1.3. First Date.

Well, it's been another physically and emotionally painful week here in Chicago. I knew it was only a matter of time before Balki's primal urges overpowered him and he'd give in to his carnal desire to mate. Managing this pursuit did not go well for me.

It all started when Susan stopped by the Ritz to deliver a piece of junk mail of mine from Publisher's Clearing house that showed up in her mailbox, instead of just throwing it out like a good neighbor would. Does Susan want to hook up with me or does she kind of hate me? I honestly have no context for our relationship. Anyway I dropped a classic one liner about how it's another letter from Ed McMahon and I feel bad for not getting back to him, and Susan just laughed it off instead of catching on that she went out of her way to deliver garbage to me while I was trying to work.

Moments later Balki entered, and he was carrying a large and mysterious cardboard box. I still haven't figured out if he's been assigned a slightly different shift than me, or if he just wanders in whenever he feels like it; because I'm starting to realize most of my stories start with "I was already at work, and then Balki showed up." Anyhoo, Susan was still there so Balki immediately lost all motor skills and any sense of self-awareness that I've spent the last two weeks desperately beating into him, dropped his mysterious box right on the floor and started trying to rub his weiner all over her like some kind of feral tomcat. I cannot imagine this is acceptable in Mypos either, but what do I know, right?

Next thing, Balki literally drops face down onto the floor in front of Susan in some kind of bizarre sub-human act of submission and she understandably makes a run for it. So God help me, despite my better judgment I take on yet another fruitless effort in trying to talk reason into Balki. I tell him he cannot be such a weirdo perv around our neighbor anymore and I never see him do this to other women, and that's when Balki tells me he doesn't know any other women.

I told Balki he needs to go out and meet women, and he astutely pointed out how easy that is for me because I'm a "happenin guy." So I take pity on the little fella and offer him some can't miss seduction tips, seconds before a kind of homely chick in high-waisted pants asked for help with sweaters in the store. Her timing couldn't be worse, poor thing; but you gotta start somewhere, right? So I sent him over to make a move.

As Balki crossed the store toward his prey I remembered that he was carrying a mysterious box when he got in here that he dropped on the floor and forgot about instantly. It had landed with a pretty loud thud - whatever is in there must be heavy. I cannot stop thinking about that box. Already at this early stage in our relationship nothing Balki might bring in here in a box could surprise me. While the smart money is on magic beans, it could just as easily be a case of poisonous spiders or human heads, and I'll have no choice but to roll with it. WHAT IS IN THAT BOX?

But I digress. Balki made his way over to the paying customer who we've decided to conduct a social experiment on, got way up in her personal space and asked if he can help her in the deep, monotonous voice of a serial killer. Within ten seconds he was repeatedly and aggressively sexually harassing her in a manner that made me cover my own genitals. The poor woman tried to play it cool and keep shopping, and in the span of half a minute Balki committed enough fireable offenses that any respectable manager would have no choice but to send him packing.

Needless to say, I did absolutely nothing.

Now here's something though. While heroically trying to put Balki in his place, the customer asked him "Where do you get off?" I felt my heart stop for a second when I thought Balki might try to provide a very graphic answer to her question, but instead he said "well, I got off in New York but took a bus to Chicago." Adorable language mixup aside, didn't Balki tell me that he went to my parents house in Wisconsin before making his way to Chicago? Balki's back story gets more suspect to me by the day. Did I ever even confirm it? My eyes wandered back to the box.

Regardless, when the customer finally ran off (and I waited, with a defeated sort of acceptance, for the inevitable wail of police sirens headed toward the Ritz) I was pretty clear to Balki that he came across like a violent sexual criminal. So Balki, finally realizing the depth of his own unchecked perversion, begged me to take him to a singles bar. Realizing immediately that taking Balki on the prowl would probably end with my blood on the pavement in downtown Chicago, I said no. He assumed it's because I don't want to teach him all my bona-fide tricks for pulling tail and I told him he's right; really though, I'm a little embarrassed to hit the bars with Balki because I've been on a dry streak lately. But then it dawned on me that maybe babysitting this dimwitted walking liability will score Cousin Larry some sympathy strange out at the bar, so I caved. 

I never did find out what was in the box, but I hope it had a peaceful death.

A few hours later we hit the bar. It started exactly as bad as you'd expect. Inside a minute Balki was already driving me crazy, performing a racially insensitive "black guy" impression to a table of women and trying to do the three stooges eye-poke while I desperately tried to prevent us from getting our asses kicked.

So I got fed up and was ready to bolt. I'm two steps from the door when Balki points (literally) to a TIGHT fox who looks like a sluttier, bigger-haired version of Ferris Bueller's girlfriend sitting across the bar giving me serious let's-get-down-eyes. I started running through a series of lies to try out on her while Balki locked down a vicious and terrifying predator glare on a conservatively dressed woman sitting alone at the bar, looking exactly like the kind of girl who's one bad encounter away from moving back to the small town she grew up in and declaring the city full of demons and perverts. Balki basically bought her a bus ticket.

Here's how the conversation played out:

BALKI: "Do you come here often?"
WOMAN: "No."
BALKI: "Would you smother me with your beautiful American body?"

I made my way over and dragged him away before she started screaming, knowing all too well that by now I had full-on Larry Appleton Crazy Eyes. Balki asked me to show him how it's done and pointed out that Ferris Bueller's Girlfriend's Slutty Sister was still staring holes through me like a hungry vampire. I was off my game, sweaty, and I couldn't turn off the crazy eyes, but the man in me kicked in and I decided to show Balki how Cousin Casanova works it.

I saunter over.

I close in.

I sit down.

And I'm instantly lifted off my seat and strangled by a large, middle aged man who accused me of hitting on his girlfriend before I'd even said anything. This was an unprovoked aggravated assault, plain and simple. No one in the bar did anything to help me; least of whom Balki, who was deep in conversation with the lady I'd wrongly assumed was an uptight church mouse and in fact must be a total freak under that librarian getup after all. As I felt the oxygen leave my brain and started to pass out, I was haunted by one torturous thought: Balki is totally going to get laid.

So later I'm on the couch nursing my aching body from the asskicking I took in the parking lot when Balki bursts in bragging about his big score, and tells me I have to go on his date with him and the naughty librarian the next night. For the second time in one day I man up and refuse to go along with Balki's bullshit, knowing full well that my attempt to extricate myself from his swirling chasm of destruction will inevitably fail. Balki didn't even pick up on the fact that I'm injured because he's a selfish asshole.

Cut to the next night. I'm getting Balki ready for his date, my transparent hatred for him pouring out of every orifice of my body, when Susan arrives. Balki doesn't do anything creepy around her this time, which gives me some hope for him after all. Balki begs me to come with him again, but screw that. Instead I give him a pep talk and send him into the bathroom to clean the pipes, and Susan starts getting all up in my grill about not going on his date with him. How about I didn't want to go on his date because he's a twentysomething man, and bringing another guy unannounced to the date would probably send a really threatening and confusing message to the poor woman? Why do either of them think this is a good idea? Is there a gas leak in this building? Have they all gone crazy?

So I decided to come clean with Susan that I don't like having too much attention on me and Balki humiliates me publicly everywhere we go, and I really needed a night off from it. I blew off some steam about how stupid he is, and Susan just waited it out until I guilt tripped myself into going.

God I'm a good guy.

She agreed to come in order to ease the awkwardness - which, thank God - and we're off. So we met Balki and his date, Diane, at a fancy restaurant where she already seemed especially uncomfortable. But after some expert questioning that I learned how to do at journalism school, we got to the bottom of Diane's fascination with Balki. She teaches high school, and is kind of interested in him from an anthropological perspective. Balki told a joke. No one laughed. And at the moment it became clear that this date was going to be an abject disaster, the band started playing a very out-of-place gyspy ballad and Balki just gets up and starts dancing in the middle of the restaurant.

Here's where things get really crazy. Balki says he knows this jam and calls it "The Dance of Joy," and everyone in the restaurant seems to be kind of grooving on his moves. I tried to put a stop to things before a full-scale riot broke out, when all of a sudden the same guy who kicked my ass the night before turns up and insists that the dance go on - so I kick into dance mode, purely as a hostage to this man who just 24 hours ago beat me bloody. Since he faced zero repercussions for it (he's kind of the big, American Balki), I'm positive that if I don't dance he will strike me again.

Under duress, I proved to be an especially smooth dancer.

Hours later Balki and I arrived home alone - neither of us scored - and I let on to him that I was embarrassed to sing and dance in public even though frankly I'm pretty amazing at it. Balki tried to convince me that I'm a fun dude, and I eventually came around to the idea after he showed respect for my spot-on James Cagney impression. You dirty rat! We had a nice bonding moment and I agreed that I would make an effort to loosen up.

I'm a little concerned about the impact this decision is going to have on all of us long-term.