During my Seattle trip I played charades and cards with three strangers on a ferry. If I told you a dance party broke out, would you be surprised?
The story gives me joy to retell, but I’m not sure why. Maybe I’ll figure it out by the end of this dispatch.
My belly was full of scratch-made tacos and a Modela Negra from The San Carlos Restaurant, a fine local pub on Bainbridge Island.
I’m strolling out into the damp evening carrying a paper sack that held a slice of key lime pie and whipped cream. It was packaged for me, on the house, by Kara, the frenetic and talkative bar tender.
Her friendliness and the warmth of watching the Mariners with locals at the bar put me in a good mood. It reminded me of Lancaster city.
I made my way down to the well-lit and relatively empty ferry station. It was time to return to Seattle, to the dark streets, and the lonesome hotel I had been calling home.
In the terminal, I spied them: A guy and two gals, bouncing, gesturing, and shouting in halting phrases.
It’s not every day you see three 50-somethings playing charades in a docking station at 10:00 PM, or any public place, for that matter.
I drew closer, purportedly to “get a picture,” secretly wishing they’d welcome me into their fun.
Kevin, The Includer, noticed me and waved me in. Another young couple in their late teens were already involved.
The clues included film, books, and TV shows. As I warmed up to their goofy enthusiasm, I ventured a few rounds myself, one of them being A Farewell To Arms.1
These three friends were on their way back to Seattle from an evening of games and drinks on the island with friends whom they said “go to bed way too early.”
The Random Stranger, me, made his way down the covered ramp into the ferry, making conversation with Wendy, The Enthusiast.
She invited me to play cards with them, throwing a Ziploc bag full of games on the ivory Formica table in a spacious booth. Kevin and Pamela, The Observer, sat down opposite of us.
“I really don’t play cards that much but I’ll try,” to which Kevin blurted, “Oh, yeah, sure. I bet he’s gonna cream us all!”
The group commenced to play “Sevens” a favorite of Wendy’s nephew. Just my speed. I made a great start of eliminating my cards but in the end was bested by the experienced hands.
I asked, “How do you guys know each other?” Glances and nudges ricocheted between the three friends.
I sensed a well-hashed topic of salacious intrigue.
“Are you college friends?”
Kevin started, “Well, sort of. I first saw Wendy at school. I was a Freshman. She was coming out of class….”
Wendy interrupted, “He wanted to ask me out, but that wasn’t gonna happen. No way.”
Kevin offered an agreeing nod and slanted smile.
“I don’t really understand. So, you’re still friends?”
Wendy went on, “You see it’s like this.” And she quoted the opening line of the 80’s Human League song:
I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar….
Without missing a beat, I turned to her and added
That much is true.
And with that, Wendy launched into a singing recollection of her encounter with Kevin to the tune of Don’t You Want Me Baby.
Her extemporaneous tale ran out of steam after a few lines, but it left quite an impression on me and amused her friends terribly.
Apparently, the “Don’t you want me, Wendy” plea was answered negatively back then, but all was Okay between them now.
Then I asked, “Well, how are you guys connected?”
More inside laughter led to to Kevin admitting,
“Pamela and I are partners. Wendy and I good friends, that’s all.”2
“Oh, I see.” But I didn’t, really. Wendy went on to say that after college, she took an overseas assignment.
To decide which city to live in, she asked Kevin and another friend to write a 500 word essay on why their own city, Denver or Seattle, is best.
Kevin’s piece persuaded her to move to the Pacific North West.
While they were unearthing their complicated back story, I slyly searched for Don’t You Want Me Baby on my phone’s Apple Music.
I hit Play and turned the tin can volume all the way up. The synthesizer chords of the 80’s classic filled the air.
Feeling well-included in this group of fun-lovers, I took a chance and slipped out of the booth.
Raising my hands and waving the gang up, I proceeded to engage in a vigorous new wave dance, lifting my knees and belting out the tune.
For a second, my internal celebration hung in the balance between idiocy and One Awesome Idea.
To my delight, the ladies bolted up and joined the dance! And the singing.
The room was empty save for a couple ten rows back who didn’t seem to notice our revelry.
I noticed that Kevin retreated rapidly as we bounced and sang and panted.
“Where’s he going?”
One of the girls said, “Oh, that’s Kevin. He hates this kind of thing. He’ll be back.”
After a minute of flailing, I got hot, my puffy down coat killing my vibe.
So, I slipped back into the booth with my party friends who also seemed ready for a dance break.
And no, it’s not an age thing. It had been a long day (!).
It’s said that Martin Luther was asked what he’d do if he knew he only had one day left on earth. He answered he’d plant a tree.3
I’d throw a dance party.
A few seconds after, Kevin slid back into the booth.
He asked about the conference I had been attending.
Not knowing their familiarly with religious things, I kept it simple: It was a Christian conference on how churches can best know and serve their neighborhoods.
Noting no strong reaction to that, plus or minus, I posed my own shotgun question.
“Do you guys have kids?”
Pamela mentioned she had five grown ones, but made it clear they weren’t Kevin’s. I didn’t press the subject.
“Guess how many kids I have!” I volunteered. Before they could answer, I spouted, “Five!”
I suppose I was showing off, which might be a theme in this story.
Wendy said, as if to one-up The Random Stranger, “Guess how many sets of twins Pamela has?”
“Uh, One?”
“No. Two!”
They were sincerely interested in me, my kids, and my work in Lancaster. We enjoyed a generous give-and-take, and I experienced hospitality and kindness.
I learned that Kevin had once applied for an engineering job at the very factory my brother Dave worked at for many years in Danville, PA. He’s also got a law degree and dabbles in live theater.
Pamela is an accountant and financial manager of some sort, I discovered. Modestly, she demurred from the topic, but I could tell she was very accomplished.
And Wendy? No big deal. She simply works on global Covid-19 logistics.
The ferry docked.
In the exit tunnel Pamela turned to me and asked, “Do you use Logos Bible software?”
At first, it seemed like such a bizarre question.
“Wait, why do you ask that?”
“Oh, I know the guy who developed that company.”
It hit me, this is Microsoft Land. The Observer was making a connection to my Christian experience.
We four walked up the steep streets of Seattle chatting about who-knows-what when we came to the corner where I had to depart.
How does one end such a strange dalliance with strangers in a strange city?
I extended my right hand, palm down. “OK, everybody in!”
Seven more hands piled on, at first slowly. We glanced around at each other with cringing anticipation.
“One, Two, Three!” Our hands rose in unison to the stars that were keeping cold watch over Seattle.
I couldn’t think of a benediction like “Team” or “Charades” or “Human League” to shout as our hands went up. I honestly don’t remember what was said, but it felt like a blessing to me.
Strangers should know they’re dealing with a literate person, but they need not know I’ve never read the book. 😉
What he actually said was in fact scandalous and hilarious.
I’ve no idea if the Great Reformer said that, but I love those kinds of ultimate questions. “You’ve got one place to go before you die. Where is it?” “Jesus is coming back tonight. How do you spend your time?” “The firing squad gives you one last word. What is it?” My answer always: Dance party. 🕺
Dance Party On a Ferry
I envy your ability to have so much fun with total strangers TB! 🤣