Wild Child Frustrates A Date When She Goes Crazy In Sharkeez
It was, admittedly, against my better judgment.
But she’s cute.
So when the girl – who had just frustrated me two nights earlier but then apologized with the “it’s not me and it will never happen again” line – I took a chance and met her out on a Saturday night.
I figured I had a chance to control her if I could control the environment. And that means avoiding the Hermosa Beach Pier, a place where wild girls like her go uncontrollably wild. There’s something about the pier that turns them from docile to destructive. So I had her meet me at a harmless bar around the corner, Barnacles.
She showed up looking absolutely adorable – dangling, sparkling earrings, a cute top and sexy pants that were kind of like patterned, part see-through spandex.
The place was lively enough to keep her occupied for a while but I knew she could sit still for only so long. So rather than have her say those dreaded words “let’s go to the pier!,” I took her to the Standing Room. My friend was doing the lighting and the band Barley (formerly known as Barley Legal) was playing.
This is an awesome local band, full of fun tunes and lots of energy. The place was pumping, she let out some energy on the dance floor and all was great.
But then, as suddenly as the music stopped (the band has to quit playing, incredibly, at 12:30 in the morning), she wanted shots. That, of course, was the first warning sign that things were sliding down the greased flag pole.
She’s also a smoker. Why are the wildest girls in Hermosa Beach always smokers? They wander off, talk to other smokers and the next thing you know they take off walking with these strangers, leaving you to suddenly lurch into gear and take off after them.
Next thing I knew we were on the pier and before I could say anything, she went into Sharkeez.
Sharkeez, for those of you who do not know, is the place where these Hermosa Beach Pier girls go to vanish. It’s like a mini-Vegas nightclub at night and it has some type of hypnotizing effect on these girls. Once I had lost control of the environment, I knew I had lost control of her.
It’s a pretty standard thing with these “let’s go to the pier” girls, as I call them. They ask you to get them a drink – usually a Red Bull and vodka, a warning sign if ever there was one – then they run off to the bathroom (or so they say) and disappear. They eventually come back, only to make a cameo appearance for their drink, then disappear again.
They bounce around and talk to everyone and soon enough, a trail of guys follows, hitting on them with reckless abandon. This puts you in the defensive position of having to fend off the guys like flies at a picnic. And like particular pesky and determined flies, they just won’t give you a break.
My only saving grace on this night was the ridiculously early closing times for bars in Hermosa Beach. It was a little past one and I knew they could not serve drinks past 1:15 and everyone had to be out the door by 1:30. So all I had to do was hang on for another half an hour.
But this is the pier, and when everyone spills out onto the plaza after closing, it’s another scene. These “let’s go to the pier girls” run all over the place, talking to everyone. This particular one saw guys carrying a 12-pack they bought from a liquor store and wanted to follow them because she wanted to contnue to party. The last thing she needed, of course, was to continue to party.
After fighting off the advances of even more guys, I told her she was too drunk to drive and that she had two choices. She could come crash at my place just down the street or I would get a taxi or Uber for her. Eventually – and with much difficulty – I guided her by the shoulders and shoved her into a cab.
My plan for the girl and night was solid, but things unraveled when we got to the pier. And it was hardly surprising.