having others do the work for me

I am going to introduce a guest writer today. Actually, I will not formally introduce her, because she wants to remain anonymous, and yet wants an explanation of her being at the same time. Understand? Me neither. And she wants a cool fake name that captures her personality, and yet she offers no suggestions. So I will make this complicated introduction soon when I figure out how to do it.
For now, I’m just going to share her lunch experience yesterday, as she related it to me. Because I appreciate a good bad date story. And because I am lazy.

Here it is:

I just went to a late lunch at Houlihan's. I was sitting in a booth behind a couple. I was facing them, so I was looking at the woman's back and looking at the man's face. It was clear it was a first date of some sort. Eventually, I just started to eavesdrop because I forgot my magazine. They were matched on match.com, and the woman talked non-stop. It was painful to watch. The guy was clearly bored and did not want to be there. She was (1) not that attractive, (2) talked the whole time, and (3) was not at all funny even though she tried to be. It was like watching a train wreck. At one point, she was talking about where she used to live, and I swear this is exactly what was said:

"You know Shady Pines* Hospital? (without waiting for him to respond) I used to live near Shady Pines Hospital. Great hospital. I really like that hospital. My therapist works there. She was the one who helped me get my mind straight when I was bulimic. Oh, wait, or was I anorexic? I've been both. Probably shouldn't be telling you that. It's not like I am going to go throw up my lunch now, even though I should not have eaten that second piece of foccacia bread. But a really good hospital, and a great area to live in."

I swear she actually said this. I was dumbfounded. Anywho, she kept going on and on, and unfortunately, I could not hear everything. But, then, it happened. Her phone rang, and when she bent over to look for it in her purse, he looked at me, mouthed, "Help me," and used his hand to pretend as if he was shooting himself in the head. It was awful. But of course I began to laugh hysterically, which looked particularly odd since I was sitting by myself.

Is it wrong that his misery and her inability to hold a conversation has made my day?

*I changed the name of the hospital, so if you had the exact same conversation on a first match date at Houlihan’s yesterday, don’t just assume it was you. It could have been someone else, talking about a different hospital, and your guy didn’t plead with a stranger for help. (Bonus points if you know where “Shady Pines” comes from. I’m looking at you, Dolly.)