My white-pride girlfriend

[gordonzola]

jette just wrote about one of those strange meeting-the-internet-friend-for-the-first-time events that ended in mystery, avoidance, and hurt feelings. It made me realize a couple of things. First, that I’ve been either lucky or skilled in not having any of those types of interactions. Second, I’ve had bad first-time-hanging-out interactions with people I’ve met in other ways so I should just shut the fuck up about that.

Maybe my formative experience with this has made me careful.

It was just after high school so maybe that partially excuses it. I met a Sacto punk rock girl at a party who seemed really cool. In retrospect, I realized that she started talking to me after I, uncharacteristically, helped run off some kids from a different high school who were harassing friends of mine. We didn’t have much time to talk before she had to leave, but we were friends of friends so we exchanged numbers.

She invited me up for a weekend while her friends parents were away. We were pulling one of those she’s staying-at-a-friend’s-house scams. I don’t remember what I told my parents because I was still living at home too. But I made it up to Sacramento by borrowing my brother’s truck.

I met her in whatever park the punks hung out in. It was already dark because I couldn’t leave San Rafael until I was done with work for the day. I followed her directions and met her at the entrance. We made our way to the center of the park. Though thinking about it now, I can’t imagine a Sacramento park being not linear and rectangular, the path was confusing and I lost track of where we were walking.

Finally, in some kind of clearing we found the punks. Or should I say, we found the skinheads. White-power skins, braced, booted and all with those heavy sharp, pointy rings on their fingers meant for maximum damage. Serious 1985 skinheads who would mostly be in jail in a few years time. Lots of American Front patches and white laces. Big guys and mean girls. They looked like they’d been drinking for awhile.

She started introducing me to her friends. The first guy I met said, "I’m Mike. Keep it white."

I wish I could tell my LJ readers that I said something pointed, witty, or clever. I wish I could tell you I beat up all the skins for being racist fucks. I almost wish I could tell you that I took a beatdown for the cause after telling Mike to fuck off. But I looked at the situation, weighed my odds, and said, "Hey."

When we had an alone moment, I suggested we go somewhere else. When we were clear of the danger area, I asked her if she was white power. She denied it and said those guys were just joking around. "And Mike’s half-Jewish anyways," she said in his defense. Besides, she had grown up with them and they bought her booze.

I didn’t really believe that, but since I had made some elaborate lie to cover where I was staying that night, and I’d already started drinking, I decided to stay over instead of drive the hour and a half back home. And to stay clear of her friends. It’s not like I had the money for a motel room.

We went over to her house where her dad was watching the news. The Contras had just burned a cooperative farm somewhere in Nicaragua and the reporter was gushing breathlessly. "I like those guys!" her dad said.

We went to her friend’s house, drank more and went to sleep, not fooling around even though we were sharing the same bed. I escaped early the next morning. I didn’t plan on seeing her again and I guess it was mutual. I got a letter from her three days later saying she didn’t want to date me because her parents liked me too much and she didn’t find boys that her parents liked to be attractive.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about being held in similar esteem to the Contras but I was glad there would be no more contact.

(Any readers have any first meeting horror stories they’d like to share?)