Shortly after I got my apartment I requested visitation to see my daughter. Maria had her mother bring over my daughter for a supervised visit where I had been planning on having her for the entire weekend alone. Instead I got about a 45 minute visit before her mother left with my child, as if somehow my rights as a father diminished with my decision to seek better out of my life. It soon became apparent that fatherhood was to be a package deal. If I did not wish to continue in a relationship with my daughter’s mother it would be made difficult in regards to a direct father to daughter relationship. As time went on, the obstacles multiplied.
I worked in an electronics store as a sales clerk selling stereos, alarm clocks and radar detectors. At night I threw parties or had friends over to get high.
On weekends, I began driving up to a metal club in Toledo, Ohio called Roxanne's. Since the eighties scene was still alive and prevalent the club’s large stage was filled with local bands each weekend and a plethora of women who went there to pick them up. Knowing this it was an easy place for me to fit in since I stood out like a sore thumb in the redneck town of Findlay, Ohio. Bigger cities seemed to have more of an open mind to lifestyles that were alternative to small hole in the wall bars and dirty, grumpy factory workers.
One such night on the way to an after hour party with a friend of mine, Lorenzo, we stopped at a gas station to get alcohol and we noticed two girls with hair taller than I’d ever seen in my life. We were soon on our way with two extra passengers. I lost track of the two girls at the party. I assume they spent most of the night thwarting off moves from Lorenzo while I ended up in the bedroom with a half black girl.
Apparently, Lorenzo had gotten their numbers so a few nights later we ended up back in Toledo, followed by quite a few return trips as I began seeing one of the two on a regular basis. I would end up coming home early in the mornings to go to work then return afterward for more rounds of partying.
On few occasions I would return with her and put her up in my apartment while I was at work. It was one of these occasions that I received a call from Maria, requesting as she always did without notification, that I watch my daughter. Since I didn’t believe in exposing my daughter to girls that I had nothing serious with it was obviously not possible to watch her that night. Maria became angry and I suspected that she was on to the situation, so I took my lunch break early, drove over to my place to put the girl up at a friend’s house while I was away. My suspicions were correct since I passed Maria walking with a friend towards my apartment on the way.
After work, I caught up with a friend of mine who regularly wanted someone to get high with and we smoked a few bowls and picked up the girl at my friend’s house. By the time we had pulled into my parking lot I was so stoned I could barely talk.
Maria was waiting outside on the steps to my apartment and I instantly knew there was going to be trouble. I have no recollection as to how I reacted, since I was paranoid anyway but all I can recollect is that I got the girl through my door, had her lock it and waited outside to clear up the situation with Maria while Maria continued to hurl derogatory insults at her through the window.
Somehow, after making several attempts to put her hands down my pants and convince me to leave with her she managed to break through the door and grabbed the poor girl by the neck. I pulled them apart, eventually got Maria out the door and threatened to call the police. She eventually tired of the tirade and left. I woke up the next morning to find that all my tires had the air taken out of them and all the windows had the words “Bitch!” and “whore” painted with lipstick and other graffiti.
Half the crowd that hung out at Roxanne's would also hang out at Buttons in Perrysburg which was a more pop setting but had a similar amount of action. It was there that I met Lisa Adam for the first time. A short cute blonde with a perfectly symmetrical face. We had a short conversation and I noted the instant chemistry. She was friends with the girl I was casually seeing so I'm guessing she would have been beyond my reach at that point in time. As things began to fade with Toledo life I heard that Lisa had had an aneurysm in her brain in the bathroom at Roxanne's that caused a stroke which in turn virtually paralyzed half her body. She'd stay at the house with the girl that I was seeing once in awhile and her speech was impeded pretty heavily although she didn't talk much around me. I'm thinking that she had to do physical therapy to try to get her speech back. A worse thing couldn't have happened to a better person.
Eventually I started going out of town in the opposite direction of Toledo to a metal bar in Lima, Ohio called “The Wayside”. Being in what they call “Little Chicago” the nightclub was more relaxed and brought about somewhat more drama. In other words, we could get away with a little more. Here is where I developed the art of intimidation via a lot of practice. See, fighting wasn’t something that I liked to do but if I were to confront my fears I would have to put myself into situations where the fear of it would recede. I hadn’t grown up in an environment of proving grounds and I felt that in some way people who did had an advantage over me—yet another area where I felt naïve. I learned very quickly that extreme responses to disrespect usually prevented fights more quickly than antagonizing them. So basically, if someone looked at me the wrong way I’d be in their face in seconds to see what the problem was. When people don’t have time to get mad before being presented with an extremely angry person they generally back away because they have no vested interest and figure that the person who does will most likely win. It’s amazing that I don’t think I ever did actually get into a fight there at the Wayside considering how many times this sort of situation had occurred.
But the point of being there was to have a good time and that my friends and I usually did. Except for the fact that since Lorenzo was always off doing something else I made a bad habit of leaving him behind in different cities. I guess it became a given that if I’d hit my alcohol threshold or found girls and he wasn’t there then the bus was leaving; he should have used his psychic abilities.
On one of my first nights at the wayside a friend of mine and I met two beautiful blondes. One could have easily been a Playboy model and the other was almost as attractive but was the smarter, intelligent type. I took to the latter. I was never sure if Troy, who I did not know very well, already knew them before that night or not though I got a sense that he did. We eventually ended up back at their place sitting on the couch watching movies while I aimed to finish off what was left of a 12 pack of Michelob. When conversation waned and it was time to call it a night Michelle invited me into her bedroom to sleep, explicitly telling me that it was not an invitation for sex.
Shortly thereafter Michelle kissed me and things got to a point where if they went much further that creed would be broken. She was concerned that it would be a one night stand and didn’t do one night stands. I insisted that I intended on seeing her again which I had every intention of doing so at the time. We made love and I promised the next morning that we would do another double date that weekend.
The next night I ended up back at the Wayside. It was Halloween night. I’m not sure why Halloween always seemed to be the night where influential figures came out of the woodwork for me but it’s always been a definite pattern. As always I pursued a game of pool to start off yet another chaotic night of drinking excessively and ended up playing with the devil—literally. The brunette wore high heels, a short red skirt with a tail, a red fringe shirt and two horns on top of her head. Of course anyone in their right mind should have paid heed to this but of course I found her fascinating. She had a soft spoken yet strong voice and was one hell of a pool player. I do believe I “let her win” that night.
Michelle showed up that night as well but could not stay but wanted to verify for the following weekend that we were still going to get together and I assured her that we would. Michelle was a nice girl, sweet and vulnerable. After she left I hung around and took up conversation with Carmen, the devil. We hit it off and went back to her friend’s place and had a few drinks before returning back to the Wayside. Carmen ended up coming home with me that night and I was definitely taken with her from there on. She was fun, liked the same music, liked to party as much as I did, and great in bed. I was impressed that she could hang like a guy drinking buddy yet be so feminine at the same time. To me, it seemed like she killed plenty of birds with one stone and we became inseparable except for work schedules.
A few days later I received a call at work from Michelle in regards to the weekend. I had completely forgotten and I had to refuse the offer and told her that I was seeing someone. I hurt her, very, very badly. She had given me herself despite hesitation and trusted me enough to give what she considered private and valuable to a guy and it appeared that I had entirely taken advantage of it. I had no intentions of doing so but I did not foresee Carmen coming into the picture and taking the position in my life that she did. I seemed to have a thing for bad girls with sensitive sides and Carmen fit that role to a T.
Carmen and I started spending more and more time together over the next several weeks. The half an hour drive became more and more of a routine as we balanced the time that we weren’t working driving back and forth to see each other. Carmen was exciting and sensitive at the same time. Her weaknesses drew me in as much as her assets did. In some sick way, the idea that she partied so much appealed to my sense of shared misery.
I was employed by an appliance store selling small electronics–radar detectors, stereo systems, and pretty much any gadget you could think of–making $3.35 an hour plus commission which NEVER amounted to anything considering the fact that there was a cap that had to be reached and a set of VHS tapes brought about a $.06 commission value. The monthly rent for my studio apartment was costing $195 a month.
Somehow I acquired a tanning lamp. The kind that resembles a 3 ft. stand up fan with a fluorescent bulb in it. Having never been prone to wear eye protection I figured I’d get a good start and do a good half an hour to fourty-five minutes under the lamp. I woke up the next morning to find that my eyes had literally burned shut! I couldn’t open my eyes without the air forcing them to tears and any form of daylight felt like I was looking directly at the sun.
Having already called in to work a few times previously due to hangovers I asked Carmen to drive me in to work so I could explain, in person, why I could not work that day. Carmen lead me by the hand into the store, since even with the aid of sunglasses I still couldn’t open my eyes, and led me up to the new store manager. I told him that I couldn’t open my eyes and that I was basically talking to him blind and that working that day would be next to impossible. He handed me a form to fill out confirming voluntary resignation, informing me that if I wasn’t able to work I would be let go. I refused to sign it, much less see it to sign it, and was out of a job.
Carmen and I eventually found a place off of I-75 in Lima, Ohio on Bible Road (how fitting), an old roadside hotel, turned into a single story apartment complex, and moved in together against her parents' better wishes.
It wasn't but a few days in to our move that we became acquaintances with two brothers who lived on the other side of the apartments. Mike was a wanna-be rocker sporting a leather, black-fringed biker jacket, white and black snake skinned cowboy boots which he wore over his jeans like I did, and a mullet. He and his brother Joe, a tall plump kid who would later get into the habit of walking right in to our apartment and jumping on our bed with us in it, both lived with their Dad who worked at the local Ford plant.
One dark winter evening there was a knock on our door, then another quick knock. Carmen answered the door to find Mike and his brother asking if they could come in with frantic looks on their faces. It was their first visit since we'd casually greeted them in the parking lot a day or so before. Carmen let them in and they asked if they could hide in our bathroom.
Apparently they were on the overpass that overshadowed the apartment complex and were throwing snowballs at traffic when one of the snowballs struck a highway state patrol vehicle. We agreed to aid and embed and shortly thereafter there was a knock at the door.
Sure enough, it was the State Highway Patrol asking if we had seen anyone that might have been playing on the overpass. Carmen lied, because I was never a good liar, the patrolman left, and we all had a good laugh and proceeded to throw a party. If was the first of many, many more to come.
Carmen and I both started working for a temp agency which placed us pretty consistently at a factory that manufactured plastic detergent bottles.
We both found favor with the 3rd shift supervisor, also named Carmen, and as a result our temp jobs were pretty secure. It was hot, dull, boring work. I spent most of my nights letting my imagination run wild to keep my brain occupied. Occasionally we'd get to work together side by side.
Since the plastic factory was about a 45 minute drive, we typically car pooled with an old lady who always kept the dome light on whenever people car pooled with her so she could keep an eye on the strangers in the car for potential threats.
On the occasion that she wasn't called back we would drive Carmen's white Camero--her pride and joy. The Camero was detailed in black and white and sported a black leather bra on the front of it.
On one of the nights that the old lady had off, we were called by the temp agency to see if we could give a ride to a new temp. We agreed and picked him up, if I recall correctly, at the temp agency.
At lunch time, Brady could be seen sporting a flat brimmed cowboy hat like Stevie Ray Vaughan used to wear, with his face buried in a Hit Parader rock magazine. Seeing some common interest with Brady I sat at his lunch table and took up a conversation which eventually ended up with a mutual brainstorm describing the common, beaten down man wearing black dress socks in his living room watching TV, white label beer in one hand, cigar in the other, wearing boxers and sporting a wife beater and 50 extra pounds in his beer belly. What initiated that specific conversation I'll probably never recall.
After the first carpool with Brady, and since we worked third shift, by morning we found ourselves at Carmen's parentally donated beige and white marble table with two small drinking glasses and a large one in the middle, a 5th of Jack, Michelob, and leftover MadDog 20/20. Let's just say that I was an avid "quarters" player and only improved over time, and, in short terms, the more I drank, the better I got. Let's also say that, at the time, I questioned how accustomed to Jack Daniels Brady was when I saw the suppressed look on his face after having to drink yet another shot. I knew the look. It was only a matter of moments before he'd either throw up all over our table or on our outside doorstep if I could get him to the door in time. Fortunately for the dining room table we had enough time with only seconds to spare.
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About the Author
Currently a Lakewood Ranch, Florida resident, Philip has authored various interactive blog websites since the early 2000’s. Most content will be based primarily on matters of opinion as usual.