The Yamaha Mentor

___

Its one thing to read and teach yourself the lessons we all have learned. Its another thing to hear it espoused by a guy you just met in a bar or at a party. But, watching it happen before your eyes: its like the slap across the wrist. The pain echoing through your body. You’ve been living in books, my friend. Its the big leagues now.

I had gone to Grand Central to watch the UFC fights. The place was packed at 10pm and just grew and grew until the main event. I was going in for drinks and coming out to the patio to breathe air. Only when Griffin vs Ortiz and Silva vs Sonnen came on did I venture into the TAPOUT shirts and their hanger-ons. None of the fights were that exciting, thought it was joy to see Ortiz lose his last fight. Guy is a talent, but too much of a primadonna to make him anything but hated.

Going in and out, one guy I shall call The Mentor stood by at one table with a pint and a pack of smokes. About my height, not exactly a cover model, but not someone who needs a Ferrari to get attention. He talked to some guys he met about his divorce. Debt is not separated, but assets are. So, he went out and got a motorcycle with whatever credit he had left. A Yamaha. Apparently, that counts as debt, or his ex-wife would now be giving it to whatever boyfriend-of-the-week she saw fit.

He, two other dudes and I talked UFC and other things until the fights were over. The time was barely past 12:30, so I said I was going to head off to another bar until last call. I had Double Ds in mind. A dive across from Mints, the worst of the strip clubs in the Falls. Cheap local pints. My mind was as far from game as possible. I wanted to drink more and go home, but he had other things in mind. He told all of us about Big Texas, a country bar on Lundy’s Lane at the edge of the tourism area. “Chicks in daisy dukes.”

“I’m in.”

An hour later, we had all trickled in and ran across each other. The Mentor had already caught a few eyes, while the other two just hung around and I, so out of the mindset, just had beers and smokes and sat. The urge to go home was nasty. I had no drive.

“I can read people.” said the Mentor. “I’ve always been good at it. Can I try you?”

“Sure,”

He nailed it. I’m enjoying the single life, but still not good on approaches. I’m confident, but not THAT confident because of what happened. I want to get the chicks, but there’s something keeping me back. It was like a kick to the head.

Moments after, two decently cute girls, blonde and brunette, walked behind us and chatted to each other. A dude in a full sleeve stripped shirt chatted them up.

“Watch this,” He moved about two inches and the dude recognized him from their work. We all introduced each other. He leaned in to me, “The brunette is a runner or something. Look at the legs.” Then, as quickly as he told me, he asked her if she ran or figure skated.

“I used to figure skate,” she said.

The stripe dude said, “Do a triple sow cow right now!” She got about as far as lifting her leg up before laughing.

The blonde kept looking at me, but it was the brunette who put out her hand, “Have we been introduced?”

“Yeah, I’m Jordan. I think you forgot.”

“No, I didn’t” she said defensively with a smile. “What’s on your shirt?”

I had worn my new “Why Does This Look Like Shit?” t-shirt under a cheap button up one. I told her I worked in TV.

“I have a lot of ideas.” she said, but the blonde started to tug on her. “Aw, man. We have to go.”

The Mentor saved my ass. “You still need to tell him your ideas.”

“Alright, here’s my number,”

And just like that, there it was. Something new. Out of the rut and into the road. Before we parted ways, he told me that the most important things for guys like us: divorcing/divorced, is to just lay low. Basically, go our own way. Live, but don’t tax yourself. Bank money. Relax. Enjoy.

Yesterday’s night out was needed more than any chick I could of gotten from POF or OKC. Low-bangers. Rotten fruit. This man broke me and put me back together in seconds. Something I couldn’t do myself. Something no one can ever do themselves. All the blogs and books can teach you theory, but when its put into action in front of your eyes, it clicks. It becomes real and you have no excuses now to stand back and watch.

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3 responses to “The Yamaha Mentor

  1. Jordan, off-topic and random question, but I’m interested albeit you may have posted it before: what books do you recommend? Of your favorite reads? I have some free time over the next couple of weeks, and instead of spending that time by wasting it I’d like to read something. Preferably a few good books.

    • Fiction:
      The Road by Cormac McCarthy
      Dune by Frank Herbert
      The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac

      Non-fiction:
      Assassins by W.B. Bartlett
      House to House by David Bellavia
      The Balkans by Misha Glenny

  2. Pingback: Linkage Is Good For You – 7-15-12 | Society of Amateur Gentlemen

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