We were on the beach late at night. I leaned in to hug and comfort her. “I’m sorry how you’ve been treated in life,” I said. “I wish there was something I could do or say to make it better, but I know I can’t.” I caressed her hair and wiped away her tears. Then she turned, looked up at me, and gave a weak smile. After what seemed like an eternity she spoke.
***
I met Stacey 15 years ago. I was 25 and she was 20. I’d been unemployed for several months and found an ad online for a nightclub job. It was for a barback position and while it would be a step down from my last job I really needed the money. Since I didn’t have a car I walked the forty minutes to the club or took the bus.
When I arrived at the building I tried the front door but it was locked. Given the club wouldn’t open for another few hours that made sense but the manager had forgotten to tell me where to go. A young woman came around the corner and walked towards me. She shot me a nervous look and asked where to enter the club. It was her first day too.
Stacey was short, dark-haired, and gothic. She had a lot of make up, tattoos, and piercings. While I wouldn’t call her striking she was cute and had plenty of sex appeal. I don’t remember the first thing I said but we circled the building and found a side door. After a cautious knock a bouncer opened it and told us to go to the office to see the manager. Maybe it was because we started together and were nervous but Stacey and I would grow close over the next few months.
The job itself was unglamorous but with hindsight it wasn’t among the worst places I worked at. At least it was easy. Barbacks are basically the bartenders’ bitches. You fetch ice, cut fruit, restock beer, pick bottles off the floor, and clean. Thankfully, most of the bartenders were nice and didn’t have oversized egos, which can be rare. The managers were also easygoing and chill, and the bouncers were the nicest of all. Then again, there’s no reason to be a dickhead when you can kick everyone’s ass. In fact, it’s better to hire bouncers who prefer to de-escalate things by diplomacy rather than those looking for a fight.
Of course there was one dick head who worked there and unsurprisingly it was the D.J! Think of any stereotype for disk jockeys and he had it. He was a cocky fuck boy who was more full of shit than a whale without an asshole. He’d hit on all the girls, get people to fetch him water bottles, charm the bosses, and shit on the barbacks. Fortunately, I rarely dealt with him, which was fine given our mutual contempt.
***
Stacey and I worked at the club every Friday and Saturday night and the evenings generally played out the same.We’d get there a few hours before it opened, cut 100s of lemons and limes, stock cups, and make the place presentable. I was still shy back then so I tended to spend most of the time talking to Stacey and the other barbacks. They were mostly cool but the attrition rate for employees was horrible. But given the poor pay, few tips, and tedious tasks this was unsurprising. Besides, everyone wanted to be bartenders, who made all the money, not bitches who fetched ice and cut limes.
You would think I’d have many great stories from working at a club but most nights were boring, repetitive, and long. There were a few fights, some obnoxious customers, and a few idiot colleagues, but nothing really stood out. Perhaps there are a few reasons for this. It was 20 years ago after all, the place was loud and dark, and to be honest we were drunk much of the time. One of the few perks of the job was getting plenty of free Coors bottles and being a raging alcoholic I didn’t hesitate.
But there’s another reason I don’t remember many colourful stories. It was a night club with hot, young women! While I wasn’t very attractive at the time, being quiet and overweight, when there’s enough drunk girls around statistically you get attention anyway. I’ve been slapped in the ass over 100 times in the industry by women and at least half of that happened at the club. I’ve also been scratched, groped, and had my legs felt up constantly, and even had drunk girls stare at me longingly (proving beer goggles apply to both genders).
Again, it wasn’t that I was attractive, it’s that the sheer number of girls, combined with heavy drinking, meant most guys will get decent female attention eventually. Of course since I was shy, they were drunk, and I was working, I didn’t exactly have opportunity to exploit such situations.
But if I got this attention Stacey was mobbed constantly. By the D.J, fellow barbacks, and drunk customers. I don’t remember being very jealous but I was annoyed when she occasionally hung out with drunken dirty bags. Because while Stacey was a nice girl she occasionally fell for jerks (likely because she had no father and came from a broken home). However, these flings rarely lasted long and we slowly became closer.
***
She eventually opened up to me once we met for drinks at a pub downtown. However, the evening was awkward as her gay male friend kept trying to flirt with me. Fortunately, he eventually went home with some guy and Stacey confided in me. I already knew she had two kids, which at the time didn’t bother me, but I had no idea how broken her home life had been. It had the classic tropes of a father who left, an angry and possessive mother, poverty, addiction, and physical and emotional abuse. I finally understood why she always seemed hyper-vigilant and had a sad look in her eyes. Childhood trauma is a bitch and my mom once told me nothing makes up for a broken childhood.
Of course I listened and showed empathy but given my upbringing was considerably more pleasant I had no idea what it was like. I can’t remember how the evening ended but we didn’t kiss or go home together.
Stacey and I continued to text and hang together during the next few months but eventually she got fired from the club for not showing up to a few shifts. It sucked working without her but given the poor pay I hardly blamed her. Realizing I had developed some feelings for her and knowing I wouldn’t see her that often I decided to make a move.
It was near the end of summer and since my father and stepmom had gone away for a vacation I invited Stacey out to my family’s place at the beach. My friends came along and we planned to have a few beers, hang out, and see what happened. This may have been a mixed blessing as she felt judged by a few of them after she said she had two kids, but I wanted her to see I had many good friends to show I was trustworthy.
***
It’s been 20 years so I don’t remember much of what happened that day. But we spent most of the afternoon and early evening drinking near the pool, telling stories, and generally having a good time. Being a creature of the hospitality industry I played host, grabbing drinks and food for people, and alternating between guests. But Stacey was mostly quiet that day, either because she didn’t know my friends or because maybe I drank too much. Given she kept laughing at me and told my friends she wanted to see what I was like when I was drunk it may have been more of the latter.
My friends later told me I also came on a bit too strong and while Stacey seemed comfortable the whole time later events suggest this was probably true. Certainly I remember being eager to make her feel at home, giving her my jacket when she was cold and continuously asking how she was doing. Given she had often dated unpleasant men maybe she wasn’t used to such consideration.
Eventually, my friends went home and Stacey and I went for a long walk then hung out at the beach. We sat there for a few hours, just talking about life. Finally, I moved closer and got a bit physical, making sure to proceed slowly to make sure she was comfortable.
“I’m sorry how you’ve been treated in life,” I said. “I wish there was something I could do or say to make it better, but I know I can’t.” I caressed her hair and wiped away her tears. Then she turned, looked up at me, and gave a weak smile. After what seemed like an eternity she finally spoke. I can’t remember the exact words but she basically told me I was sweet, she liked me, but she wasn’t looking for anything more than friendship. “Swing and a miss,” I remember telling myself.
For once this didn’t really bothered me and I’ve been friend zoned more times than Jon Arbuckle from Garfield. Maybe it’s because she had two kids, that we were quite different, or maybe I just knew deep down a relationship between us wouldn’t work. So I smiled, hugged her, and said “that’s okay, we’re all good.”
Needless to say while she stayed the night we didn’t share a bed and we wouldn’t hang out much afterwards. However, there was no bad blood and we kept in touch for a while. I often wonder what happened to Stacey. Whether she found a decent man, if she found a good job, how her kids turned out, etc.
Because I’ve met plenty of women in the industry, fell for many, but too often they weren’t as kind or authentic as they pretended to be. Because whatever her issues Stacey was a decent girl who had a rough start on life but was still a kind, honest person when we met.
I hope she found some peace and happiness.