Upon reading a friend's post, I began to reminisce about classic skating. It is strange to think about how expensive things seemed to be when I was young. I could rarely afford the 3 dollar admission to get in to classic skating. Mostly because, when one is 10-13 years old, one must rely upon the mercies of one's parents for any monetary allowance. I recall my parents being somewhat parsimonious when it came to an allowance. My friends would all get paid for mowing the lawn, but I never did.
It is funny to me that skating around in a circle over and over again for like...7 hours is appealing to anyone. I guess the highly anticipated moment when the lights would suddenly turn green, and then Green Day's "When I Come Around" would come on made it all worth while. And "Cotton Eye Joe."
Actually, what really made Classic skating so great, was the couples and snowball skates. Being a rather stellar nerd, I really had no hope of ever "going with" a girl during my tenure as a junior high student. "Going with," being the term for dating. And by dating, I mean possibly holding a female's hand in the halls at school during lunch, and probably talking on the phone. And maybe even meeting at Classic.
So in anticipation of approximately 12-15 minutes of basically forced hand holding, I would don my coolest t-shirt (probably a "No Rules," or perhaps a nice flannel) and the baggiest jeans my mother would let me wear (likely High-Sierras, or Levi's if I was lucky,) and throw a chain on my wallet. I would make sure my hair was parted in a perfect line, like an ass crack right down the middle of my head.
And of course, I would leave my glasses at home. Because what girl is going to want to skate with some loser with glasses?
I think one of the most interesting things about the couples skates, is that I am fairly certain that I never once talked to nor interacted with a girl after I skated with her. It was like there was some unwritten law, or mystical barrier which barred ex-couples skaters from talking to one another or having any further interaction, besides that of mingling hand sweat to Bryan Adams. And what on earth does one at that age talk to a girl about? "Hey, I'm Andy. I like rollerblading, medieval Lego's, Super Mario and Zelda, and now that I'm in 7th grade, I'm really good at swearing. What kinda damn shit do you like to do?"
I remember one occasion in which my mother picked me up early from Classic. We were all going to a family movie. It was called "Magic in the Water." Of course, I had neglected to wear my glasses, in an attempt to procure my Classic skating soul mate through deception. No way was I going to find her with those wretched gold-rimmed glasses. To this day, I have always wondered just what exactly the magic in the water was. I couldn't see, it was all blurry. Also, how my father was convinced to see that film. What a trooper.
Wait. I just looked it up. There is a picture of a little girl serenely posed upon a giant dinosaur's head, protruding out of a lake. She looks very contemplative. The size of the full moon in the back ground is just preposterous.