When
I was in I was in my early twenties I lived for a while in a south Florida
studio apartment that had been fashioned out of what had once been the carport
on the side of a single family home. The
man that lived in the house beside me was a musician. One evening he came over to introduce
himself and let me know that he could hear me through the wall while I was
plinking around on my guitar. His first
name was Gail, he was about eight years older than me, and he played old standards
in a lounge at night. We quickly found
that we had at least two common interests: jazz and girls. He told me that we could find both at a place
called “The Brass Rail” on the inter-coastal waterway in Ft Lauderdale. He asked me if I wanted to go check it out. I told him that I didn’t have much experience
with hanging out in bars and I could never think of what to say to women that I
didn’t know. He said that I would do fine
if I just followed his lead so I agreed to go.
When
we got settled in with our drinks at the end of the bar, Gail began to scan the
room and tell me about the female prospects that he saw. He pointed out the tourists and explained how
they were often looking for a “one night stand.” He pointed out a group of locals and for some
reason commented that they would not want to talk to us. I tried to keep a pleasant smile going as I
wondered if I was sipping my drink at an appropriate pace. I knew that I was shaking a little and I
hoped that no one noticed. I was beginning
to think that my friend was as scared as I was when it came to approaching
women when he nodded toward two ladies at a small table. “They are waiting for someone to buy them a
drink. Come on.” I followed him to the table where he asked
them if they were waiting for us.
Nodding at each other they stood up. One of them held her hand out to me and in a
very animated southern voice said, “My name is Fawn and this is my friend Jade.” I took her hand and mimicked her tone by
saying: “My name is Guy and this is my friend Gail.” Everything turned awkward for a moment before
the woman apologized and stated that they were actually waiting for someone
else. Back at the bar, Gail scolded me
saying:
“I can’t believe you said that!”
“Said
what?”
“That
we are Guy and Gail!”
“But
that’s our names. What was I supposed to
say?”
“Not
‘Guy and Gail’ and the way you said it made us sound like we are a couple of [gay people].”
I
was bewildered and I didn’t know what else to say. Gail paused for a moment and began to explain
slowly: “Couldn’t you see that those women were playing a game with us? They weren’t telling us their real names and
they didn’t want to know our names. When
she said that her name is Fawn you should have said that your name is
Buck. When the other one said her name
is Jade, I could have said that my name is Rock. Do you see what I mean? You just made us look stupid Guy.” I was amazed that Gail could read the people
in the room like that and I was sorry that I had messed up our chance to sit
and talk with those women. I had thought
that they were quite pretty even though they seemed to have too much makeup on,
and the one near me smelled like a flower.
We finished our drinks and then left.
My neighbor never asked me to go out drinking with him again.
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