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Issue 7, the long promised "Nick" Story. Each week's story is available a few days early at the Team Fury board. As always, comments are welcome at rhythmofdave@aol.com

Next Week: Yeah, but the ex was great!

Nick Bailiff has been a friend of mine since I moved to Kalamazoo from Lansing. We didn't start hanging out regularly however until my final year of college when my awesome social circle of Jake, Nick, and Mick (who hasn't been mentioned before, but might get introduced later) began meeting at the bar every Wednesday night for drinks.
I've had some interesting things happen to me in the realm of dating, but Nick doesn't always make it to that point, because Nick most of the time lacks the courage to put himself out there.
When I moved to Cadillac, I spent the first nine weeks of my new job jetting back and forth between Kalamazoo and Cadillac for weekends with the guys.
While sitting in the beer garden listening to a local band play a bizarre combination of bluegrass and funk, which was the common menu item on Bell's music in the garden series, we met intrepid photojournalist Becca who wanted to know the answer to an age old question.
"Does anyone out there know how to use this camera?"
We passed the camera around our table several times before laughing at her stupidity. When we tried to make casual conversation with ourselves again, Becca sat down and interrupted at every turn. When it was time for us to leave Bells and head out elsewhere, Becca smiled at me and handed me her phone number and E-Mail address on a cocktail napkin. I found it odd considering how not only had I not said more than two words to her all night, but those two words were "go away."
I was going to throw it out, but Nick grabbed it from me and shoved it in his pocket. I shrugged. "PSYCHO!" I whispered in his direction but he didn't seem to care.
A few weeks later, which was one of my last trips down there, we shook things up and went to Shakespeare's pub, a relatively new bar which was attracting all of the local collegiate attention. We fell out of our chairs when Nick arrived, as he casually announced that he couldn't stay long, because he had a date.
In fact, he wouldn't be able to hang out tomorrow night either, because he had a date with a different woman.
We ordered a round and asked for all the juicy details.
Nick at this time, was working at the same trendy department store as Jake, and a girl there had invited him to a party. She hadn't just invited him to the party, she had said that she would LOVE for him to go there with her.
Which is why we all kept telling him "GO GO GO!" I wasn't that I didn't want to hang out with him, but I didn't want him to miss out on a golden opportunity I could exploit a year later to write a decent article about juggling two women in one weekend.
Nick left, and we finished our drinks, and headed to home sweet home…Bells Brewery, the scene of the crime.
Sunday, I returned home, and found a nice E-Mail from Nick detailing his two dates.
What follows is not for the weak of heart.
You've been warned.
The first date began at roughly eleven p.m. Nick, complete with directions to the party in hand, found himself somewhere no self respecting Western student with a conscious and student loans would normally find themselves…the student Ghetto.
He parked his car, saying goodbye to it, as he was certain he would never see it again, and began walking down the street trying to find the address. He got closer and closer to a building with loud, thumping music and several hundred people shoved onto a porch. He looked at the building, looked down at the paper in his hand and sighed.
Nick had found himself somewhere we had all taken an oath in front of god and Bells Oberon Ale, that we would never be. Nick found himself at a frat party.
He approached the porch, where people were beginning to look at him as if to say "What the hell are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" A stranger asked him.
"I'm here to see someone." Nick replied.
It wasn't that he didn't want to carry on this conversation with a total stranger.
Okay, it WAS that he didn't want to carry on a conversation with him. He pushed his way into the house and began the arduous task of trying to find his pseudo date for the evening.
Fifteen drunk filled rooms later, Nick found her.
"Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick….you made *hic* you made *hic* you're here."
Nick's date had apparently gotten the party started early. Nick's date was also quite possibly the reason there was an alcohol shortage at this particular party.
She propped herself up against the wall and didn't say anything. Nick has been drunk before, in fact we've had to disarm him once or twice, but Nick was blown away by how drunk she was, just as she was blown to the floor by a tiny gust of wind.
Nick excused himself and drove home, figuring that maybe his date tomorrow would be better.
The next night, while the gang and I had been celebrating Jake's birthday, which was incidentally, the same night that Meghan stood me up, leaving me wandering the streets of Kalamazoo at 2 a.m. wondering how I was going to get back to my car in Portage, Nick was driving towards another Bells pub in a surrounding town called The Old Hat.
Nick sat down at the bar where everyone knew everyone's name, except for him, and was talked to by several people who wanted to know who this interloper was.
After about half an hour, his second date of the weekend showed up. Nick's second date of the weekend? Becca.
They drank and talked, but Becca seemed concerned with talking to everyone else, rather than the guy who had shown up and knew no one. Nick just drank and talked to his new best friend, a guy who's name he couldn't remember, who was droning on and on about this and that.
Eventually, Nick decided to excuse himself, but Becca, unlike Drunky Dumpty the previous night, proved a little harder to shake.
Apparently, Becca wanted to have people over, and Nick was one of those people. He followed her home and she showed him her apartment. At this point, no one was there aside from the two of them, but that would quickly change.
People began showing up, mostly people from the bar, with a few extras thrown in inbetween, but Becca's "party" seemed to be one of those progressive parties, where people showed up for a few minutes then left. At one point there were about five people in her apartment, but mostly, aside from Becca and Nick, there were only one or two.
Nick was feeling a little uncomfortable, as Nick around new people is usually a little aloof as he soaks in the situation.
Around two in the morning, when I was being picked up by a former roommate and preparing to sleep on her sofa as I was still unable to get ahold of Meghan or Jake, Nick entered a brave new world. The world of casual observer in recreational drug use.
A new guy showed up, and sat down at the table, Becca followed and suddenly, there was white powder on her table. They each did a line of coke, and gestured for Nick to follow suit.
At this point, Nick decided to pass, in fact, he decided to pass on the entire situation after watching both of them reduce themselves to intellectual stupid people. Nick left.
All this greeted my answering machine and inbox when I returned home, and I had to smile, because Nick had just lived a dating adventure worthy of me.
Nick Bailiff is a friend of mine. Nick Bailiff has just demonstrated to you all, including myself, the main reason why I don't like to put myself out there, and why I'm so thankful that Stacey has entered my life. Nick Bailiff has entered the Rhythm of Life chronicles with a wonderful story involving alcohol, strangers, drugs, and a Frat house.
That weekend was an eye opener to me. It was the weekend I realized Meghan and I were totally through, and it was also the weekend that I realized I had completely underestimated one of my friends. Nick Bailiff, mild mannered department store worker, was a player.

Not just another pretty face...

Rhythm of Life is published Sundays by David A Johnson, every October-midwinter. You may check out the back issues at any time.

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