Molly came for another visit in August 2006. I had just returned from working in the Gulf of Mexico and was making preparations for beginning grad school and moving back to Thibodaux into Long Hall. I was also applying for a graduate assistantship, which I eventually got, with the office of admissions. I would be working on a Master’s Degree in Higher Education Administration. My thought process was that, if I couldn’t work with Chi Alpha full time as a campus missionary, I could still someday work in the campus bureaucracy and be a part of the local ministry, even if just in some ancillary volunteer role.
But first was lunch with Molly. I had received her application, and now it was time for the interview process. This lunch, she assured me, was not a date. We were to arrive separately and both pay for our own meals. If all went well, however, we would leave with a handshake and make things official. Since Molly knew a little Spanish, we decided on the sol local Mexican restaurant, La Casa. We considered going to La Taco-ria, where I worked previously that summer for a couple weeks. Unfortunately, though, they had already gone out of business. Apparently they had a lot of 1* Yelp reviews earlier that summer for horrendous service, and customers just stopped showing up.
We both went into the lunch with a list of questions. For me, this list was mental and really only consisted of things like, “What is your favorite food?” and “What books do you like to read?”
Molly, however, had a notebook with several pages of written questions. She also brought a pen. And was taking notes. Molly’s questions were extremely detailed pertaining to family history, my position on alcohol, how many kids I envisioned having, public vs. private school options, my thoughts on the U.S. tax structure, and how much I was planning on leaving for a tip.
While I had been in several interviews at that point in my young life, I can honestly say none were as detailed or intense as that one. And yet, there was never one I wanted to pass quite as much as this one.
After an hour or so, with our plates empty and me mentally and physically exhausted from the question and answer process, the check finally came. At that point, the conversation ceased and Molly stood up. She then extended her hand. I accepted it, and we shook.
“Well,” she said, “now that you are officially my boyfriend, I guess I’ll let you pay for lunch after all.”
With that she exited the restaurant. All I could do was smile.