Rick H.
Yelp
Her name was.... well, I don't care to remember. We'd met on Yahoo Personals and seemed to have a lot in common. We both knew the lyrics to the same stupid song by some band off the Dr. Demento 20th Anniversary disk. I was a computer geek with Gothic tendencies as I'd just discovered Rammstein on Napster and wore nothing but black. She was self described as petite and gothic.
When I picked her up from work, I found she was neither. Warning signs #1 and #2. She was firmly 90s Portland grunge. But playing the game, I circled the block, briefly thought of heading straight, but picked her up. The passenger side springs on my car squeaked noticeably when she got in - no mean feat in a second hand 1995 Ford Crown Vic. Swearing the car leaned one direction, and I was sitting higher off the road, I decided to head down to my favorite food place - Lyons (long ago turned into condos), next to Burgerville on MLK, and across from the Denny's where David "from Welches" used to scam people for "gas money" after every Trailblazers game.
Fortunately Lyons was closed (unfortunately, permanently,) so I apologized and in a fit of brilliant thinking decided to take her down to the Clinton Street Pub for a "get to know you drink."
The Clinton was it's usual self. Hipsters, back when they were called Grunge and didn't wear it ironically. Neighborhood old timers who'd been going there for two decades. Drunks of all ages. She ordered PBR (warning sign #3), myself a Mt. Dew as I was still a non-drinker in those days.
We talked. She complained about her ex (warning sign #4). Told me she smoked weed, "like a lot" in her words. Had anxiety, depression, manic episodes, and bi-polar disorder. Also a kid that 20-something me was not willing to deal with. (Warning signs #5 through #how do I escape this?!?!?)
We chatted about an hour, when I feigned having to get home because I had to work REALLY early the next morning. I'm pretty sure I had the next day off. Volunteered to take her to her house. Found out she lived with her parents in far Gresham when I had just moved from SE 82nd to far out Beaverton. (Warning sign we're almost out of this.)
She offered to smoke me out. I declined. She offered various sex acts, in the car, most of which would have been impossible even in the big back seat. I declined. She asked for my sweat shirt because she was cold. I declined because I didn't want it stretched out and turned on the heat full blast. When we finally got to her house, she tried to kiss me. I declined. The next day I had like 100 emails from her. Deleted them all without reading. A month later she called me up saying "Hey, I'll give you a second chance." I declined, luckily with the real excuse that I'd just started seeing someone awesome.
That was the last time I sat foot inside the CSP for nearly 15 years. I recently had occasion to do so again. To find that it's still the same pub I had that disastrous "date" so many years ago. I don't think even the decor has changed. I know for sure the smell hasn't changed. I'm pretty sure I recognized a few faces. It's still a cheap, neighborhood dive bar. Don't expect anything great, and you'll be rewarded.