In spring of my senior year, a student teacher (I’ll call him “Sam”) began his residency in my social studies class. Sam was only 22 at the time; I was close to 18, and we had an immediate connection, like the “thunderbolt” they talk about in “The Godfather”. Of course, we couldn’t do anything about it while I was a student and he was on the faculty; I shudder to think...

I would not turn 18 until July – after graduation. So, with the specter of potential job loss, incarceration, etc., hanging over both our heads those long last months of school, we walked on eggs, were painfully polite to each other in public and exchanged longing glances only when we thought no one was looking. Impatiently we waited for the days to go by.

Finally I graduated and reached my 18th birthday, and we were able to celebrate our relationship in the open, for all to see. We spent the next three years as happy as can be. Sam was warm, charming, intelligent and full of life. It was a wonderful time in my life.

Sam’s 25th birthday was coming up, and I wanted to do something special. I had just turned 21, and was new to the bar scene. I had friends who went out clubbing every night they could; discos were big in the mid-70’s. I enjoyed the discos now and then, but I was usually happier spending time with Sam.

I had been reading a couple of relationship books, and they talked about spicing up your love life by playing roles and acting out fantasies. The idea of role playing intrigued me, and I wanted to give it a try. I figured Sam might enjoy an adventure on his birthday…

I decided to dress up like a ‘harlot’, go down to one of the sleazier bars in San Francisco, and leave Sam a note with the address. “There, you will meet a dark-haired woman who will soon give you everything your heart desires.” I laughed to think of us meeting there and pretending like we didn’t know each other. It sounded like a scenario any man would be happy to take part in.

I got ‘dressed’ – that is to say, I picked everything out of my closet that I wouldn’t be caught dead in: metallic silver halter top, micro-mini skirt, thigh-high white boots with platforms THIS TALL (mostly birthday gifts from my swingin’ single friends), hair teased to brushing-the-ceiling height, makeup spackled on. Tons of costume jewelry and a faux-rabbit jacket finished the ensemble. I looked horribly cheap. I was happy with the effect!

I took a cab to the bar I had picked, the “Horny Toad”. It was on Turk Street, which, if any of you know San Francisco, is one pretty sleazy area. The Mitchell Brothers Theatre was across the street, drawing ‘discerning gentlemen’ from every walk of life. Every corner was staked out by ladies of the night in their customary garb. I fit right in!

The trouble began the minute I stepped out of the cab. The ladies took one look at me and decided I had come to challenge their territory. They immediately went into attack mode. “Oh, no, y’better just keep on walkin!”, and “This is our corner! Don’t even think ‘bout stopping here!”

I hastened to assure them that I had no desire to interfere with their business. I tried to explain why I was there, dressed like that, but they just wouldn’t have it. I finally gave each of them $20, told them I was going in, promised I wouldn’t pick anybody up except Sam, and ran for the safety of the bar.

Did I say “safety”? Hah! Talk about the dregs of society – no, even the dregs wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. I felt as if things were crawling on me, and hoped that it was only the way men were eyeballing me and not real things, like bugs or roaches. I took a seat at the far end of the bar where I could keep an eye on the front door, ordered a beer which I could nurse until Sam came and rescued me, and tried to make myself invisible.

Unbeknownst to me, Sam had indeed gotten my note and was anticipating meeting up with me. He had no idea of the nature of the place I had chosen, or, as he told me later (after picking me up from the police station), he would have nipped the idea in the bud. He was actually on his way down Ocean Beach Highway (not a house or gas station for miles at a time), when his car broke down. Mind you, this was before cell phones. There he was, out in the middle of nowhere, with no transportation and no way to call me. He started walking, hoping to eventually either get a ride or reach a gas station.

In the meantime, there I was, hunched inside my rabbit coat, taking baby sips of my beer, eyeing the front door like I knew Elvis would be walking though there any minute. I tried to ignore the occasional “Hey, baby, wanna party?”, and the “accidental” bumping into me. The clock seemed to be not moving at all, but pretty soon I realized that Sam was late. Then very late. Then so late that I knew something was up.

I decided to get out of there. If and when Sam arrived, he would know I was gone, and call me at home. I had a momentary regret that my plans for Sam’s birthday were a washout, but believe me--it was very momentary.

As I exited the bar, I could see the ladies talking to a man who I knew at once must have been their pimp. One of them saw me and pointed. “That’s her! Right there!” The man turned to look at me. He was resplendent in his long fur coat, big hat pulled over one eye, bejeweled walking cane, the whole shebang. He started menacingly toward me, saying, “What you doin here? This’ my girls’ turf! Who you work for?” I started walking away as fast as I could, and he kept following me. I wondered if I should start running.

Just as I decided to make a break for it, a car pulled over to the curb, and a nice-looking man rolled down the window. “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked me. I ran to the window and leaned in. “Please help me. I think that man is going to hurt me! Could you please give me a ride? I’ll pay you!” The man motioned for me to get in.

I jumped in with a sigh of relief. Mind you, this was also before there was such a rash of Serial killers and generally wierd people. “Thank goodness you came along! I didn’t know what I was going to do! I don’t know how to thank you! I’m so grateful!” I know I was babbling, but I didn’t know what that pimp guy had been planning to do.

“Are you offering me a reward, Miss?” the man asked me. I didn’t think I was, exactly, but hey – some people are like that, so I said, “Okay, sure. What did you have in mind?”

Oops. Wrong words to say to a man when you’re dressed like I was. Extremely wrong words to say to an undercover policeman when you’re dressed like I was and in the neighborhood he had just picked you up in.

He told me I was under arrest and started reading me my rights. I tried to explain why I was dressed like that, in that neighborhood, but he just laughed, saying “Yeah, right, sister. That’s one of the best ones I’ve heard yet.”

At the station, they booked me and took my picture. I kept insisting that they were wrong, and I used my one phone call to call Sam’s sister, who was close to my age and would be the most understanding of my predicament. Luckily, she had just finished talking to Sam, who had finally gotten a ride from someone to a gas station. She was on her way to pick him up.

Sam spoke to the police sergeant, and showed him my note. After all the cops had a good laugh, they let me out and “unbooked” me. Sam made me promise never to surprise him again, and I heartily agreed.

This adventure of mine takes the prize in three categories – scariest, stupidest and craziest thing I ever did for love. And if Sam was still around…well, I guess I’d do it again in a heartbeat!