May 6, 2005

One senior’s desparate quest for prom date

By Stephanie Foo
Special to the Times

Usually, I get better at things with practice. That’s the way things work, right? You do it once, twice, three times and sooner or later, you’re a pro. Usually.

Unfortunately, not with the ‘oh…it’s not that big a deal except being the hugest social event of year’ situation of PROM.

Here I am, a month before the big day, and I’m dateless, dressless, bidless and overall … less. I’ve already done this twice before, so you’d figure I’d be perfectly prepared for this year … but no.

My poor performance could be excused my sophomore year … it was my first go at it, after all. Knowing that high school kids, being the cruel little buggers that they are, love embarrassing tales of shame and tears—especially the ladies gossiping in the girls’ bathroom—let me divulge my story.

As anyone knows, the more times you’ve been to prom during your high school career, the cooler you are. This is because prom is similar to awards shows. If you are invited to the Oscars that means you must be pretty darn cool.
And underclassmen are especially excited about it. I’d already missed out my freshman year and I absolutely had to experience prom the next year.

I knew from watching teen movies that prom is a mysterious and life-changing event where you’re sure to find the love of your life. Truths are finally exposed, you will for sure win prom queen and pig’s blood is spilled on some crazy girl.

So I had to trick a junior into taking me. Little did I know that prom is actually—SPOILER: UNDERCLASSMEN READ NO FURTHER—just a school dance with prettier dresses.

I had someone tell an incongruous junior in my science class that I wanted to go to the prom. He asked me the next day. I thought that was that, but he saw it necessary to—who knew?—get to know each other as well, which I had not anticipated.

I found myself “wowing” on the phone to him for several nights as he bragged to me about his impending promotion from cashier to actual pretzel-maker at Wetzel’s Pretzels.

Suddenly, this other guy who I’d been stalking all year, asked me to prom. I’m not condoning insane stalking behavior, but being a slave and hoarding pictures worked for me.

Nevertheless, what to do? Here I am, already going with a working class hero and just think about the benefits! But cheesy-pretzel dogs are no match for true love, so I cancelled on Wetzel.

I was happy for approximately 12 hours until my new date cancelled on me. It turns out true love is no match for the daunting price of prom bids. Back to Wetzel I crawled.

I snatched my dress the day before and returned it the day after. He got me a corsage, had a spiffy tux and met me on time, so I thought he’d be good at this whole date thing. Then he whispered to me, confidentially, that he’d never been to a dance before.

This statement was backed up by his inability to keep his hands clasped behind my back during dances. Instead, they moved slowly and suspiciously … down.

I fled. Wetzel may be good at twisting dough, but alas, it turned out he was an amateur at manipulating buns.

My would-be date was in the crowd, happy with his single bid and borrowed tux. I half-danced/half-hid next to him for the remainder of the night and spent the last few weeks in mandatory quarantine.

Yes, I was a ditcher. I feel terrible about it, and with all honesty, I think my date was extremely kind and courteous about the whole thing—I was very lucky to have had him.

I attended the senior prom as a junior the next year, had a dress way in advance, had someone ask me without any secondhand hints and stayed with him the whole night. Completely functional, good times.

But again, I’m back to where I started—desperate for a date and feeling hopeless. I guess that’s the upside to having a teen column in the community paper: free advertising space. “Prom date wanted for absolutely fabulous senior! I promise to be superbly behaved.”

Pretzel employees, however, need not apply.