The Art of Being Stupid Begins
Friday May 15th, 1981 was about to be the greatest day of my life. When the sun went down that evening I would still be a jackass but at least there'd be some improvement in this wretched thing called the being I was. After twenty-eight years of being an idiot, I was finally getting laid. Thank God for that angel by the name of Linda.
For most of my existence I'd been a fat ass, four-eyed and terrified of girls, that's a statement of fact. A jackass, real simple. Blame it on anything up to and including being raised American Baptist, it didn't matter, facts are facts. For a lot of reasons in early 1981 I went nuts. Stopped smoking and got healthy. Stopped eating and got thin. Got a pair of contact lens and could see. I even paid attention in grad school, not that it had any purpose in life. After all, I was still terrified of women and then there she was.
I was drinking coffee at McDonald's across from the university that Wednesday morning, killing time waiting for class. For no apparent reason I watch the city transit bus pull to a stop across the street, let some people off and pull away. This beauty of a woman was standing there, waist length chestnut hair, flannel overshirt, jeans, book bag and white cane. Shit, a blind girl going to college? I was impressed. I was a jackass. I pitched the coffee and followed her to see what this was all about.
At least followed her to the first intersection. We're college snots, we only thought about ourselves, not the disabled beauty trying to figure out traffic. I don't know where it came from, this rare bit of courage that infected me at the moment.
"Hi, pretty lady. Can I help?"
Whether it was the compliment or the offer of assistance doesn't matter, I got a smile. By the time we'd gotten to her class I also had a name, life story and a date to take a walk that afternoon after class. I'm no looker but I must have talked well. I was apparently about to talk a lot better than I ever knew possible.