1989- One last go at innocence, arrival of the new man
36 rolled around and I had little fear of it. Getting older hasn’t made me feel as much as it has made me think.
Uh.
What do I think about, other than THAT?
Sometimes I think about my past. I do this in an attempt to connect the dots from my current self to the dude I used to be. I try and see what traits have been discarded and which ones have stuck. Above it all I try to see the point where life started becoming a bit, well, darker. Not negative per se but I would be lying to you if I said that my 15 year old self wouldn’t have shuddered in fear over the events that altered my family and by extension myself. After pondering over it for some time I came to the conclusion that 1989 was the line in the sand between what was and what was coming. Check this out.
1989. I was 15 years old, wide eyed and naive. Not stupid, not ignorant, it’s just that my world view was one colored by rigid religious teachings and lots and lots of fantasies both benign and significantly perverted.
In my life 1989 was pivitol for a few reasons. For starters it was the year that I had my first official job. Beginning that May I worked as a cashier/stock boy at the long defunct toy chain Tons of Toys. Crash course in responsibility that was. I didn’t really know what the hell I was getting into, all I did know was that I wanted to work badly since I was a little kid and my mom finally relented. The gig was an eye opener. First off, I learned that just because one works in a retail store it doesn’t mean you get any free merch or discounts of significant import.
At least I didn’t while working at
Tons of Toys.
My visions of a complimentary NES game and Ninja Turtle figures were dashed when I learned that the only perk we got as employees was a %10 discount. Better than nothing I supposed but upon working there I realized that there was little I wanted anyway.
So that one bit the dust.
What was the second thing I learned?
Rather, what was reinforced?
Cause and effect.
See I was a somewhat, SOMEWHAT, sheltered kid at 15. I wasn’t a lazy slob nor was I much of a self starting little fellow. At home I would irregulary be tasked with chores, my room was a borderline toxic disaster but I got an allowance anyway. The only areas where I was commanded to hold the line was with religion and school. Follow religion, go to school and do your homework. Respect authorities and all that. But handling myself at a job was something my mom had almost nothing to do with and little interest in. It appears, at least from this point in my life, that she respected my job as my turf and maybe she figured that I would handle it like an adult. For the most part any confidence she had in my secular performance was warranted since I was ,if nothing at all, consistently ok as a Tons of Toys employee. But occassionally my actions and behavior reminded me that I was still very much a kid. For example, I remember this time where my boss assigned me with the task of stocking some shelves with 30 boxes of army toys. Fine. From what I recall this was month number four on the job, I had been doing alright and I felt really comfortable with my coworkers and boss. So I didn’t think there would be any problem if I stacked half of the boxes and saved the rest for the next day. I also didn’t think I was to blame since she gave me the assignment 30 minutes before my shift ended. The caveat was that I did the assignment really slow from what I can recall. I had a tendancy to lapse into daydreams. In fact, I remember now, I put up about ten boxes and then passed out in a children’s wading pool in the middle of the aisle. People were walking past me as I stared blankly at the ceiling thinking of heck knows what. My shift ended and I left more than half a box full of army toys sitting tall in the wading pool in the middle of the aisle.
Bad move.
Next day I came in and my boss was PISSED. Calmly but clearly angry she told me that she considered firing me for leaving that mess of toys in the middle of the aisle. I think the fact that I was a decent and respectful worker, at least up until that point in her mind I presume, saved the day. From that point on I stepped up my game and never stopped.
The last thing that I’ll mention about what I learned on the job has to do with not crapping where you eat. In plain english, it’s not a good idea to get romantically involved with a coworker.
My mom wouldn’t allow my bro and I to date until we were 18. Perhaps that was a blessing because I’m horny now, I was even WORSE when I was 15. As much as I love sex, I now value it as a bond between my girlfriend and I, something initimate and meant as an expression of love and to be honest, lust. But in her case I really LOVE her, that is what actually makes it more arousing to me. I’m having sex with the only other person on the planet who I love as much as myself. It’s a two way street. Give and take. Based on love.
At 15? I couldn’t wait to have sex with anything that was physically desirable in even the most REMOTE way. If a girl or woman was borderline attractive and showed a bit of skin, say the smallest bit of cleavage, I would recall it later and then handle myself in the privacy of my bedroom so long as my mom wasn’t spying on me by my door.
Good times. I remember there was this one girl at Tons of Toys that wasn’t particularly a knock out. She was kinda dumpy, pale, pale, PALE skin and beedy eyes set in a Cabbage Patch-esque face. BUT she would always wear these shirts that she would umbutton down to the cleavage. For that she would go from a 3 to about a 7. Boooooing. I tried again and again to have my way with her in the storage room, specifically the upstairs attic storage for the bikes. Knowing nothing about healthy relationships and flirting but everything about lust and self gratification, I would engage in hysterical and hackneyed attempts at making out with her. Thing is she would occassionally string me along with a line like “But we’re at work.” “Who has to know?” asked I. “Oh Lawrence.” she said and then walk past me, down the steps and out to the front. Her presence frustrated me enough that it was hard to concentrate when we were assigned some mutual task. It was worse because I thought in my young mind that if I played my cards right, her and I could mess around. On the job. In the bike attic. How romantic. Frustrating to boot. And uncomfortable. Lesson learned, no interoffice/studio/factory romances for this guy. Over the years whenever I found myself in a similar position I would always remember the nonsense I put myself through with that girl and then do my best to hit the brakes.
Life lessons learned. And there was oh so much more that happened throughout ’89 that I can go into in some other post.
In the meantime, I’m here, you are there. ….trying to think of a George Carlin-esque rhyme to end with.
Damn I miss that guy.
