Pick-up

It's May of 1984 and my last day of working as a statistical clerk for Gulf Canada, where I'd worked for two separate contracts over nearly 17 months.  The pay had been $33 an hour in present day money, $15 then.  I'm 20 years old, single, still living at home, not even paying rent there.  A few days before, I'd turned down an offer to go to school for two years at S.A.I.T., a technical school, to gain a certificate to work more thoroughly in the industry ... I didn't like the work, but the money was so good, I stayed as long as I could.

I was celebrating my departure from work with the members of Tau Ceti at a bar called the Penguin Club downtown, long since gone.  I'd gone to hang out at a makeshift practice studio a few blocks away, just to listen.  Can't remember the name of the place; it's a parking lot now.

I'd known Dan, Alice and Barry about five years.  I was present when this was filmed in 1982; Barry, who posted the video on youtube, is the drummer at the back.  Dan and Alice were married.  The venue is a place called 10 Foot Henry's, which had a literal 10 foot tall painting of Henry from the long-forgotten comic strip on wood.  The figure survived, repurposed for a restaurant much later, as shown in the picture ... but the bar, which featured indy punk music, didn't.  It was demolished to make room for the city's commuter train.

If the reader can imagine, while the band sings Bathed in Dark Light, imagine me about 20 feet to the right of the screen, dancing by myself, looking for all the world like Peter Wolf.  I love to dance. The dance floor was huge there, and most of the time the room was only half empty; but no one would dance with me then, as they were all too shy or they thought dancing was stupid.  So I learned to dance alone.   I was described at the time as looking like a man dancing with a knife in his back.  I didn't care then, and I don't care now.  I'll still dance alone if I'm on a dance floor and no one will dance with me.

Anyway, the Penguin club.  We were served by a very strong-featured, wonderfully sharp-tongued server, whom I bantered with for a couple of hours as the band and I chatted and hung out.  When it was time to go, I went along as they headed to where their car was parked, but I only went about a hundred steps before stopping dead in my tracks.  Dan asked what was wrong and I told him, "Gotta strike when the iron's hot."   I turned around and ran back to the restaurant, picked a table and sat down ... and when the server came over, I asked her straight up, when did she get off work.

She said a couple of hours.  I asked, if I wait, want to get a drink?  She agreed, and two hours didn't seem that long.  I said I was single.

Barbara wasn't sure.  She didn't know me, and naturally she began to have doubts.  I had no preconceptions about what might happen; I meant what I said.  I was happy just to get together with a girl for drinks, particularly liking that she was sharp-witted and sarcastic. Once upon a time I could have recalled the back-and-forths we'd had, but it's been too long.

I learned early that if a girl likes a guy, and doesn't feel rushed or threatened, she'll come onto him.  Before meeting Barbara, I'd already become something of a pick-up artist; not because I wanted to sleep with a lot of women, but because I wanted to meet "the one" and I knew that wasn't going to happen without some effort on my part.  So, like I said, having met Barbara, the iron was hot and I struck.

As chance would have it, just as she began to doubt what sort of fellow she'd made a date with, and was seriously planning to back out, a panhandler came in to ask for change.  This part of Calgary was like that then, and yes, the Penguin Club was that kind of bar.  But I liked it, it had character; it reminded me of those drinking holes that turn up in Toulouse-Lautrec paintings, and I considered myself an artist, though a writer of course.

Anyway, I politely suggested that I wouldn't give any money, but if the fellow wanted me to buy him something to eat and drink, I was willing to do that ... so long as he didn't ask me for alcohol.  He took me up on it, I ordered him a soup, and he and I chatted while he slurped it up.  I had time to wait, and he wasn't a bad fellow, just not happy with the world.

It saved me with Barbara, though I didn't know it until later.  In her mind, the date was definitely on again.  I'd aroused her curiosity, not only because I was generous, but because I got on with the fellow.  He bowed out about 8:30, and she got off at 9:00.

We walked a few blocks and found a club on 9th Avenue, near the Gulf Canada building.  I was fixed, an easy drinker, I didn't push her to do anything and we talked pretty steady though the place was too loud.  She asked about me and I asked about her, and after an hour or so, because she was curious, the subject came around to sex.

Now, I know, the internet; guys here don't like to talk about sex ... but for the record, it does happen, and a 20-year-old hetero can't help thinking about it.  By the time I met Barbara, I'd already had an intended for marriage who went her own way.  I was experienced.  Let me stress, though, that it was Barb that brought the subject up, though as I would find out, she had her reasons.

I tell people all the time, getting together with the right person isn't about hiding ourselves, hoping they'll like us.  It's about revealing as much stuff honestly about ourselves as possible ... so that if we say something that resonates with the listener, the road will be paved before us.  That night was a case in point.

I could see I was getting on with Barbara; it was past ten, she was laughing and enjoying herself.  But that didn't mean it was gonna work out, and like I say, I just don't assume that it will.  So when she asked, frankly, if I had any kinks, I told her honestly — as it was certainly true at the time — that I had interests in bondage and discipline.  I didn't elaborate.  I just said it.

Barbara called the bartender, paid for our drinks, grabbed my hand and pulled me straight out onto the street.  She practically ripped my arm off.  Minutes later, we were in cab, going to her place ...

And that's where I'm leaving this account.  Someday, when I'm maybe eighty, I'll tell the rest.  But not today.  Farewell.