Hi there! Thrilled to have received another beautiful story of one of my fellow bloggers about finding the man of her dreams. Thank you so much for being part of my feature “Couples”! If you would like to share your story, head over to “Couples” and find out how.
Thank you so much, Kimberly, for sharing your story
“Somewhere between the time when people had to make phone calls before they left home for the intended destination, and the staccato bbbbdddddd—-rrreeeep! of the two-way cellular connections popularized at the turn of the millennium, lived a world of mobile hobbyists whose preferred method of social gathering was the Citizen’s Band Radio.
At the time, Stick Chick, disinterested in the bar scene and bored shitless with her humdrum social life, decided to experiment. She thought that listening to a CB while in her car would provide both fun and a few chances to talk to other adults, even if she never met them face-to-face. The opportunity to create a personalized handle, and the ability to choose from 23 channels appealed to her. The CB offered an acceptable level of privacy and anonymity important to a 20-something single Chick.
Accustomed to approaching projects on her own armed solely with a bastardized translation of installation instructions that typically come with any electronics purchase, Stick Chick spent several hours making up new words while inverted under the car dash board. After a challenging effort, and a few pointers from a friend, Stick Chick turned the power dial clockwise and relished in the static that emanated from her new CB. To her, it represented a newfound connection to the outside world beyond the bizarre neighbors who lived in her apartment complex.
Like many a single mom, Stick Chick had a small handful of friends, as well as a few acquaintances. One acquaintance in particular, a married Closet Psycho Chick, owned a home-fitted base station with a 1000-watt linear antenna. For those lacking in basic knowledge of such things, suffice to say that when CPC keyed up on the mike to speak, her neighbors probably cursed the way she interrupted their Tonight Show reception. CPC, also a hobbyist (and in retrospect probably in violation of FCC rules on such things,) spent many wee hours chatting with passing motorists including a slew of local truck drivers who hauled goods in and out of a nearby terminal.
Though not generally naïve, Stick Chick initially did not see just how far afield CPC’s habit had become, which she later learned bordered on obsession. Every time CPC heard Stick Chick talking to her friends on the CB, she’d strike up a friendly conversation.
CPC could engage with nearly anyone and she’d explain that her hobby provided a much needed service to the locals, especially tired drivers nearing the end of their shift, when the conversations kept the last miles interesting. Eventually, Stick Chick met CPC in person through a mutual acquaintance.
As months passed, CPC hounded Stick Chick to go out for drinks. She asked all sorts of questions about what Stick Chick was up to, invariably ending conversations with questions.
“So when are we gonna go out pub hopping?”
OR “When are you free for Girls Night Out?”
OR “We have to get together when you have a free weekend! Yadda, yadda, yadda. Blah, blah, blah.”
You know the type—they wear a person down. You just know that at some point you are going to have to join her for a drink or she will never stop hounding you. So, like you might have done in a weak moment, Stick Chick relented. On that particular occasion, Stick Chick gave CPC and hour’s notice of her intended arrival, secretly hoping she would say no.
In recent months, dating had taken a back seat to child rearing and work for Stick Chick. Though the occasions rarely arose, she appreciated the break from routine to cavort with other adults, so despite any misgivings about CPC, this time she was just happy for a babysitter and a little free time.
When Stick Chick arrived at CPC’s home, she found her chatting it up on the base station with passers-by.
“So, where are we going?” was Stick Chick’s only question.
CPC had chosen a small local pub and restaurant known for its delicious sandwiches. Having never set foot in the place, Stick Chick agreed. It wasn’t until they were pulling into the pub’s parking lot that CPC said, “Oh, by the way, I invited a guy to meet us here.”
Like a woodpecker tapping for sap, a stream of thoughts sprung to her mind.
“How’d she manage that on such short notice?”
“Who is meeting us,” and
“Wait, she’s married.”
“I thought this was supposed to be girl’s night out.”
Unbeknownst to Stick Chick, in her quest to connect with CB passers-by, Closet Psycho Chick had spoken to the guy over the course of a couple of years, never having met him in person. Because he worked nearby, she saw him from afar coming and going past her place. And, CPC had chosen the occasion to ask him for a meet up, she said, because she felt safer meeting a stranger when she was with someone else.
When Stick Chick parked and stepped onto the parking lot of the pub, CPC said, “He’s here, I recognize his car.”
As they walked toward the restaurant entrance, the two planned that if the meeting got weird, CPC could simply make the excuse that they needed to go because she had arrived with Stick Chick, who had another engagement. The appointed meeting spot in the bar required the ladies walk through the restaurant into a separate bar room to meet CPC’s groupie there.
Immediately noticeable when they arrived in the bar were the lack of any other women. Though not packed, a dozen men graced seats, some alone, others obviously there together. Once Stick Chick and CPC settled and were served, they began chatting quietly in an attempt to determine which guy might be the mark. CPC guessed an approximate age in the early 20’s, and she suspected he had a beard. The only name she had was his handle and she suspected he had come alone. With this little to go on, the two eliminated each man in the bar for one reason or another.
“Looks like an accountant,” and so on.
Finally they decided that he must have been in the restaurant. Just as they made that determination, the bar door from the restaurant swung open revealing a bearded, handsome young man, neatly dressed and headed towards the two.
Loverboy sidled up on a barstool beside Stick Chick, and leaned in toward CPC, asking, “Are you Stargazer?” (her CB handle.)
After initial introductions, CPC dispensed with the formalities and the three sat talking and laughing for a few hours followed by pub hopping that extended long after last call. Two weeks later, when Loverboy heard Stick Chick talking on the radio he asked her out. The two began a whirlwind romance. Later she learned that he initially sat in the restaurant so that he could watch the two come through and decide whether or not to bolt.
One weekend, CPC invited them to a pool party at her home, but when she was left alone with Loverboy, she hit on him explaining that it was she that he was supposed to have been with. Loverboy told Stick Chick straight away, and the two cut all ties with her.
That winter they became engaged, and a year later they wed in a ceremony before the local Justice of the Peace. Today, when asked how they met, Stick Chick and Loverboy tell people they met on the radio. That was almost 30 years ago, but how they narrowly made it to the altar is a tale for another day…”