Month: February 2005

Elevators have taken on a whole new meaning for me lately.

Lots of people insist that there’s a pattern to life, that, over time, you can see how events that seemed final and long ago can take on new meaning, or even recur, just twisted a bit. Or people that you only associated with a time that has passed will show up again, in almost exactly the same way that the ocean tosses up an old shipwreck. And, yes, that metaphor is perfect… trust me.

Damn, a while ago I made a brief post about having arguments in my head with people long gone. And then, this week, someone shows up, a person who defines the phrase “person long gone” in a very personal way. A face and a voice that I haven’t seen in a span recorded in decades, traveling in a body that does not show much wear and tear for all the miles between then and now.

And what’s more important, she remembers all the same stories I do. And in her laugh I see that she remembers them fondly. It’s almost too much to ask for.

But all the best stories share a setting: lounging in a darkened bar, after hours, with all the other customers sent home, while the barmistress counted out the till and the rest of us drank the boss’s beer for free (at least until the boss called to say he was coming in).

I spent money like water. I spent money that wasn’t mine, actually. I broke some hearts but mostly ended up mending mine. I made friends, and lost them.

Or so I thought. Apparently friends don’t just vanish in the night. They show up when least expected.

I’m not sure if that’s good…

I’m the wrong person to judge if I’m different now. I can string a story from that point to this point, and it all seems to make sense, each event leading into the next one into the next one all the way to where I type this out. I know, however, that I have learned a lot, and lived a bit, just a bit, since then, and my reactions now to those events would be different. Far different, I hope. But it doesn’t make a lot of difference, now, does it? I chose poorly then. I choose poorly now, too, it’s just that it’s a different kind of poorly.

To be sure, I choose wisely now a little bit more than I did back then. But, being human, I think I dwell more on the poor choices than the wise ones. You gain something with a poor choice. But what you gain from the poor choices makes the good choices possible.

All I’m saying is that it’ll be interesting to see how time has changed an old friend. It’ll be difficult, though, for me to see her as she is now. That’s the challenge; the person I remember is somewhat stuck in my mind in a specific context. I’ll need to be alert to seeing the woman she is now.

Is the pattern there? Is there some other consciousness (I mean, other than mine and hers) layering the pattern on top of the events in my life? I’m inclined to disbelieve that. More likely my own brain, struggling to make sense of random events, is the one supplying the pattern.

Even so, it makes for interesting stories.

Two interesting theme-related events in the past couple of days.

Purely in the interest of gathering information and practicing (why are you looking at me like that? It’s true) I stopped by a strip club this weekend on a slow Sunday afternoon. I wanted to find out more about this whole “eye contact” thing that sort of took me by complete surprise last week.

I figured that if I could maintain steady eye contact with naked women, I’d be really ahead of the game. Either that, or the dancers would think I was gay. At any rate, I would find out something and have some fun doing it.

And the results were pretty much spectacular. Dancers (and quite possibly women in general) understand eye contact; it’s partly a dominance thing, partly a way of communicating a comfort level that most men don’t carry with them normally (let alone around the aforementioned naked women). I even got called over to help this one girl get dressed, tying up her halter-top-type dress. I let her know that this was a first for me and that she should probably be tipping me.

I did find that it’s fun to vary my expression. I don’t have to keep a straight face. I had fun winking, smirking, popping my eyes out of my head. There was definite tension build up…

There was one girl with whom I found it difficult to maintain eye contact. Even so, she seemed to recognize my attempt and went from being distant and expressionless to warming up, laughing and joking with me, tossing her hair around and playing peek-a-boo. She turned out to be very funny and smart.

And I only spent an hour there…

Then, this afternoon, while at work, I was getting in the elevator going up to my office and I heard a voice cry out “Hold that elevator!” I did, and this blonde woman bolted in. She must have been running to catch it; she was out of breath and leaned against the opposite wall (side note: have you ever noticed that people tend to distribute themselves proportionately in an elevator? At least when they’re strangers. People who know each other will clump together but make space for strangers. Watch for it sometime. Or, if you’re feeling devilish, purposely don’t and see how people react. It’s fun) and when I looked at her, I blurted out, “I know you!”

She was a stripper that I knew from a long, long time ago, ten years or more. Um, awkward moment. I don’t know what the etiquette is for acknowledging “exotic entertainers” when they’re not in the club and not on the stage. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t call her by her stage name if other folks are around… It’s a situation that calls for caution.

She looked at me, and smiled a bit, nodded her head… “Yeah, you look familiar to me, too.”

I was going to look for a wedding ring, but got distracted by her bus pass, hanging from her backpack about mid-chest level. It was marked with an “H” — which in Portland means it’s an “Honored Citizen” pass for the elderly or disabled. I was confuzzled.

She had hit a floor between the ground floor and mine. I looked at her again and said, “You work in the building?”

“Yes!” she said brightly.

“Me, too!” I said. “For the county?”

“Yes!” she said again.

“Me, too!” I said. And by that time the elevator had reached her floor and she scampered off.

Now I’m torn. I was a regular customer of hers, but not, in any sense of the word, intimate with her. I did know her real name, which I only vaguely recall now, but wasn’t ever what I would consider a “friend” beyond being an ATM that dispensed cash whenever she took off her clothes. And, if she does in fact work for the county she might not want her past career widely known. All reasons for me to just let it go and not try to look her up.

Still, it would be interesting to meet her for lunch and find out what happened in the intervening years. Also, what the hell is up with that “H” bus pass?