The real names and locations within this story have been replaced to protect the identities of several parties.

      Once upon a time, there was an average high school student sitting in chemistry. He secretly worked as an administrator for a website whose name shall not be mentioned ;) This wasn't a normal chemistry class either. Today was the first day of the week of Sweetheart Dance. Now our high school student didn't have a date. again. At the moment I . . .er he was trying to do some of his chemistry homework so he'd have some free time after school. This was until Jason walked up to him.
"Hey man, you got plans for the Dance?"
"Ummm . . .no . . ."
"Well if you'd like to come in our group you can. We're meeting at Abby's house at 5:30."
"Thanks for the invite. I'll definitely be there."

5:30 at Abby's, this was the note he made out to himself, and shoved into his wallet.

     Well, the week's event went off as they usually do (i.e. nothing relevant to the story happened in this time frame, and I needed a transition), and Saturday, the day of the dance, rolled around. It was about 5:20 when our central character left his house wearing his letterman jacket, green polo, and dress pants. Now it definitely does not take ten minutes to get to Abby's house. We're talking about a town of 2000, but someone has an odd obsession about being ridiculously/unnecessarily early. Now when Abby's parents saw our . . . hero? (I guess that works) they were confused, but said that she wasn't there anymore. (In a typical high school fashion they had no idea of where she was headed.)
     For a little background information Jason drove a red car. Now when you pair that fact with the fact that Abby had just left, you can understand why seeing a red car on Route 9 would prompt our main character to head off in that direction. During a quick stop at the gas station a call to Jason was made:
"Hey"
"Oh hey, what's going on?"
"Not much, hey did you guys head out?"
"Yeah, see you there."
Naturally, going to the restaurant seemed like a good idea. I'll say it again for emphasis; it seemed like a good idea.

    Now about ten miles into the epic-solo car ride Jason calls our administrator friend, who promptly pulls into a gas station to answer;
"Hey man, where you at?"
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in 15 minutes or so."
"Ohh. Couldn't find Sarah's house?"
"What?"
"We're at Sarah's house. Where are you?"

Needless to say, several face-palms were invoked at this moment.

"Yeah . . . I thought you meant you were headed into town. Well, I'll just be there ahead of time, just try to hurry and meet me there."
"Oh, alright. See you soon."

   After a few choice words he set off to complete his journey to the restaurant. Once he arrived he decided to waste some time by browsing a Game eXchange. After a half-hour or so, another call was made and Jason swore that they'd be leaving soon. 6:30 passes, and no one has arrived. For some reason Game eXchange closes early, and it begins to rain. The various people entering feel compelled to ask me, "Are you waiting for someone?".
   7:00 rolls around and about the same moment an angry phone call was about to be made a red car, followed by several other vehicles, pull in. The group assembles and enters the restaurant to find a massive line. Normally comentary, especially that with a humorous intent, is a bad idea in a situation which has turned slightly sour. This advice was ignored and I (lets just say it, this story is about me) decided to say, "Good thing we have reservations, eh?" (I'm a quarter Canadian). This sentence was met by several blank stares, and an awkward silence.
    A few awkward animal hand signs later, it was explained to me that we did not have/need reservations and that this place was never crowded. We stood around for a healthy twenty minutes to be seated.

(This portion of the story includes my meal. It was very nice, and expensive. I'm omitting the details, because few of them are important. Here are a few that are important:

• Several people that we were with had to make it back to be on the dance's court
• I was one of the last kids to leave
• My car sucked

    I drove off, into what can be considered a downpour for the midwest, and headed to the dance. Or so I thought. A few blocks into my return trip my engine dies whilst I'm in the left lane and in a mass of traffic. Now there were two options in this scenarion:
A) Pull off to the left, call a tow truck and my parents, and hope everyone notices my hazard lights
B) Legally pull off the road to the right, and follow the patern above

    Given that I had only a few seconds before I was dead in the water, and there was a wall of automobiles to my right I chose option A. The police office a few cars back did not agree with my decision. In the process of calling home I heard a knock on my window. I roll down my windows (yeah, my car was that sexy), and go about the usual "You know you're on the left . . . Is your car broke down . . . .Is someone coming to get you . . " My parents make the drive up to town and the tow truck takes my car away.
    On the ride home my parent ask me if I'd still like to go to whats left of the dance. I naturally accept, but as we get to the school the dance is letting out. I walk in to find my brother and am greeted with several "Hey good time huh? . . . Why didn't you dance with me . . .Do you rememeber when . . ." kinds of things and my blood pressure rises after each one. That was my junior year Sweetheart Dance. . .