugged and mumbled, “Yeah. Sort of.”

“Wow,” Tim said.

Wow? What did that mean? Did that mean he was surprised I’d say yes to a guy in a wheelchair? Or that he was surprised a disabled guy would have the
chutzpah
to ask a girl out? Or that he was surprised that
anyone
would ask
me
out?

None of those options were very flattering. I tried not to obsess over it.

July 23:

My day didn’t start out well. In the parking lot at work, I was passing a construction area and a worker yelled out something about my having too much junk in the trunk. I always hear women complain about getting catcalls or whatever from construction workers—I must be the only woman in the world who gets
insulted
by the construction workers. What’s the point of telling me I have junk in the trunk? I know it.

I’d been thinking I looked okay before that. I mean, Sam seemed so interested in me, it was helping my self-esteem. I thought maybe I was getting more attractive with age or something like that. Clearly not though. Sam must just be visually impaired.

Actually, I felt like maybe the reason Sam wanted to go out with me was that I
wasn’t
so attractive. Considering the guy is in a wheelchair, his standards must be pretty low. I’m sure when he sees a really pretty girl, he knows he has no chance, just like I know I have no chance with a very good-looking guy. Somebody like me is probably his only chance for a relationship.

Even so, my goal was to avoid seeing Sam all day. I didn’t want him to see me before the date and suddenly change his mind.

When I got to work, a text popped up on my phone from Sam:

I’ll be at your place at 7. Get ready for the night of your life, babe.

I texted him back:
I thought this was supposed to be platonic?

His reply:
I lied. Is that a problem?

Not only was it not a problem, but I’d been scheming the entire day to figure out a way to tell him that I didn’t want our night out to be platonic. I didn’t tell him that though. Instead, I just texted him back a simple:
No, not a problem.

I even ate lunch at my desk so that I wouldn’t accidentally run into Sam. I took minimal bathroom breaks. I nearly peed in my pants at one point, but it paid off because I managed to make it home without seeing him once.

At seven o’clock on the dot, I heard a honk outside my window. I peeked outside and saw Sam sitting in his wheelchair outside his car, peering up at the house. I wondered why he didn’t come to the front door and knock.

By the time I got out the front door, I saw that Martha was already standing by Sam’s car in her nightgown and bare feet, holding a broom in her hand. I could tell she was berating him. “What’s wrong with you honking your horn like that!” she snapped at him. “Do you want to wake up the whole neighborhood?”

“I’m really sorry, but…” Sam looked down at his watch. “Um, isn’t it only seven o’clock?”

“So?” Martha retorted.

Sam looked really relieved when he saw me. He started wheeling towards me, which was a dire mistake because his wheels ended up going into the grass. Martha practically screamed and swiped at one of his wheels with her broom.

“What’s
wrong
with you?” she cried. “Get off my grass!”

“I’m really sorry,” Sam said again, grabbing his wheels and backing up so quickly that he smashed right into his car.

Martha eyed me in my black pencil skirt and navy blue blouse (I still looked like I was going to a funeral) and she frowned. “I hope you’re not staying out too late,” she said to me.

“I won’t,” I promised.

Martha gave Sam the stink eye, then marched back into the house. Sam looked really rattled. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I wanted to come to your door but you’ve got all those stairs.”

He gestured in the direction of the front door, which has got about six steps to get inside. Honestly, it never even occurred to me. I had a feeling that my apartment on the second floor was going to pose an even bigger problem.   

“It’s not a big deal,” I assured him.

He looked anxiously back at the house. “Was that your mother?”

I shook my head. “She’s my landlady.”

Sam smiled crookedly. “I have to tell you, my landlady doesn’t get much say on how late I get to stay out on dates.”

I returned the smile. “Lucky you.”

Sam asked me to give him a minute to get back in the car before I came inside. He transferred into the driver seat first, then popped the wheels off his chair. Then he threw all the pieces in the backseat. I tried not to stare at him as he did it. I had been curious how he got in and out of the car, but it seemed really wrong to watch.

“Sorry to make you wait,” he told me. “I didn’t want to accidentally bash you in the head with one of my wheels.”

I appreciated that.

Sam’s car was nothing fancy on the outside, but on the inside, it was rigged up with hand controls. I had been wondering how he was able to drive. Honestly, I was a tiny bit worried about my life being in the hands of a guy who couldn’t move his hands. I was relieved when he didn’t drive too fast.

“You want some music?” he asked me. “I’ve got a CD in.”

“Sure,” I said.

“This is a really important moment in our relationship.” His voice became very serious. “If our music taste isn’t compatible, we should just end the date right now. Really, if one person likes country and the other likes rock and roll, that just won’t work. What kind of music do you like, Millie?”

“Mostly oldies,” I said. “Like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones.”

“Well, let’s see,” Sam said. He pressed a button to turn on the music and the sounds of the Beatles’
Rubber Soul
blasted on the speakers.

“Oh my God!” I gasped. “
Rubber Soul
is my absolute favorite album ever!”

“You’re kidding. Wow, I guess it’s meant to be, huh?”

As I leaned back in my seat, listening to the music, a thought occurred to me. This was an awful coincidence. “Did you ask Donna what kind of music I like?”

Sam grinned. “What a thought.”

I chatted with Sam on the way to the restaurant. It was very nice and relaxed. Without the wheelchair in the picture, there was no awkwardness. He was just a regular guy. And it was really nice that he was paying so much attention to me. I’m not sure if a guy has ever treated me so nicely.

When we got to the restaurant, I could see right away that the lot was completely full. I let out a groan. “Should we go somewhere else?”

“Why?”

“No parking,” I said.

Sam winked at me. “You
did
see the plates on my car, right?”

For a minute, I had no idea what he was talking about. When he pulled into a spot right by the door, I almost yelled at him for parking in a handicapped spot, until I realized that
he
was the person the spots were actually
for
. We were totally allowed to park here.  

Pretty good deal.

We went inside together and the pretty hostess saw us and immediately said, “Hi, Sam.” Actually, everyone in the restaurant seemed to know him. It was really weird. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a restaurant where so many people recognized me.

“It’s nice to be in a place where everyone knows your name,” I commented to him after we were seated at a table and had ordered two glasses of white wine.

Sam laughed.

“No seriously,” I said. “How come everyone knows you?”

For the first time since I’d met him, Sam actually looked a little embarrassed. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but this place is my first date restaurant.”

“Your what?”

“You know, it’s the place where I take girls on our first date,” he explained. He wasn’t looking me in the eyes. “If I’m trying to make a good impression, I want to make sure I’m in a place that’s… you know, accessible for me. It’s usually not so good when I get to a restaurant with a date and find out there’s a bunch of steps to get in. It can be… uncomfortable.”

I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in Sam’s situation and constantly having to think about stuff like that. “So you go on a lot of first dates?”