Performer: Jackson 5
Songwriters: Berry Gordy, Freddie Perren, Alphonzo Mizell, Deke Richards
Original Release: single, Diana Ross Presents the Jackson 5
Definitive Version: None
I never have been much for going out to bars by myself. I drank but wasn’t really much of a drinker until I got to Flint. Even then it was always in groups. I didn’t become a solo drinker until after Debbie and I split, and then, it was always wine at home—with and after dinner on Sundays only.
So I’ve never been one to prowl bars to try to meet women. I’ve met women at bars but never when the express purpose in going was to meet someone.
Actually, about the only time I (sort of) tried it, I thought I hooked a winner. After Sasha and I parted ways, I continued to go to Jukebox Saturday Night on occasion during the summer of 1987, because I knew it, it was a dance bar and not a drinking bar and I knew that Cindy would be there—and she was every time—so I wouldn’t really be there alone.
I certainly wouldn’t have minded if Cindy and I had turned into something more than dance partners, but she wasn’t interested, and that was OK, too. So one night, after I had had my customary (at the time) one-and-a-half beers, I was feeling pretty good, and was out on the floor. It likely was to this song, because the Jackson 5 was an all-dance. (Jukebox Saturday Night was also about the Motown if I hadn’t made that clear.)
Anyway, while I was dancing, I did the tried-and-true (and always lame-looking when you’re an outsider) grab the onlooking pair of women and drag them out on the floor. Both came out, and one stayed out after that song for the next one, and the next, and the next.
Well, I had no wingman for her friend, so it wasn’t long when the said friend was grabbing my dance partner to drag her in a different direction—out the door. But I got the digits, as the kids say, and Cindy complimented me for my good work.
And it was good, until I called the said number the next week and spoke with someone who didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. Yep, I got the wrong number. I concede that I might have written it down wrong, but my hearing wasn’t completely shot yet, so I’m certain my dance partner just gave me a wrong number. Oh well, it least it wasn’t the number to the VD hotline.