Part XI : It Could Only Happen in Plattsburgh (or NYC)

It was my senior year, and I had reached my limit. I could navigate the day time as well as any of my male contemporaries. In class, in the library, or roaming the college center, I could engage girls like I wrote the book on flirting and setting things up for future reference. But once night fell and the witching hour struck, my brew had no idea how to capitalize on all the previous goodwill and work. I couldn’t close the deal - even when the deal was closed for me.

I was despondent and noticeably so. In fact, on several occasions, random people stopped me on the street to ask if I was ok. This state of affairs didn’t get past my friends either, and I’m lucky they were always their to talk me down.

More importantly, they made sure to make light of the situation and me, and Tim takes the honors for bringing perspective as I was having one of my bouts.

Rich, he told me, “We all see girls we like. We all make the freezing walk downtown, and bounce from bar to bar in desperation. We all can’t think of anything to say and stumble over our words.We all get frustrated, discouraged and angry. And we all walk home alone shaking our heads, wondering what do we have to do?”

(Wait for the beat.)

“Except for Matt,” Tim deadpanned.

Perfect precision, perspective is everything and so is a good laugh.

A little disclaimer required here : My memory wasn't of Matt picking up girls. It was more like Matt was often too drunk to pick up girls and then taking it out on whoever was nearest. He'd start punching you, and wail, "Why did you let me get so drunk."

You’re Going this Way and I’m Going that Way

So NYC networking events has become a home court that was even better than the library in Plattsburgh. You’re actually expected to introduce yourself, and with that type of comfort level, I talk a pretty good game. So back in 2008, I went to several journalism events with Steve, and we masterfully worked a number of rooms. But we were kind of pushing it when we went to a gathering that was supposed to be only for college students.

Hey, we went to college so why wouldn’t we be welcome, and Steve really made the most of the venue. I probably introduced myself to a pair of ladies in wait, and Steve did the rest. He was on a roll for the ages - ten pounds of liverwurst for the spring break bus ride to Florida, Tim taking his student loans in travels checks and heroic tales of intramural glory and the mandatory excess of Plattsburgh and NYC life.

As for me, I read the room. I held back and made no effort to supplant Steve from his perch. Well played, the young ladies were completely taken. Nonetheless, Steve tried to take some air out of their inspired balloons.

“So where were you girls in 1988,” he attempted to bring perspective.

No such luck, one of these 20 year olds was really enamored and was having no part of exhaling. She assured that age doesn’t matter and eventually the four of us made our exit.

In this, Park Avenue represented more than a geographic crossroad. Heading south, my excitement was met with equal trepidation. Is Steve really going to do this, and am I going to be part of this atrocity?

You see, he wouldn’t just be cheating on his wife. Given her exalted status among our classmates, Steve would be cheating on all of us, and he wouldn’t be the only one thrown out in the cold. I would probably be expelled from my group of friends too.

“So am I really going to do this?” I fretted as the thoroughfare got closer and closer.

Of course, the answer was easy.

Yes.

Now, I’m not such a monster. I had every confidence that Steve knew exactly what to do, and when Park Avenue stood before us, he didn’t hesitate.

“Girls, you’re going that way, and I’m going this way.”

My situation was resolved too. “Rich, which way are you going?”

“I guess I’m going with you,” I meekly bowed out.

No objections there, and never really being any doubt, everyone lived happily ever after.