Choose your own Terrence

So I promised some rootin' and/or tootin' fun, and I hope I will not disappoint. Of course, it ended up taking a little longer than I planned, as I decided to go with a story. Now, we all remember those Choose Your Own Adventure stories from back in the day, so I figured I could do one like that. I picked a subject that most of the readers (except my wife, which makes it even better) can identify with, that is, dating at BYU. So hopefully you will enjoy the topic (sadly, not about Tony the Tunisian Turtle), and the story. Please vote and check back for updates!

All About Terrence

by Kent Hansen

Chapter 1

Super Cute Sunday

September 7, 2003, 10:32 AM:

I'd like you all to meet Terrence. Terrence is from a small town in Idaho. Terrence likes bologna sandwiches, tootsie-roll pops, and reads Ranching Weekly faithfully every 2 weeks on Mondays. Terrence is a Mormon, and just returned from his mission to Caracas, Venezuela. Here is a picture of Terrence on his mission:

As you can see, Terrence is a bit heavy. It should be noted that although he eats relatively healthy bologna sandwiches, he likes to eat them with a side of steak and chicken. Also, he consumes obscene amounts of Chili Cheese Frito's, which are, as everybody knows, extremely delicious. It is widely suspected that he has eaten his siblings as he says he is an only child, and everybody knows that Mormons don't have only one kid.

I know Terrence because I live with him at the Grand View Apts in Provo, Utah. My name is Chris. Who I am is less important, however, as this story is about Terrence, but I'm sure I'll squeeze some little tidbits about myself in there as well. All the reader needs to know about me is that I'm 6'3", ripped and cut, and breathtakingly good looking.

Our apartment is a total dive. There are 8 dudes in a 3 bedroom apartment. The Steves rotated between sleeping on the couch and the floor, and the bedrooms were divided thusly:

Bedroom 1: Chris, Chris, and Terrence
Bedroom 2: Frank, and Frank
Bedroom 3: The King

My room has a bunk bed that I share with Chris, and Terrence sleeps on the floor in his corner of the room. Terrence has no money and doesn't pay rent, neither do the Steves. In fact, the only person that pays rent is The King, and that's why he's The King. He gives all the orders around here and you have to comply if you want a roof over your head.

Most of us go to BYU. We live immediately south of campus, near the Manavu chapel on 6th and 4th, right across the street from "Puberty Square" where the Beautiful Sophomores live.

Anyway, Terrence came to Provo for one reason and one reason only: he was going to get married. Of course, while in Provo you have to carry on an act like you are there for a legitimate reason, like hair school or work at 7-eleven or something, so Terrence registered at UVSC. I'm not sure how he paid for tuition or if he got a loan or anything, I frankly don't know the kid that well. He just moved in last week, and I'm just going on hunches for right now.

Today is Sunday, so we're getting ready for church. Terrence is squeezing his 250 pound frame into his mission suit that had clearly been altered more than once. He still had that fresh from the mission smell. Wide-eyed, grinning, super positive about everything. It made me wanna puke. Meanwhile, I'm typing this story out on my ancient Commodore computer and hoping it saves itself on the 5 and a quarter inch floppy disk that is so old it actually IS floppy. I'm holding onto this computer and my brick of a cell-phone in case they start selling them as antiques and the price goes up to 5 grand, which is roughly what my dad paid for both back in the 80's.

Whoops, gotta go! Terrence has somehow got that suit around him and it's off to church.

2:12 PM:

This is the best time of the week. The longest possible time before we have to go back to church. Although it must be admitted that the first Sunday of the semester is the best. First, you get to scope out all the new meat in your ward, count the hot chicks, order them by dating priority, and develop a plan of attack. All during Sacrament meeting, because the plan of attack starts as soon as it ends, so you'd better be ready.

Once Sacrament meeting ends, you talk to all the people you already know in a conspicuous place that is in the direct vicinity of the projected paths your priorities will be taking. This is where the first seeds are planted. As you carry on some mundane conversation with some Gomer about his summer ("Yeah, so I sold pesticide in Alabama, made a TON of cash. You wanna do that this next summer? We're having a meeting at Brick Oven, free pizza!") you keep your eyes on the passing traffic with your sleeves rolled up to show your bulging biceps to maximize awesomeness. Did I mention you should do some push-ups during the closing prayer to pump yourself up?

Anyway, the key here is to get that initial eye contact. You need to let the girls see how fine of a specimen you are (DANGNABBED fine) so that they will remember you in later events. You do NOT rush to meet them--that makes you appear overanxious and weird.

Which, as I was getting to, was EXACTLY what Terrence did. Typical rookie RM mistake. He zeroed in on some hot chick (priority #7 in my own personal rankings) that was WAY out of his league and approached her, awkwardly standing next to her while some other Waldo with thick glasses was making her acquaintance. I guess I should give him a LITTLE credit, because the Waldo was going to make Terrence look relatively good in the following conversation I was just near enough to hear:

Waldo: So I noticed you're new here to the BYU 963rd ward, let me tell you about some math jokes I learned while working VERY closely with my mission president, if you get my drift, which of course means I was an AP on the mish...
#7: Yeah, the thing about math jokes is...
Terrence (way too loud): THE THING ABOUT MATH JOKES IS THAT THEY ARE LAME, JUST LIKE YOU, LAME-O. HAHAH, LAME.

Okay, so Terrence is a little loud. I should mention that. His bellowing was so loud that the entire foyer (pronounced foy-ay because I'm better than you) stopped mid-mingle to see what the ado was about. This led to Terrence turning Ute Red and #7 awkwardly sliding away. It was obvious to all that Terrence was a big oafish oaf and not to be trusted in situations where you would like to improve your social standing. Not a good first impression for Super Cute Sunday.

However, it was time for Sunday School to start, which led us to part 2 of Operation: Hunt for Wife. There are a couple of approaches here:

1. Sit in the front of the class, answer any and all questions, thereby impressing everyone as the Super Scriptorian, and the chicks will come flocking.
2. Walk in noticeably late right in front of the class, say "Sorry I'm late" for extra attention, run fingers through your high-maintenance "I don't care about my hair" hair, sit down right in the middle so everyone can get a good look, lean WAAAY back in your chair, and the chicks will come flocking.
3. Sit in the back, place your elbows on you knees, your face in your hands, and go to sleep. No chicks will come flocking.

I would venture to say that only the second option is an acceptable approach for that first month of Sundays. After that, the third option is acceptable and encouraged.

After my big entrance to Sunday School, I plopped myself in the middle of the class and leaned way back like the instruction manual said. I noticed priority #2 in the corner, but she was NOT checking me out. #8 and #10 had given me a few casual glances, which I will chalk up to "checking out". And, of course, all the Sweet Spirits were just drinking me in.

Unfortunately, Terrence was another train wreck. There he was, front and center, doing everything but taking the manual from the instructor and teaching the lesson himself. The worst part were his tacos, which had made it's way from the white shirt to the suit coat. I've only seen tacos in a suit coat once, in Chris Farley's "Matt Foley" skit, which may or may not have been real. Nobody had joined him in the front row, and there were visible fingers pointing at him from the Great and Spacious back row. Terrence was KILLING my image. Having a total Gomer like that in your apartment just reflects poorly on all roommates.

The rest of church went by without incident. Intermission between Sunday School and Priesthood was quiet, we received the usual Chastity speech from the bish during Priesthood, and that was that. I'm not much for walking home with prospects, usually RS goes 30 minutes long and EQ gets out 15 minutes early. We do have Ward Prayer later, so there's that to look forward to.

11:16 PM:

Since this journal of The Adventures of Fatso Terrence is evolving into How Not to Get Dates in Provo, I'll inform the aspiring Coug on the proper way to go about Ward Prayer:

Lesson #1: Ward Prayer is not cool. It is for dorks. It is a Meat Market. You are too cool for Ward Prayer.
Lesson #2: You should never, ever, EVER miss Ward Prayer.

Ward Prayer also uses the Principle of Punctuality (as seen in Sunday School), which is to say that you should NEVER be punctual. You show up late, in jeans, flips, and your favorite antique T-shirt that you bought at A&F for 40 bucks. It is essential that you bathe in the trendiest cologne so everybody knows that the Guy Who Smells Good is you and you alone. A good time to show up is usually right AFTER the spiritual thought and right BEFORE the actual prayer. Showing up during the spiritual thought is also an acceptable time to make the Big Entrance, as most people only pay attention to the thought for about one minute, thereby ensuring that you will steal most of the attention during your big, loud entrance. Don't forget to apologize for being late, you want to make it look like you didn't plan this.

The key time to focus on babes is immediately after Ward Prayer. Take special notice of your priorities' habits. Who goes straight back to the apartment? Who stays and mingles? Who is getting the most attention? Once again, don't make the mistake of pouncing too early. Acquiring a serious girlfriend in the first few months of a semester is a serious mistake that few have bounced back from.

OF COURSE this means that Terrence had pounced. He was making the rounds around the room, hopping from female to female to female with a notepad and pen. I prayed he wasn't using that to jot down numbers. But, of course, he was. Terrence was breaking EVERY rule in my book, looking like the typical newbie fresh RM with too much gusto and positive attitude. It was people like him that gave me, the 23-year-old vet, a bad name. "Why aren't you married yet? How come you don't already have 6 kids?" the grandparents ask. You watch, in two months, they will be saying, "That nice boy Terrence is already married and he got home 2 months and one week ago! And, his wife is pregnant!"

The news just got worse when we reconvened for the Sunday Comp Inventory at the apartment. We had just gone around the room and evaluated our rankings, how much eye contact we got, who's going after whom, you know, the standard. That's when Terrence walked in, all jittery and excited. His face was shiny and vibrant with rosy cheeks not unlike Mr. Claus of Christmas fame, his tacos were fresh and now connecting in the middle of his chest, and his belly shook like a bowl full of, for lack of a better word, jelly.

"3 numbers!" he exclaimed, holding up his pad of paper. "3 phone numbers of eligible ladies I met tonight!"

We all glanced at each other. 3? Really? That's kind of impressive. But him? They HAVE to be sweet spirits. Unfortch, we knew nobody's name yet, as the menu wouldn't come out until next Sunday. We only had faces and descriptions: Too much make-up chick, really tan chick, butter face chick, prom dress chick, claw-bangs chick, hair-school chick, etc.

We all sat silent as Terrence stood in the doorway, heaving, trying to catch his breath. Then we heard the King's door open slowly and creekily. There were footsteps down the hall, and we all held our breath. I hadn't actually ever SEEN the King, I had only seen the light in his room go on and off during the quiet of the night. Some said he slept only during the day, and was a vampire at night. Some said he had so many girlfriends that he was gone at all times trying to date them all. Some say he went to the U.

The King entered the room and made his way towards Terrence, stopping only a foot away from his jiggling belly. Since then, I've been trying to think of the words to describe the King, and I only can come up with this: If you are a single man at BYU, you wish you looked like the King. His clothes weren't that special, but he made them look special. His hair was nothing extraordinary, but he wore it like a crown. I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped in awe.

The King broke the silent reverence by lifting his right arm and placing it on Terrence's shoulder. Was he going to scold him? Was he going to extol him? The Steves looked down at the carpet, afraid to watch.

"Good job, Terrence. 3 numbers at one Ward Prayer is most impressive. However, you may only take one out at a time."

Terrence nodded, eyes bulging with fear, teeth chattering, face sweating. The King did a formal soldier-like about-face and marched back to his room.

We all looked at each other, all too scared to confront this remarkable turn of events. Finally, Frank 1 (or was it 2?) asked Terrence, "So, who's it gonna be?"

Terrence blinked and abruptly shook his head as if awaking from a bad dream. He sat down and started a twangy oration that could neither be stopped nor should have been:

"Well, fellas, it's the danged-est thing. When I walked into Sacrament meeting, I had never seen so many lookers in my life. There was the red-headed gal in the yellow dress, my lands! She had nice gams. Then there was the darker gal from some island nation, maybe Mexico. Then there was the blonde one, from the frozen north I should think, or maybe Salt Lake. And the brunette, she was all a fella could take! Anyway, I was in hog heaven and coulda married any of 'em right there and then. Welp, I decided during testimony meeting that I was a-gonna marry one before semester's end, so I needed to get on my fastest hoss to do that. After much trial and tribulation during church, I had more success at Ward Prayer! But now, I dunno who to choose. They are all equally sweet and spirited! One's name is Anita, she is a beaut from Tennessee. She was the queen bee from her high-school and talked to me for all of one minute! The next is Annette, from Michigan, and she likes sports and cows and horses and pigs, just like myself! The last is Annie, from Warshington, and she is the most spirit-chal gal I'd ever met. She told me that she woulda liked to stay and talk but she had her next week's Sunday School lesson to prepare! I wish I could marry them all. Too bad it's not the 1880's no more!"

We all stared at him open-jawed in disbelief, praying to the powers that be that neither Anita, Annette, nor Annie was in our rankings. After all, we hadn't even done the draft yet! We would need the menu for that.

"So," asked Frank 2, "who's it going to be?"

SHOULD TERRENCE GO OUT WITH ANITA, ANNETTE, OR ANNIE? YOUR VOTE WILL CHANGE TERRENCE'S DESTINY! FRANKLY, I COULD GO WITH ANY OF THEM, THEY WOULD ALL BE EQUALLY FUN TO WRITE ABOUT. BE SURE TO VOTE IN THE COMMENTS AND TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO FIND OUT WHO HE WENT WITH AND HOW THE DATE TURNED OUT! ALL VOTES ACCEPTED, EVEN ANONYMOUS ONES! SO THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR NOT VOTING!