Excellent Typical Date in Mid-1990s Friends by Pablo Velvita Nonfiction Writing Contest contest entry

Friends By Pablo Velvita I never disliked the TV show Friends, which ran for about ten seasons through most of my twenties. I thought the show was well-written and had characters who were funny, sometimes relatable, and occasionally even interesting.  What annoyed me was how Friends dominated urban pop culture during the last half of the 1990s when I was single. There was at least a two to three year period where I could not meet one girl who was not obsessed with the show. Typical date in the 1995-98 range: Scene 1: A young couple on first date sitting down at table in NYC restaurant circa 1996: “So did you watch Friends this week?” Jen gushes immediately after we sit down while the hostess walks away (sidenote: one out of about every three girls I knew back then was named Jen, and she always had a friend named Meg) on our first real date (getting drunk and hooking up at a bar last weekend doesn’t qualify as a “date”). “I think so,” I reply. It’s happening again. I cannot escape this fucking show. It’s like Pennywise the Clown. “You told me last Friday night that you that you watch it every week!” Jen exclaims with a touch of playful accusation. Umm, I don’t remember anything about last Friday night including what we spoke about or any of your personal details. I only know your name because you wrote it on a bar napkin I found crumpled in my pocket on Sunday afternoon. “Oh yeah, of course!” I lie, feigning all the enthusiasm I can muster. “I love that show, it is SO FUNNY!” Jen giggles. “So I’m totally Monica, my roommate Amy is sooo Rachel, and my other roommate Meg could literally be Phoebe’s twin!” “Wow cool, what a coincidence,” I reply. I’m in pain now, desperately looking around for the waiter to come take our drink order. “So what guy are you?” Jen asks with an impish grin. “Huh?” I’m caught off guard. “What guy on Friends are you? You know, out of Joey, Ross and Chandler?” Jen is impatient. I have a strange feeling she’s asked this question at least fifty times over the past two years. As much as I want to spit out a wiseass retort – like “I’m the mysterious next-door neighbor Jeffrey, whose apartment smells like human decay and is always chasing his naked boyfriends down the hallway with a power drill and a hypodermic needle” – I simply can’t do it. Jen’s face looks angelic when she talks about Friends – it’s lit up and glowing like a little girl sitting beside the tree unwrapping her presents on Christmas morning. Cracking a joke right now would be like popping a kid’s balloon or stealing his ice cream cone at a three-year old birthday party. I stifle it. After about five seconds of apparent deep thought with furrowed brow, pursed lips, etc., I announce my verdict: “Well I guess if the Friends guys were a mixed drink, I’d be an ounce of Joey with a splash of Chandler and a dash of Ross.” Jen looks puzzled. “Oh, so you’re a combination of all three?” “Well yeah,” I explain, “but an asymmetrical combination – y’know, like an ounce is more than a splash which is more than a dash. The exact ratio is critical.” (sidenote: I never really knew the meaning or proper usage of the word “asymmetrical” – I just know that people who say it with confidence earn immediate admiration and respect). Jen raises her eyebrows while looking down at her menu. Oh no, she thinks I’m weird, I hate this part. After studying her menu for a few minutes, Jen looks back up at me with a smile. Oh Jesus F, please no more Friends talk! I begin to sweat. “So Meg’s buddy Eileen is bartending at Mulligan’s tonight, you wanna go there after dinner?” Jen asks. “Awesome!” I respond with genuine delight, punctuated by a thumb’s up sign, realizing this date has been salvaged. Thank God. Scene 2: Flash forward about 28 years to present day: “So do you like your new roommates?” I ask my daughter, who just began her freshman year of college. “Yeah, they’re cool. We’re watching this old TV show from like twenty years ago – it’s so funny.” “What show?” I ask reflexively, not suspecting … “Friends!” she exclaims. I go silent while my arm goes slack and I drop my phone to the ground. Pennywise is back.

© Copyright 2025. Pablo Velvita All rights reserved. Pablo Velvita has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.