PICKING UP CO-EDS 70’S STYLE

Which One Was You?

Before social media, meeting co-eds at college meant leaving the basement.

Starbucks moved into the space on the opposite end of the block from the U of O bookstore.

It the seventies it was a college bar, the best place on the street for 21 and over students.

And everyone else.

Taylor’s was still open, but who wants to listen to drunk professors complain about their tenure, or lack of it.

That was the place for serious talk, serious drinking, and early evenings.

The other place was party and dance. If you remember the name of it, leave a comment.

One night the band kicked in. Three harmonizing ladies fronting a pounding rhythm section.

They looked primed for the big time, one of those bands you get to hear before you have to pay for a concert.

I was there alone, wishing I knew how to play guitar, wishing I had a band.

During my alone wishing time, around 11:00 pm, a fellow student took a spot next to me at the rail.

Since the band played from a stage in the sunken center of the bar with the dance floor in front, non-dancers could watch from above.

She looked familiar, but at some point everyone does. Turns out she dated a roommate of mine earlier in the year.

At the time I was reading Sometimes A Great Notion for an English class, the Ken Kesey Oregon logger epic.

One of the characters in the book said, “If you keep up a quiet stream of conversation a girl will go with you when you ask.”

Looked like a perfect night to try it out.

What did I say? No idea, but I remember a steady, low key stream of words that ended with, “You want to take a walk?”

She said yes. Now what? I was lost.

So we left the bar headed toward the bookstore. Taylor’s was across the street. We turned the other way and ended up walking down the service alley in the middle of block.

Service alley means dumpsters, and they were full. Ken Kesey didn’t get into what to do when you found yourself with a gorgeous UO woman in a garbage stinking alley.

I kept up my end of the conversation. And hers.

We walked the alley to the sidewalk on the opposite end. One left turn put us back to the bar.

As far as I’m concerned it was a successful night for me, her, and the Kesey theory. Time to head back in for another beer and tell her about the Kesey theory of picking up co-eds.

She might think it’s funny. She might dump a beer on me.

Instead she said, “I live over in the quad. Let’s go to my place.”

Okay? I was ready to call it a night, but apparently it wasn’t over.

We walked to her place where she turns on the radio and a dim light.

I’m checking myself. Who’s picking up who? This girl had more skills than me. She was nice, too nice for a one night stand which was working against the mood.

We sat together and cuddled a little. I was about to tell her I’d like to see her again, like in daylight, and make a date, when a song came on the radio.

I wasn’t a fan of Supertramp, but Give A Little Bit made me a fan.

“Now we have a song,” she said so sweetly.

Okay, but I was still looking for a chance to bolt.

Then someone started pounding on the door and yelling, “Mary? Mary, I know you’re home. I know you’re in there. You’re in there with Bob, aren’t you. I will kill him. Mary, I swear I will kill Bob.”

Give A Little Bit played on.

“It’s a guy from my Psych class,” she said. “He needs help. They all do in that class. He won’t kill you. He says that about everyone.”

“Who’s Bob?” I asked.

“One of his friends in the class.”

“Maybe you should talk to him.”

I could hear the guy outside crying.

“Mary. I love you. I do. Now you know. I love you. And I’m not leaving.”

“I’m not with Bob,” she said.

“Then I don’t care who you’re with. I love you and I’ll kill anyone you’re with.”

There was one door out I wanted to take, but not with a killer waiting.

“Maybe we ought to get together tomorrow,” I said.

“I was thinking tonight looks good.”

“Tomorrow is better.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Sneak out the back?”

“There is no back.”

“Then out the door I go.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Well, yeah. You’re sort of spooky, but who isn’t?”

“I mean the guy outside. Aren’t you afraid of him?”

“Has he ever said anything about a gun?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I’ll be okay.”

I waited for ten minutes of quiet, then opened the door.

The guy was on the other side of the outside stairway. I had an open shot of running down, but walked it.

Nice and slow.

The guy stood in a corner with his arms wrapped around himself.

I looked straight at him on my slow walk so he’d know I wasn’t Bob. And I wanted to see his face to avoid a later surprise.

“She’s a nice girl, man. Too nice for me, for you, and for Bob. Let’s keep her that way. Go home.”

“Who else is in there?”

“No one, but her roommates are up. They’ll call the police if they hear more from you. Go home, man.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll come right over and kick your ass if you can’t figure this out. I’m going downstairs. I’d better see you in five minutes or I’m coming back. You won’t see me, but you’ll remember this night in a bad way. Go home. You’ve got five minutes.”

He watched me walk down the stairs backwards, ticking off seconds on my raised fingers.

“The clock is running. You run too and we don’t have a problem. I’ll be waiting.”