Coming in at #7 on my “Favorite Summer Memories” countdown is an event that took place once a month during the summers of my teenage years.  It was called Teen Night…and I lived for these occasions.  Teen Night was basically our community’s Saturday night alternative to kids going out and getting in trouble at parties.  The event was held at our local War Memorial Building.  Teens would pay a one-time admission and then have access to the swimming pool, racket ball courts, Domino’s Pizza and Coke, pool tables and much more.  And falling under the category of much more was my favorite activity…the dance.

While the younger teens spent most of their time at the pool, the older teens like me were busy checking out the opposite sex at the dance.  (When I say older teens like me, I mean 14-16 years old.  The 17-18 year-olds were actually out at real parties) The room set aside for the dance was dark with 80’s strobe lights flashing around the room, depending on the song.  The DJ was stationed at the front of the room with chairs lining the adjacent walls.  This was an awkward time for some teens, and by some, I mean the boys.  None of us guys had gained too much confidence when it came to talking to girls, especially asking them to slow dance.  The typical scene was girls on one side of the room and guys on the other.  Eye contact with each other was optional.

My partners in crime at these Teen Nights were two good friends of mine (and they still are to this day), John Petrie and Dennis Dale.  We would always roll into the building about twenty minutes after it officially started.  We were anxious to get there and meet cute girls, but didn’t want to appear too eager.  That would reek of desperation.  We were desperate, mind you.  We just didn’t want to show it.  In retrospect, our matching Jams shorts and sunglasses probably didn’t help our case much.

But it was great to go into these events with buddies, or wingmen, if you will.  Because we all knew that asking a girl to dance directly was way too risky.  If one of us wanted to dance with a particular girl, we would send in the other two guys to do a little recon and find out if the girl in question was interested or not.  Then the other two guys would bring back the information and we would know whether that long walk across the dance floor to pop the question was going to be worth our time or not.  Let’s face it.  There’s nothing worse than getting rejected and having to walk back across the floor by yourself to REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore.”

One night I spotted a gorgeous blonde across the room from us.  She was obviously out of my league, but I thought I’d give asking her to dance a shot anyway.  After all, John and Dennis would do all the heavy lifting.  If she weren’t interested, I wouldn’t even have to talk with her.  (This really was a great system we had in place.)  John and Dennis reluctantly agreed to go talk to her.  I say reluctantly because they both agreed it was a waste of time.

So you can imagine my shock when they both came back smiling and said that she had actually agreed to dance with me during the next slow song.  I high-fived my buddies while still trying to look like a girl agreeing to dance with me wasn’t that big of a deal.  Just then, the first few chords of “Hard Habit to Break” by Chicago filled the air.  This was my moment.  The blonde and I made eye contact and she smiled as I made my way across the dance floor to the girl’s side of the room.  I stopped in front of her, put my hand out to take her’s and asked the question I already knew the answer to, “Would you like to dance?”

And she laughed.  Then she looked back at her girlfriends and they laughed.  Confused, I looked back across the room and saw John and Dennis.  And they laughed.  I had been set up by my so-called friends.  I turned back to the blonde and gave a fake chuckle like I was somehow in on the joke too.  Then I turned and left.  I wasn’t angry with John or Dennis.  This was just a reminder of how guys treat one another.  If throwing one of our own under the bus is worth a laugh, we will almost always take the opportunity to do so.  In the Teen Nights that followed, John and I set Dennis up for failure and Dennis and I made sure John got his turn too.

But I’ll never forget the conversation that I had following my major league strike out that night.  I left the dance and walked to the next room to grab a slice of Domino’s pizza and a Sprite.  As soon as I had taken my first bite, the blonde tapped me on the shoulder and said hello.  She had followed me out of the dance.  I had to say hi back with a mouthful of food, but what did I care?  I already knew she wasn’t interested.  I could have had pizza sauce smeared all over my face and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“That wasn’t very nice of your friends,” she said.

I just shrugged, still chewing my food.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to dance yourself?” she continued.

“I don’t know.  It just seems easier this way,” I said.

“Well it’s not.  And it’s kind of juvenile.  You should really rethink your approach,” she replied.

“If I were to ask you to dance right now, face to face, what would you say?” I asked.

She smiled.  “You’ll just have to ask me and find out.”

My heart started beating faster.  I was suddenly back in the game.  I hoped John and Dennis were nearby seeing all of this.  “Would you like to dance with me?” I asked, brimming with confidence.

She continued to smile.  “Not a chance.  There are so many reasons why you aren’t my type.”

I couldn’t believe what I just heard.  Talk about cruel and unusual.  This night had just gone from bad to the worst ever.  Who gets rejected by the same girl twice in one night?  Then she continued talking.

“You’re not my type, but there are a lot of girls back at the dance who may actually want to dance with you.  But if you keep having your friends do the asking for you, you’re going to turn them off pretty quickly.  I just wanted you to ask me to dance so that you know that you can actually do it.  The first time is the hardest and you have that one under your belt now.  Good luck.”  Then she walked back into the dance.

The blonde never gave me her name, but I’ve remembered her words ever since.  And I’ve incorporated her philosophy.  It helped me to score more dances as a teenager and it’s helped me to secure other victories in life since then.  If something is really important to you in your personal life, handle it yourself.  Delegation is fine in certain situations, but when it is something that truly matters to you, a direct approach is always best.

If you’d like another laugh regarding Teen Night, send me a message and I’ll share the story of how John and I stole Dennis’ clothes one night while he was in the War Memorial Building swimming pool.