Column: Making It In Missoula

The Impossible One-Night Stand

By Little Sis, 8-28-06

Okay, since my floaties have been scoffed at by my Big Sis, here goes. Brace yourself.

I’ve had enough one-night stands (you can interpret that to be anyway you want, because I'm not giving any numbers) to know how they should play out.

A one-night stand generally involves alcohol, because anything can turn into a good idea when you’ve had a few gin and tonics. Maybe you lock eyes with someone across the room in some hazy version of romance, or maybe you have an extended conversation with that guy you always see at the same bar. The point is that last names aren’t a factor. Unless he’s someone famous and you want to brag to your friends in the morning (this sounds ridiculous, until I tell you that Mark Wahlberg hung out regularly at my college dive bar hitting on tipsy sorority girls).

The most important element of the one-night stand is that you probably will never see each other again, which works out well for everyone involved, under the circumstances.

Unless you live in Missoula.

I work at one of the fancy restaurants downtown, and one of our chefs was leaving. We held his goodbye soiree at the Rhino. It was the closest bar offering this chef’s preferred hard alcohol that we all drank in frightening quantities. Most of us were sufficiently boisterous (and probably really annoying) when the subject of this column joined us. He was the ex-roommate of one of my co-workers, one of those Missoula connections I should have immediately taken note of before I decided it was a good idea to go home with him (damn gin and tonics). He got me with a conversation about literature, plus he was cute, so I was blissfully blind to that snag.

We left together pretty inconspicuously, but it’s usually easy to be inconspicuous in the Rhino. The next morning was perfect, by the book, one-night stand closure. “Thanks.” “Okay, bye. Have a good morning.” A lot like college, actually (we all had those experiences, right?). I hustled off to work, and saw my co-workers were as red-eyed and hurting as I was. No one mentioned my disappearance the night before, so I figured I was safe in the one-night stand anonymity.

Here’s where the rules fell apart. I ran into the One-Nighter at the Break, where we’d talk about books. He came into the restaurant to say hello. I’d inadvertently walk into one of his 16 workplaces (everyone here has at least a few jobs, in a schizophrenic effort to pay the bills on $5.15 an hour). I even accidentally discovered his last name. So much for never seeing each other again. . .

I know I’m being selfishly immature, but all I really wanted out of this guy was one night. I’m not good at letting down my defenses. This is why no one in L.A. says hi to each other on the street. They probably slept together at some point and are politely playing by the rules.

A few weeks later, I was at the Old Post listening to Tom Catmull play to a packed bar. I was sitting with my friend, who we’ll call the Masseuse. One of my best friends, the Cuz (he’s not actually my cousin, but we’re all family in Missoula—that’s what makes it fun, right?) was dating the Masseuse. We were attempting to have a conversation over the OPP roar when the One-Nighter walked in; at this point, I would have been surprised if he hadn’t been there. The One-Nighter and the Masseuse greeted each other rather warmly, and then the Masseuse excused herself to elbow in at the bar.

“How do you two know each other?” I asked the One-Nighter, expecting some response that connected them through their dog-walker.

“Oh, we’ve been hanging out.” You know the tone I’m going for.

Missoula: where your one-night stand hangs out with your best friend’s ex-girlfriend.

So I’ve gotten used to losing my anonymity. But I still think it’s funny. I’ve also gotten used to the One-Nighter coming by the restaurant for the occasional glass of wine. However, I might forget about the courtesy of people who’ve slept together and call him on that 7% tip.

So then, the question we can play with this week:
How do you handle these situations? What do you do when you see your one-nighter at the neighborhood potluck? Do you head straight for the cooler and arm yourself with a beer before you say hello? Do you turn and run out with your guacamole still in hand? I'm assuming you're all a lot more mature than I am.


Quote of the week, from the Old Post Deck:
Guy: “The next girl I date, I want to marry.”
Girl: “That’s really not encouraging me.”

And finally, a Missoula moment from last Wednesday:
Cars and bikes stop before Greenough Park to wait for the train, which takes 20 minutes to go by and is followed by another 20-minute wait since it always stops with the last few cars right in front of the crossing. The bikers turn and recognize each other, start a conversation about the Milltown Dam. At the end of this 40 minutes, the group has expanded to 7 bikers asking after each other's kids and latest recreation adventure. All the cars turned around 25 minutes ago.

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