One evening that
first fall at Euphegenia, shortly after my mini-nervous breakdown, I walked up
to the commons for dinner and ran into my bestest bestest from back home, Stacy. We caught up while standing in the chow
line. I’ve since been to a number of
actual universities and seen their commons areas and the food offerings therein. It blew my mind. One had like 6 separate themed options, like
a resort. I couldn’t even decide. But there at Euphegenia when you went to
dinner your choice was eat what the cafeteria was serving or make yourself a
salad and a hot dog. There was one tiny
walk through kitchen, so you spent a good amount of time standing in line if
you didn’t there right at the beginning or end of service.
The cafeteria by
the way was 90% staffed by students on the work study program, just as I
was. However I had opted to work in the
computer lab. I was told it was the most
“coosh” job you get, and a friend of a friend knew Delbert, the student manager
of the lab. So I quickly made contact
with him. Delbert was actually a really
sweet guy. A computer geek, but
extremely friendly (and probably a dot.com millionaire now) and the interview
consisted of a conversation like this:
Me: I heard you’re the manager of the computer
lab.
Delbert: Yup.
You want to work there?
Me: Yup.
Can I?
Delbert: When are you available?
Me: Any afternoon after 3.
Delbert: Ok.
You work Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday from 3 to 6.
Done deal. That’s how I got employed on campus. It really was the easiest job ever. It was arguably the greatest con I ever
pulled. I knew jack-shit about computers. I knew how to turn them on. This was before the internet as we know it. Apparently Al Gore had already invented it,
but in 1993 it was till primarily for a bunch of scientists and other high
profile nerds to communicate. Email was
unheard of. A website would have
implied the location of a recent spider sighting. Porn?
Forget it? That was something
that came on VHS! If you wanted to get
your rocks off, you had to reach around the corner of a clandestine doorway at
the video store and grab the first box your dirty fingers made contact with. Could be Gozangas 4 (a real title, by
the way, but not nearly as moving as Gozanga 2) or it could be Melrose Tranny
(also, a real title, as I can attest strangely.) Whatever you had, you didn’t dare make a fuss
at the register. You took what you could
get. There was no such thing as logging
on for a cyber-spank.
The job in the
computer lab was essentially to just be available if any students had trouble
turning on a PC, formatting a Word doc (good luck if I was on duty), or replace
the empy ink and paper. I seemed to have
drawn the best schedule too, because there were never more than one or two
students in the lab when I was working. I
could sit at the back, virtually unnoticed and read, sketch, study my lines,
fall asleep, whatever. There were many
shifts where I didn’t see another soul for the entire three hour shift. The Computer Science Professor (the only one)
Dr. Mayard had coated the windows of his office at the back of the room with
Far Side calendar pages. That semester I
believe I memorized every Far Side one sheet for the years of 1991 and ‘92. Quite honestly, it was very often the most
boring job on campus. But I was getting
paid. I didn’t even have to punch a time
clock. I just had to write my start and
end times on a card with the date. Delbert
never checked. In fact, he never checked
to see if I was even there. I’m not
going to lie, there were many occasions by second semester where I went in,
filled in my card, and disappeared. I
would wander around the building, affectionately called the S&M
building. Of course I didn’t even know
for sure what S&M was. I just knew
it had something to do with sex so it had to be funny. I knew somewhere on the second floor there
was a real live, err, dead cadaver, so I avoided the second floor at all
costs. I’d go to the bathroom a thousand
times, just for something to do. That
something usually ended being masturbation.
Finally it got to the point where I would just leave the building
altogether. Walk over to the commons,
play pool or foosball, get a snack, watch a little Beavis and Butthead or The
Real World. As long as I got back two hours and fifty-five
minutes later so I was there when the next idiot came in, no one ever said boo. I know what you’re thinking, my work ethic is
inspiring. Not that it makes it right,
but they were charging fifteen-grand a year and paying less than $5 bucks an
hour. I would have had to work in that
lab over 333 hours a week to pay off a year at that school, for what it’s
worth. I did the math (for the record
there’s only 168 available!) So who was
really screwing who there?
The cafeteria gig
was actually the best paying job on campus, behind Public Safety, the college
security force. But being pepper sprayed
in the face wasn’t part of the job training to spoon out mashed potatoes. The funny thing was, nobody ever wanted to
work in the cafeteria, despite the better pay rate. I think it was the idea of having to face
your peers day in and out and serve them food.
You already feel insecure enough at that stage in your life, trying to
gain acceptance and even an ounce of respect.
Something about wearing an apron and hair-net just seems contradictory
to that idea. So the students behind
that glass sneeze guard were usually the dregs of campus society. A number of them looked like future ex-cons. My personal favorite was Malcolm, a lazy-eyed
connoisseur of Japanese anime and very fat white girls who resembled Chris Rock
in New
Jack City. His eyes literally
seemed to look in two different directions at all times and his head was
constantly bobbing as he talked. To add
to his social awkwardness, Malcolm was constantly speaking in cartoon voices
and making sound effects ala Michael Winslow from Police Academy. I actually admired Malcolm in a way because I
know he came from a very poor family. In
fact he was raised by a single mother in Chicago’s
notorious Cabrini Green project. He had
come a long way in his life, and Malsolm worked breakfast, lunch, and dinner in
that cafeteria every day, slinging food for a fair amount of privileged kids to
make sure he stayed there. I knew him
for two years and never heard him complain about anything. Not once.
That particular
evening, after Stacy and I had filled our trays from Malcolm’s loving, albeit
bat-shit crazy spatula, we found our way into the dining room. Across the long room I saw this sexy, artsy
looking brunette waiving at us. Well,
she was waiving to Stacy, but I was with him so good enough.
“Oh, over there,”
I said, taking charge. Stacy kind of
hesitated, but I pointed out that the girl was waiving him over. He relented and we went over and sat with
her. I will never forget what Kori was
wearing that day. A red body suit (tight
body suits were very popular among young women for all too brief a period of my
youth.) Personally I thought they were
sexy as hell! Tight and form-fitting, cleavage
accentuating, and the added bonus of knowing where the snap under those jeans
was. A girl wearing a body suit and pair
of baggy jeans with a thick black belt in 1993 was enough to make my loins
quiver. Kori was sitting at the table
wearing a Corvette red body suit with a loose flannel over it. She had long black hair and almond eyes, and
her lips turned up in a quizzical, near-snarl when she was thinking. I was immediately smitten.
Stacy y knew her
only a little more than casually. She
was a sophomore as well and they’d had a couple classes together. Whatever, blah blah blah. What did I have to do to find myself on top
of her at some point in the near future?!?
To cap it off, I was informed she was an Art major, specializing in
painting. Be still, my heart. It was like the lights coming down from
Heaven, or perhaps they were blazing up from . . . somewhere else. Whatever.
I was instantly attracted to her.
All those girls I hadn’t been connecting with the weeks prior were but
blips on the radar at best. This girl
was it. She was the one. Not “the one” as in my future wife, but the
one as in my first college romance. Of
course, I knew this was Christian college, so of course sex would (probably) be
out of the question. But at least some
steamy make-out sessions and heavy petting would more than suffice. After all, that was more than permissible in
God’s eyes. Or at least He turned his
head, we all reasoned. He was the one
that gave us these hormones and these dirty bits as well.
I would never
claim to be good at reading at women.
Not now, not then, not ever. But
being raised by a single mother, I think I learned to pick up on a few
non-verbals. That night I was pretty
sure Kori and I locked eyes a time or two while Stacy rambled on about
something or another, most likely featuring himself. I made a point to ask where her studio was in
the Fine Arts building. I didn’t want to
seem too obvious, but I had every intention of seeing this girl again. Soon.
And the next time, Stacy and the other group that had joined us at our
table would not be there cock block. It
turned out cock-blocking was exactly Stacy’s intention. After dinner we all walked out together but Kori
took a left to go to her studio and paint as Stacy and I made our way back
towards the dorm. We said our casual
goodbyes, but it was clear that a real connection had been sparked.
As we walked along
the road, down the hill, I could almost sense that Stacy was aware and didn’t
approve of my feelings, even if I hadn’t verbalized them.
“So how do you
know Kori?” I asked as we walked.
“Don’t,” he said.
“What?” I asked,
playing dumb.
“You don’t want to get involved with her,” he
said. “She’s kind of wild. She dated this other guy last year and he got
kicked out or something. And I think she
smokes.”
Ok, I was a little
concerned about the guy from the year before.
I didn’t want to be making out with some dirty girl. But as for smoking, fuck, all the
better. I was secretly smoking too. The minute I turned 18, I went to the first
gas station and bought a pack of Marlboros.
Fuck Stacy and what he didn’t know.
I wouldn’t hold that against her.
It meant I wouldn’t have to lie to her.
Plus at dinner she’d mentioned a car or something. A hot girl, really quirky and artistic, who
smoked, liked to party, and had a car! I
mean, this was like God making up for that first shitty month!
I don’t remember
if it was one or two days (or more likely hours) later, but I did find my way
down to the basement of the F.A. building where the painting studios were
hidden. I found Kori there late one
evening working on a large canvas. The
studios were like a large hive of small cubicles/cells where each art major got
there own little space. The walls were
only a few feet high so there was little privacy. It as a sea of canvases and sculptures and
adjustable lamps poking out over cubicle walls in a poorly lit basement
chamber. And each seemed to have their
own boom box playing their own mix of offbeat music, though it seemed likely to
hear the Cure from almost any of them.
Perfect for the artistic vibe.
The floor was concrete and a billion paint splatters littered it like
confetti. It was late and there weren’t
many artists working that night, so I was free to explore and weave my way
through the maze until I found my own muse. While I can’t tell you what she’d say if you
asked her today, I remember vividly her smile when I came around the corner and
appeared in her little booth. She was,
at least for a moment surprised and happy about my drop in.
I remember that
even though we barely knew each other, it was quite comfortable sitting on a metal
stool watching her work, and chatting about God knows what. I just know we laughed a lot. I liked being around her. She was the right amounts of weird and cool,
at least to me. And she had this voice
that got me. My lack of real skills as a
wordsmith handicap me in describing it, but it was a combination of little
girl, cartoon tough girl, and hillbilly.
I know that makes no sense, but if you heard it, you’d get it. The craziest thing I remember about that
night was I was certain that she was feeling the vibe from me as much as I was
from her. Until out of nowhere she threw
me a curve ball. She basically kicked me
out. We were talking, listening to
music, and drinking instant coffee, and then without warning she said “You’ve
got to go.”
She told me to hit
the bricks. She said she had to work and
threw me out. I couldn’t believe
it. I was crestfallen. Was I wrong about the whole vibe thing? I just remember being so confused as I made
my way back to my room and laid in bed thinking about her. The concept of pushing aside romance for
responsibility was completely foreign to me (which explains a lot about my
academic performances over the years.)
It hurt feeling somewhat rejected by her, but it didn’t change
anything. I was obsessed. And it started to become apparent I wasn’t so
wrong about her feelings after all. We
started spending a great deal of time together.
We started to bump into each other a lot after that night. We would sit together in Chapel. We would eat lunch together. Then suddenly we were talking on the
phone. She’d need to run to the store
and did I want to go along for the ride?
Kae not only had a
vehicle, she had the sweetest ride ever. It was this old pick up truck from the 60’s,
mustard yellow save for one blue door (who knows?) and on the other door, the
original yellow one said F. Shafer. She didn’t know who F. Shafer was. Nobody did.
Her dad had found the truck in a junkyard and got it fixed up cheaply. It was amazing. It even started, most of the time. The heat didn’t work for shit of course, and
it was starting to get cold. But we
didn’t care. We’d go out driving and
smoked cigarettes. We’d sit in a greasy
spoon late at night over coffee and laugh and swear together. This seemed to go on for weeks, but none of
the exciting stuff was happening. We
were becoming great friends, which was awesome.
But I wanted more than friendship from her. And finally I told her so. To which she told me no. She told me we could only be friends and that
was that. She never even gave me a real
reason. She just said she didn’t see me
in any other way than a good friend so forget it. I shouldn’t ruin the good thing we had with
romance. It was essentially the “I think
of you as a brother” speech, which every guy knows feels like a hot dagger in
the chest. Thanks a lot! Unless you’re into fooling around with your
brother, that doesn’t do me much good.
In the meantime, I
met this other girl. Her name was Danielle. She was the exact opposite of Kori in about
every way imaginable. They were almost
photo negatives of each other. And they
knew each other. They pretended to be
friendly, but it was clear they really didn’t like each other, especially when
each learned of the other’s bond with me.
In retrospect I should’ve been flattered, maybe even used that to my
advantage. In truth Danielle and I had
little in common as well. She was very
mature, reserved, and conservative. But
she did have fiery red hair – which I dug!
One afternoon I filled in an empty shift at the radio station. It was literally like a 3 to 6 or something,
and all I had to do was play music. The
music selection sucked so I just randomly grabbed discs and threw them on. Danielle happened by and saw me in the booth
through the observation window and waived.
And I waived back and gestured for her to come in, not really even
knowing her. She did. She sat with me through the rest of the
shift.
Danielle had pink
skin and as I mentioned, long red hair. While
Kori had sexy and abrasive features, Danielle was soft and demure in every way. Her cheeks were round and her nose a
tulip. Her voice comforting and proper,
as was her personality. She was devout
in her faith, and often spoke of eternal things. I nodded along, just watching her mouth move
as she talked. I didn’t feel the
connection to her that I did with Kori, but there was no denying she was
pretty. And really, Danielle was the
type you married. She was going to make
a good wife and great mother. As so many
girls went to Christian colleges to find husbands, many young Godly men went on
the lookout for suitable wives to raise up the young in the way they should go,
etc. Danielle would have made a fine
catch, on the surface.
Yet as we got to know
each other a little more, she also hinted at a past. She never got specific, but the Brea Van De
Camp exterior that I knew was not the same girl she had once been,
apparently. I was a little disappointed
I never met the other Danielle. I
thought she and I could have really hit it off.
Still, I liked this Danielle as well, in her way. She seemed to care about me and in a way
wanted to care for me. She clearly
disapproved of the time I was spending with Kori. After all, Danielle wore lavender cardigans
whereas Kori wore a black leather jacket.
I have fetishes for both!
But Kori had turned
me down flat. And Danielle was showing
interest. I was lonely. Even though I could barely stand it when she’d
start talking to me about faith and scripture and her ministry to help the
world, I liked being with her. Plus,
considering myself a Christian, albeit a struggling one, I thought perhaps she
could lift me up, spiritually. So one
evening while we were hanging out, I brought up the idea of taking our
relationship to the next level. She
turned me down too. Kind of the same
story, although hers involved wordage about me still “seeking the truth” yadda
yadda. I was dizzy! How could this have happened twice? If I was some hapless lothario who’d just
strolled up to these two and asked them out with a daisy in my hand, it might
have made sense. But in my defense
they’d both put out signals, only to then launch a torpedo in my hull!
Ultimately, the
inevitable happened. Kori and I had taken
an unspoken break from each other’s company, and I hadn’t even seen her in a
few days or a week. It was too hard to
be around her so I avoided her. Danielle
called to hang out while she did laundry.
We were sitting on the floor in the lower level hallway of her building
chatting about life or whatever and she basically began to say in her long, drawn
out way that maybe she did want to try pursue a deeper relationship with
me. But she just wouldn’t come out with
it. I actually changed the subject
because she seemed to be having such a hard time with it. And suddenly Kori appeared. Literally she came downstairs, looking for
me. She had her leather jacket on and
keys in hand. I can’t even tell you
exactly what she said she needed to do, but somehow five minutes later I was in
her truck with her, having left Danielle behind to sort out her thoughts.
Kori and I drove
to the Jewel grocery store, and I remember it was really cold that night, and
it was getting late. She parked the car
but didn’t shut it off. That’s when she
unloaded on me that she had missed me the last few days. She didn’t like us not being together and
she’d done a lot of thinking. She wanted
us to be together. She didn’t want to
lose me (presumably to Danielle.) Any
painful thoughts of having to twist and augment myself to fit into whatever
mold I’d have to fit to be in a relationship with Danielle immediately
vanished. With this girl, I could be
exactly who and what I was. I can’t tell
you if I even said much in response, except maybe “are you sure this is what
you want?” And when satisfied that it
was what she wanted, I remember leaning in and kissing her. We both tasted like ash trays but it didn’t
matter. We made out in that Jewel
parking lot for an hour, steaming up the windshield of that ugly yellow pick
up.
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