To answer this question, I guess it really depends on what type of movie you’re talking about. I’ve had some great times that felt like they were pulled from an upbeat, feel-good flick, and I’ve had some strange, unfortunate events that felt like a horror story.
But there is one particular moment that comes to mind from about a year or so ago. At the time, I was dating someone, and I was also platonic friends with another woman. The twist? The platonic friend wanted to be more than friends. It’s always an awkward elephant to have in the room when one person wants a friendship and the other wants romance.
Because of that dynamic, I never told the platonic friend about the woman I was dating. The friend had told me more than once that if she found out I was dating someone, it would “devastate her.” For the sake of this story, let’s call her “The Swifty,” because she is hands-down the biggest Taylor Swift fan I know. To protect her peace—and honestly, my own—I kept the relationship to myself.
The Setup and the Ballpark Proximity
Then came the setup. The woman I was dating surprised me with tickets to a baseball game. A little later that same day, The Swifty messaged me, completely out of the blue, to tell me she had just bought tickets to the exact same game.
Now, on the surface, this didn’t seem like a total disaster. If this had been a Tigers game at Comerica Park with 40,000 screaming fans, the odds of a random collision would be slim. But this wasn’t downtown Detroit. This was at Jimmy John’s Field. With a seating capacity of only about 4,000, it’s an intimate ballpark. If you’re there, you’re going to see people. Still, I figured if I kept my head on a swivel, my girlfriend and I could easily dodge her.
Clandestine Reconnaissance
In fact, I thought I had the upper hand. The Swifty, excited about her purchase, texted me a screenshot of her seats. “Check out these seats!” she wrote. Perfect, I thought. Now I had the coordinates. Now I knew exactly what sections of the park to avoid.
A few minutes later—making sure to wait just long enough so I didn’t accidentally text the wrong person in a panic—I messaged my girlfriend. I tried to act completely casual, playing it off like a guy just planning his day. “Hey, where are our seats anyway? Just want to know if I need to pack sunscreen or something.”
She sent over a screenshot of her tickets.
I looked at the image. I did a double-take. I closed her text, opened the message from The Swifty, and stared at the other screenshot.
My stomach dropped.
Same section. Same row. Literally right next to each other.
Had I shown up to that game, I wouldn’t have just been spotted—I would have been trapped in an impossible, three-hour seating arrangement with a girlfriend on my left and a friend who wanted to be more on my right.
The Ultimate Survival Move
Ultimately, I bailed on my girlfriend that night. I told her I wasn’t feeling well. To be honest, I think the sheer, overwhelming panic of the situation literally worked me up into feeling physically sick by that point in the day anyway. I had no idea how else to dodge the mess, so I stayed home.
Because I bailed, both women ended up pivoting. The Swifty brought her daughter, and my girlfriend brought her son. From what I gathered later, they actually did end up sitting right next to each other for at least part of the game—two total strangers, completely unaware of the frantic guy sitting on his couch a few miles away, praying they wouldn’t strike up a conversation. Eventually, The Swifty ended up moving seats anyway, complaining about the direct sunlight or needing to leave early.
Truth is Stranger Than Fiction
I managed to avoid a major bullet, and looking back, I’m still a little surprised I pulled it off. I suppose that’s the problem when you have a little too much in common with the people you date and the people you hang out with.
Had I gone to the game, it would’ve been a horror movie unfolding in real-time. For most of my life, I’ve been a conflict-avoider—the person who will do anything to sidestep confrontation. I’ve learned recently that avoiding things isn’t always the best approach to life. But in this specific case? Faking sick and completely bailing on the ballpark was the ultimate survival move.
The whole thing felt like a classic ’90s teen comedy where the goofy protagonist gets himself into an impossible jam and has to jump through a series of ridiculous hoops just to make it to the credits in one piece.
Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction. Sometimes life imitates art. And sometimes, things happen that are so outrageous that no Hollywood writer could have ever conjured them up.
Rebuilding a life takes grit, consistency, and a lot of ‘Option C’ thinking. Whether I’m on the road beyond 1,000 consecutive days of blogging or reflecting on the decade of work that brought me here, the mission remains the same: No glitz. Just the work. New to the blog? Start your journey here to see the blueprint and the ‘Tricorder’ perspective behind the rebuild.
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The article “Two Screenshots and a Panic Attack” first appeared on Rebuilding Rob.
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