I thought that perhaps today, I’d tell you about my worst Valentine’s Day ever. Not that any have been particularly spectacular, Valentine’s Day, 2003 was pretty fucking lame.
I was working backstage nights at The Blanket back then, living with Pip and spending my evenings watching Golden Girls with gays. Dateless and depressed on the 14th, we both slept in and made our way over to Andy’s by mid-afternoon. As Andy got in the car and we headed to work, he joined us in lamenting our lack of romance. “This sucks.”
“I know. I hate this holiday.”
“Oh, look at that bitch over there, holding her roses all proud and shit.”
Andy rolled down his window and began screaming, “Hey Jezebel! What’d ya have to do for those?”
Pip and I soon joined him. “The bigger the bouquet, the more he cheats!”
“No box of chocolates is worth my pride, honey!”
“He hates you! He just doesn’t know how to tell you!”
We were relentless, taking out our immense frustration on those trapped in our crosshairs. Work was no better, with people like Joleene* clomping around in last season’s stacked heels re-reading some shitty poem her slow-witted boyfriend had scrawled.
“Oh Beth and Andy, have these chocolates. If I have one more, I won’t be able to fit into my teensy tiny tacky jeans.”
Andy, Pip and I found ourselves chain smoking on the fire-escape. “God, I hate these bitches.”
“If one more of those skanks shows me some tacky, cheap-ass Walgreen’s greeting card, I’m going to wipe my ass with it.”
“Did you see the greenroom? It’s like a florists’ in there. Ugh, I hate these people.”
“You know we’re getting drunk tonight, girls.”
“Oh.” I sighed. “I can’t.”
“Why ever so?”
“Because I have to go to the gym after work.”
“The gym? Are you nuts? At midnight? Why?”
I thought hard about why.
“Because I don’t want to die alone.”
They sucked down their Marlboros and paused.
True to my word, I departed work, on my way passing gorgeous couples sharing perfect Valentine’s moments, most likely involving diamonds and flawless sex.
I, on the other hand, went to GhettoGym.
It was empty.
On 2 entire floors of usually packed gym equipment, I was one of 4 people. I checked out my fellow fitness enthusiasts and my heart sank. On Valentine’s Day, 2003, had you ventured to GhettoGym at 12:30am, you would’ve seen 3 elderly Asian men working out in tank tops and slacks…and me.
It was quite possibly the most pathetic sight in all of San Francisco. I finished my workout and got the hell out of there, praying for the sun to soon rise and allow us to get on with our lives…