One Night Stand, Part 1

It was mid November 1980.

I’d been working for three months at KGA/KDRK-FM, which would eventually turn out to be a pretty good gig. But it came with a sacrifice: the long hours and willingness to work every day or night had pretty much short circuited any reasonable shot at a social life. Sure I had some friends, but they were mostly from the radio station, all dudes, half who were married, and the other half worked or slept during the same intervals as me. So, though the work load kept me busy, when I wasn't working, I was pretty lonely.

Since I’d only been hired in August, I was still seeded near the bottom of the KGA pecking order. That meant I’d be working all the holidays- Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and New Year’s Day, too. I didn’t really care, though, because I really needed the money. But no longer part of the college scene, and not yet plugged back into the community, I’d pretty much resigned myself to being all alone again at the holidays.

1979 had been the first Christmas I’d felt completely alone in the world. That was the one I’d od’d on Vodka at the hockey store Christmas party, and spent all of Christmas Day all by myself and throwing up. That may have been the worst Christmas ever, at least the worst post-childhood. Though Christmas 1980 was still a few weeks off, I already knew it wasn’t going to be that bad. Nothing could be that bad. I was still quite single, but working a schedule that had no room for parties or social events. And I’d never drink vodka again either, so there wouldn’t be a reprise of Christmas ’79.  However- though I enjoyed family gatherings about as much as I enjoyed last year’s hangover, I think I'd have done almost anything to be home with them for the holidays. I was lonely.

But feeling particularly sorry for myself at a shift change one Saturday night/Sunday morning a week before Thanksgiving, I related this sad tale to one of my new KGA buddies, Ron Andrews. Ron did a little of everything- overnights, evenings and fill-in hours on both KGA and KDRK. Like me, he didn’t have a regular schedule and his role was similar to mine, though he'd been doing it longer. He was also on salary. I wasn’t.

Ron was an interesting soul, though. First time I met him, if we'd still been in high school I'd have placed him as the know-it-all kid in algebra class who everybody made fun of behind his back. With horn-rimmed glasses and a nasally voice (which somehow worked for him on the radio), Ron definitely had the egghead-look going.  Easy to overlook in a crowd, or even in a gathering of, maybe, three, there was nothing outstanding about him at all- except his build. Ron was skinny. And not the lean and healthy kind of thin, either, but skinny- sickly looking, like a parasite had crawled into his intestines and consumed every ounce of fat and nutrients in his body. Ron was so skinny- how skinny was he?- he was so skinny a stiff wind could’ve picked him up and blown him into Idaho.

He was also one of the funniest guys I ever met. With a terribly off beat, wacky, and often perverted sense of humor, Ron was a contradiction: seriously professional on the air and, in a way, professorial in appearance, but hilariously anti-social and anti-establishment when the mic was off. Using witty and vibrant word-play, Ron's between records verbal jabs at Del Cody, the station owner, Steve Cody, the sales manager, the listeners, the music and artists we played, and even the ABC network news anchors, was linguistic artistry.  

But he took special delight in mocking the lords of the KGA fiefdom; in essence, biting all the hands that fed him. Of course, taking harmless little shots at the boss behind his back was nothing new. It’d been break room chit-chat at almost every other place I'd worked at too. However Ron took boss baiting to a higher level, especially whenever Dennis Bookey's name came up. Dennis was KDRK-FM's little dictator of a program director and, predictably, not the most popular guy in the room. At least among the jocks. Nobody cared much for him. But Ron couldn't stand him, going off on long periods of satirically vigorous Bookey-bashing.

These rants at some point almost always deviated into the different and anatomically awkward ways Dennis might consider pleasuring himself, with or without animals; and, though I hate to admit it, pretty much kept me laughing till I needed CPR. If Ron was one of these tangents while I was on shift, he'd leave me no choice but to commit the most unpardonable of sins at KGA, at least according to Bookey: playing two songs back to back without at least saying the call letters. I only did it though because Ron would be on such an unstoppable roll that I simply couldn't breathe, let alone talk.

Ron also talked about loving the ladies, but in fact never had a girl friend--at least not when I knew him. But when I told him about the sad and lonely holiday season I was anticipating, he offered to help. "I know someone you might like: my cousin. She’s fun, single, likes KGA. We can call her now and set something up."  It was going on 12:30 in the morning. The only people I knew who took calls that late into a Saturday night were either working or partying. Or lonely and dateless. I figured this chick to be in that category and, nothing personal, but studying my homely friend, I assumed any girl who’d taken a dip in the same gene pool as Ron Andrews probably looked like him, too.

Though inwardly admitting to being semi-desperate, outwardly I wasn’t that desperate. So I declined. "No way. I don't call a stranger out of the blue in the middle of the night and somehow casually work into the conversation, oh, by the way, how'd you like to go out with me sometime?" It Bur Ron wasn't put off. In fact, wasn't going to let me out of it. "Ah, no worries. She likes people and I think you'll like her, too”

He’d already reached into his billfold, full of tiny pieces of paper with all of his reminders, phone numbers and what little cash he carried, and pulled out what he was looking. “Ah, here it is.” I continued to protest, but he'd already tuned me out, dialed the number and was talking to her. A few minutes later, he handed the phone over to me. "Here. Talk to her. Her name's Wendy." I shook my head, no, but he'd already stuck the receiver to my ear and a I could hear a voice saying, "Hello? Hello?"

Resigned to my fate and annoyed at Ron, I sighed and answered back. "Hi". But whoever this Wendy was, she sounded genuinely delighted to be speaking to me. "Is this Rocket? Ronnie told me all about you, but of course he didn't have to because I know who you are from the radio. And you're a friend of Ronnie's so we’re practically already friends too. So, let me tell you a little about myself."

I’d yet to say a word, but as Wendy did her introductory spiel I looked over at Ron and mouthed, "Ronnie?" He shook his head, smiled bashfully. "She’s called me that since kids", he whispered. Eventually, I got a word in edgewise and, to my sincere shock, actually found myself engaged and enjoying the conversation.

She said a lot more than I did, but Wendy Spicer didn't sound peculiar-or drunk-and didn’t give off any weird vibes, either. She just sounded like a nice, normal person who's only obvious vice was staying up late at night listening to the radio and talking to a stranger on the telephone. I hadn't made a call of a social nature to a girl in forever and hadn’t intended to this time at all. But Wendy made it pain free, carrying the conversation and putting me at ease almost from the get-go. And I didn't have to ask her out. She actually made the suggestion, with an invite to her house the next night for dinner and cocktails. I didn't drink anymore, but wasn’t put off that she did. Maybe I’d break my own rules and join her, just this one time, anyway.

"Well, I'll have to check my calendar", I answered and then laughed. There'd been nothing on my calendar since about 1976. And with a shift the next day during the afternoon, my evening would be free so I quickly accepted. Shoot, it may have been the easiest date I ever made; so easy, after hanging up I wasn’t shaking or needing to scramble to the bathroom to throw up. Ron nodded his head approvingly after I told him the news, though he'd already figured it out from actively eaves-dropping on my end of the dialog.

"You can thank me later", he said, as I packed away my headphones and signed off the logs.

”If this all works out, you'll be the best man at my wedding", I joked and opened the control room door to leave.

Ron yelled, "You're on!" and we both laughed as I headed down the hall towards the employees exit.

There I clocked out, went out into the chilly night and headed home…with absolutely zero expectations. I knew nothing was going to come of this ‘blind date’ with Wendy because my heart was still blinded by ,and belonged to, my long-lost first love- a person who I knew I’d never be with or see again. I was setting myself up for failure—but only because I was so good at it

However if I could just find somebody to talk to if the holidays got too lonely, that's all I really wanted for Christmas that year. And if this person happened to be a kind-hearted female, too, well… that wouldn't hurt either. So I went through with it.

 

The next day I worked till 6 p.m. and arrived at Wendy's place three quarters of an hour later. I didn't even go home to change, just showed up as I was. That's how little my faith was that this adventure would turn out to be anything other than a bust. It’d been fun going through the process of setting it up, I was already regretting going through with it. Though this first date was a sure thing, thanks to Ron’s and Ron’s cousin, I had absolutely no expectations of a second one. I only hoped to get though the evening without spilling something or making a jackass of myself.

 

And as I knocked on her door, practically paralyzed with insecurity, I wished to be anywhere but there.  What was I doing? Damn you, Ron. I don’t do this well. I never did. I hate this. I hate you.  I should leave now. But I didn’t.

More next time...