There’s something about a smell.

Cracker Barrel got a new hotbox today.  The adhesive that seals it shut smells like rotten beer and dirt.  It reminded me of my childhood when my dad played softball.  You never know when a weird smell will jog a memory.  It seems the more peculiar the smell the more one’s mind races.  When I smelled that hot box I was taken back to the Golden Triangle. 

My dad was a 5 foot 6 inch shortstop.  I can’t recollect how often he played.  Memory is funny that way.  It comes in flashes, but I do remember a man named the Hammer.  He liked to gamble a lot.  Once he won a $1,000 on the powerball.  There was another guy named Biggins who hit a lot of home runs, but I don’t think I talked to him very much.  My dad’s best friend Robert was the pitcher on his team because he was too drunk to do much else.  His son Corey was my friend.  Last I heard from him he was a struggling/barely trying music producer.  But mostly what I remember from the park is my dad. 

I don’t know that I ever respected him more than when he was playing ball.  I was taller than him by the time I was 16.  As far as I can remember I was always more handy and more able to deal with adversity than he could.  He never wants to give up on things.  When my car broke down he kept telling me to fix it, so I kept fixing it, but it was pointless.  That ’92 grand prix was dead.  When his job at Panasonic was stalling he kept pushing to make it work even when it was hopeless.  He didn’t graduate college, so I guess he didn’t have a lot of other options.  Now that my writing career is slow to take off I feel like I understand his struggle to switch things up.  I certainly don’t think I’d ever give up on writing no matter what the circumstances.  My dad did finally switch things up.  He works three jobs now.  One at Sears, another at Riverport Ampitheatre and he has one more sales job.  Eventually he did what he had to do.

I never understood why my dad never found a woman.  He looks a little like me.  Only shorter.  His eyes are just as blue.  His shoulders aren’t as broad and he doesn’t have the ridiculous confidence and ability to deal with adversity, but instead he has a compassion that I could never have.  A compassion that no one else has.  My friends that didn’t have dads always admired my old man.   My friend Chris once chipped in $20 to get my dad a new cat after his old cat died.  Precious’s death crushed him.  He walked around the house with wet eyes for three days after it died until finally I bought a new cat.  God damn cat cost me $300, but he’s happy.  Still, a cat’s a poor substitute for a woman and I can’t see why he doesn’t date.  Single 40 something woman will do almost anything to settle down with a guy like him.  I guess he’s a little shy after my mom.  That would make sense.  When they got married the second time I asked him why he took her back.

“Because it’s what I thought you wanted,” he said. 

I think that’s why he doesn’t have anyone.  Because he doesn’t live for him.  I know he didn’t want to take my mom back.  She had mental health problems.  She cheated.  She came and went as she pleased, but he took her back because he thought a family would be better for his children.  At the time I thought it was a weak thing to do, but as I get older I realize I respect my dad much more.  He’s working 47 hours this week at Sears and another 40 at his other job, so I can have opportunities he didn’t have.  I called him earlier to tell him my car is completely busted and that I needed to get something new.  It will cost me all the money I have and I my job search is going terribly.  He just told me it takes time and we’ll see what we can do about the car.  If he has to chip in any money for a new car I know it will be a huge burden for him.  Still I know he’d do it in a second. 

I think there was a point in my dad’s life when he realized the endless dreams of youth where everything ends up just the way you want it to were out of reach, but instead of become cynically like some people he adopted my dreams.  He never told me I couldn’t write anything I wanted to write and he never told me I couldn’t climb any mountain I wanted to climb.  He didn’t say anything when I was homeless for a month in the cold in order to get back into school.  He let me take any chance to shoot as big as I could.  He wants to believe that the unthinkable really is possible for someone like him. 

That’s the bond between fathers and sons.  Our legacies are entwined.  In a weird way anything I accomplish he accomplishes as well because he put so much effort into me.  And his investment in me strives me to push even harder to be a great person that can make him proud.  I hope I do dad.

Back in the STL

My friend Chris Mullins went back to St. Louis to visit his family.  I haven’t seen Chris in over a year and his whore wife (as he repeatedly called her) recently left him at the altar because she met someone else while he was overseas.  As a result, I decided to chuck it back to St. Louis for a visit.

My visit started off real bad.  I got a ticket for going 90 in a 70 that’s going to cost me a fortune.  Apparently, the cop followed me for a while, but I didn’t notice because I was jamming out to my ipod.  He asked me why I was going so fast?  I had so many answers.  I have to pee.  There’s no one around and I’m in a hurry, but I didn’t say any of those.  Although, I think there should be a pee exception.  Whenever I drive long distances I always end up speeding because I have to pee.  I think it’s the vibrations of the car or the hot seat, but I always have to pee.  I think speeding due to bodily functions should be a viable excuse.  Either that or I should be able to pull over on the side of the road and do my business.  It has to be either one or the other.  Let’s get to work congress. 

I ended up going with the aw schucks I’m sorry approach and just accepting my ticket.  I just wanted to get back on the road.  I really had to pee.  I got home around midnight and went right to bed.

Friday night I went out with my old friends who are much more experienced drinkers than I am.  Some of those guys drink full-time.  I had no idea how much of a light weight I was until after that night.  I barely remember a think and the hangover would last two days.  I didn’t get out of bed until monday which means I missed farm aid.  I really wanted to see Wilco. 

Monday night I watched football with my friend with the whore wife and Jeff.  It took me three days before I saw Chris and he was the whole reason I came back.  Ah well better late than never. 

The game was the Packers vs. Brett Favre and the Vikings.  I really enjoyed this game because I have a friend who is a Packers fan.  I imagine every guy who knows a Packers fan did the same thing I did.  Act like a complete asshole.  I don’t know why men enjoy being assholes, but damn we really do.  Aaron Rodgers fumbled in the first quarter.  My text: Brett Favre wouldn’t have fumbled there.  Brett Favre throws a touchdown.  My text: 1 I’m sending you a message for every Brett Favre touchdown.  By the time I got to 3 my buddy texted me: Fuck your mother.  That was his only response for the whole game.  Around this time Chris decided to text his buddy whose a Packers fan.  Then we started comparing notes.  You said what?  That’s awesome I’m texting my buddy that.  It will crush him. 

Eventhough my friend was silent I kept on texting him: The Packers defense is good.  If you had Brett Favre you’d be a Superbowl team for sure.  It’s a shame you let him go.  He didn’t say anything back, but I know he was crying on the inside and that comforted me.  My final text: Well you guys tried and that’s all that matters.  I’m sure that really pissed him off.  Every guy knows if you don’t win then you’re not trying hard enough.  We had a couple of beers, (four for me) so Chris’s mom came and picked us up.  We went to bed at midnight.  So that’s five days in St. Louis with two sleeping by midnights, two days sleeping all day and one night of drinking that I could barely handle.  It’s official I’m old. 

Tuesday was Chris (the one with the whore wife) and my last day in St. Louis, so we went for a tour of the brewery.  I’d never been, so it sounded like fun.  It was ehh.  The first stop is the horse church.  It’s a Clydesdale stable with stained glass windows.  You can’t get close to the horses because they’re roped off.  The tour guide said they only keep horses with white feet, brown fur and a black mane.  What happens to the rest of them?  Does Budweiser make glue?  I sure hope not. 

Then we got to see the place where the beechwood lagering takes place.  On the way there there’s an awesome sand sculpture that says Budweiser and has a little star.  I wish I had a picture it’s pretty cool.  My friend Chris’s response: you know some little kid’s going to touch that.  None of them did. (Ya, you can bring your kids on the booze tour).  They were too well behave.  I however, couldn’t resist.  It was real… and awesome. 

Don’t ask me what beechwood lagering is.  They told me, but I don’t understand.  It happens in massive steel tanks that hold 200,000 six packs, so it would take you and 99,999 of your friends to carry all that beer.  And depending on how big of drinkers your friends are possibly the same amount to drink.  With my friends it would probably take about 10 people.  I’d bring the team down by passing out after 12 or so and then sleeping for two days.

Then we were taken to a room where our tour guide explained the seven steps to brewing.  There’s hops and mashing and stuff, but I didn’t really pay attention.  I however did pay attention when the tour guide explained what is required to become a beer taster.  This is going to crush a lot of dreams.  To be a beer taster you need a masters in chemical engineering and then you have to go to beer school.  You need as much education to be a beer taster as you do to be a doctor.  I told my friend Dawson and he was upset.  He was going to put in an application.  He’s been laid off for two years and he’s not good at anything, but damn he can drink. 

The idea of beer school sounded awesome to my friends and I.

Professor (me): Damn it Johnny why are you late to class again?

Johnny (my friend Kevin): I was up late studying again.  I studied a whole case.

Professor: I thought I told you you’re not supposed to cram.  You need to study a little bit every night.

Johnny: Ya ya, I know, but I get behind.

Then we took a lap in the packaging plant and then it was back to the hospitality room where you get two free samples of beer.  I assume they’re limited to two because anymore would put you over the legal limit.  They only had like eight different beers on tap which really ticked me off because who wants to sample bud light?  I got a Stella and a pumpkin beer both of which I’ve had before and then the tour was over.

After the tour we sang karaoke.  It was $10 bottomless cop, but I decided to drink water (I’m 25 going on a 100.  Really I should just eat seaweed at this point)  It used to be hard to entertain myself when I’m around drunk people and I’m sober, but no longer.  I sang karaoke sober and luckily there were cougars stalking around our table.  I told my friend Dawson I was going to get him one. 

Dawson: You would do that wouldn’t you.

Me: Without mercy.  I’d get you liquored up and send you home with her.

Dawson: and then you’d call me the next day after it happened.

Me: I’d ask you how your night was.

Dawson: and then you’d tell me to roll over and I’d say fuck you.

Me: and it would be glorious.

I went home after that conversation and went to bed.  Guess what time it was.  Just guess.  Yup it was midnight.  Let’s recap.  That’s 6 days in St. Louis catching up with friends with 3 nights sleeping by midnight, 2 days recovering from hangovers and one solid night of partying.  I’ve got the Mizzou Nebraska game tomorrow.  I’ve got a feeling I won’t be writing again until Sunday.

Ramblin’ thoughts

Somehow my brother and I got talking about no-hitters, and I showed him an old article about a pitcher named Dock Ellis who threw a no-hitter high on acid.  He walked eight batters and hit a guy.  He wasn’t in control.  My brother said he should’ve played every game high on LSD, with a bandana like Jimi Hendrix, so the drug peaks at around the 8th inning.  Ellis is a drug counselor now, but I wonder why he ever quit LSD.  People stop doing things because they aren’t productive.  What about the people who are still productive while on drugs?  The obvious reason is they could die, but there’s more to it than that.  

What about a guy like Jim Morrison who was fearless.  Morrison had tons of girls around and he was a successful musician.  There was no incentive for Morrison to quit drugs; maybe if he had a couple of scares then he would’ve stopped; maybe if he had someone who’d leave him if he didn’t stop then he would’ve stopped, but a lot of the women Morrison dated were drug addicts too.  It’s easy to say that drug addicts can’t be in happy relationships, and that seems obvious to people who don’t use drugs, but I guess it’s like any other human weakness: if you find someone else that shares your weakness then you can hide from it.  A lot of bad relationships are co-dependent in this way.  Some people are cowards, and so they find someone that doesn’t push them.  Some people are sex addicts, and so they find someone who “swings”.  I could go on forever, but you get the point.  A lot of times bettering ourselves can be difficult, so we find someone who allows us not to judge ourselves.  

My first year of college, my sister’s best friend Becky, who was like a little sister to me, developed a heroin addiction.  My dad was upset about it.  She was a 5-10 natural blonde and cheery.  She liked to pinch me, and I promised one day I’d knock her out if she didn’t watch herself, but she knew I was joking, and she liked to tell me about her future.  It was important to her that I approved.  I guess that’s how it is with big brothers or father figures. 

Heroin had gotten real bad that summer in St. Peters and St. Louis.  A lot of people were dying from the way the drug was mixed.  One of the players on my little brothers little league team overdosed and died at a speed ball party in the suburbs.  The father of the girl (something Kissell) who had the party was a senator in Jefferson City.  I remember thinking it’s good to be poor because I was too busy working to have time to do stuff like that.  My dad talked to his dad, and he remembered him saying that he wished his kid had gone to jail.  If he’d have gone to jail then he’d have stopped.  He just needed to figure things out, but it was too late for that now.

I came back from Columbia because Becky’s grandparents were having an intervention.  She lived with in walking distance from my house, so my father, sister and I walked.  It was weird seeing my dad hop a fence.  He and my sister were down.  I don’t remember how the conversation went or if there even was one.  I think they may have been thinking about what they were going to say. 

When we got there it was about three in the aftnernoon, but she was still asleep.  It was the first time I’d ever met Becky’s grandparents and they kept asking me questions.  I was a philosophy major back then, so they asked me questions about that and they insisted I drink some tea.  It all seemed so weird because their grand daughter was addicted to heroin, but they were nice people and they wanted to be good hosts.  Becky’s mom was a mess.  She acted like she was still Becky’s age.  She’d go out late and she’d gotten pregnant somehow or another.  I didn’t know much about her because I didn’t care too.  I like to help people up to a point, but sometimes enough is enough.  Becky’s dad had been a drug addict, but he’d never been in her life. 

My dad was obviously uncomfortable.  He always was.  He’s the nicest guy, and a lot of my friends and my sister’s friends came from bad places, so he’d look after them.  I remember when his cat died and he cried for days, so I bought him another cat.  A lot of my friends wanted to chip in.  He didn’t know how to handle something like this.  My sister was nervous for another reason.  She’d done some not so good things too, and she knew that if she confronted Becky all of that would come out. 

I wasn’t nervous at all.  I had no idea what I was going to say, but I didn’t want to get too shaken up.  Becky’s mom finally got Becky up.  It was the first time I’d seen her in a year.  Her hair was black.  Her eyes even looked darker.  She didn’t look anything like the innocent girl I remembered.  The intervention was as conventional as anyone could imagine. 

Her mom told her she could die.  My dad told her how worried he was.  She said she wasn’t scared.  My little sister told her she was worried, and she lashed out at her.  She said she’d done a lot of the same things.  I didn’t say anything.  I just stared her down.  She seemed to back down.  I felt like she was apologizing, but I didn’t say anything.  I just looked at her like I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry. 

Becky approached me later, and she told me she was going to be a chef and how she was going to quit heroin.  She said she didn’t want to be one of these 30-year-olds who lives at home and only cares about heroin.  I told her I didn’t know how heroin addicts lived to 30.  I was real terse about everything.  I tried to act like I didn’t care about her anymore, which was hard to do. 

One time I saw her at a bar on mainstreet.  She didn’t look too good and she didn’t come and talk to me.  I was having a good time with my friends Patty, Jeff, and Kevin.  Someone started a fight with Jeff, and Jeff got arrested.  Jeff’s a big guy, so when we were younger men always tried to start fights with him, so they could prove they were tough.  I’d hate to be a professional athlete because I know there’s some little prick out there who wants to impress some girl, and his way of doing it is to fight the biggest guy in the room.  Ladies, don’t ever date that guy.

I was pissed at the cops because they always arrest the big guy, even if he gets suckerpunched.  I wanted to talk to them, but Patty stopped me.

“Why are you trying to fix this?  There’s nothing you can do.” she said.

I stood there in the brick street in front of the Karaoke bar we went to after we left the bar where Jeff got arrested.  I sing like crap, but I love karaoke.  Kevin and Patty were hoping to cheer me up.  She sang tiny dancer with me and I felt a little better, but I was still thinking about Becky, but I was keeping it to myself, so I talked about Jeff.

I wanted to do something.  I hated being helpless.  They took me home and I punched a hole in the wall.  It seemed better than nothing.  At least I was affecting the world. 

All the news I heard about Becky for awhile was terrible.  She signed my sister’s name to bail her drug-addicted boyfriend out of jail.  He had a kid with another woman he was still dating.  But I finally heard some good news a couple of months ago.  Becky had gotten arrested and thrown out of school……, but when they gave her a drug test she didn’t test positive for heroin.  It might not sound like much, but when someone you love is addicted to drugs even the smallest positive feels good.

Goodbye Matt Suhr

Casey texted me on Wednesday that Matt Suhr was having a going away party on Friday.  I was playing a zombie killing game with my friends, and we’d already made plans for Friday, to go to the local piano bar, but of course I was going to Matt’s going away party.  My St. Peters friends were upset, but they understood. 

Matt Suhr was one of the first people I met when I came back to Columbia.  I left Mizzou a year and a half earlier because of financial reasons, and most of my old friends had graduated, so I didn’t really know anyone.  Matt was a great person to meet because he knows everyone, and he’s always willing to help out.

I probably only knew Matt a week before he was helping me jump my car.  Another time I locked my keys in my car, and he, Casey, and I spent two hours in the freezing cold trying to break into the car.  I just wanted to will the thing open.  I ripped back the weathering, and tried to shove a hanger in to open it, but I wasn’t having much success.  

Matt, on the other hand, decided to get a screw driver to hold back the weather stripping, so it would be easier on our hands.  We tried for along time with that hanger, but never made it in.  I never had the dexterity to come close, but Matt nearly had it several times.  Finally, Matt got a jimmy, and we tried to pop it open, but that didn’t work either, so we called it quits, and went back to their house.  

We watched a terrible resident evil movie, made fun of it, and I read off the internet how to jimmy open a car because I really wanted to know after we failed.  I hate failing.  Apparently, we could have done a lot of damage trying to jimmy open the driver’s side door… oops.  We all laughed about that.

Matt’s also the one who introduced me to Casey, and a lot of the people I know now.   I love Columbia, but I don’t know if that’d be true if I didn’t meet Matt Suhr.  Matt’s a strong man who goes out of his way to help others.  He’s not a genius, but he does everything with as much effort as possible.  I know he’s going to be successful.  Good luck in the real world buddy.

The boys are back in town II: Life is pretty great.

Every human makes mistakes, and I’m human.  I forget that sometimes.  I want to the best at everything.  I want to the best writer and the best man, but sometimes I make mistakes. 

When I was a kid my parents and my siblings depended on my strength.  My mom had real bad drinking and bi-polar problems.  My dad was gone a lot, and he had a tough life.  He was beaten ragged by the world.  I was the oldest, so it was my job to fix things, and I always did. 

My sister and brother are coming into town, and it’s great to see them.  They really look up to me.  I try so hard to be a strong man that does the right thing, but sometimes I mess up.  

My sister’s great.  Sometimes I yell at her for not keeping busying enough, but she understands.  There was a time when I was a really intense guy, and a lot of people didn’t get me, but my sister always understood where I came from.  She relies on me, and I love it.  When her friends heroin addiction got bad -not to mention her own cocaine problems- she came to me.  I hope she always does because I know I can handle anything. 

My bestfriend Evan’s great too.  For two years he did nothing, and I paid his way, but now he’s an emt, and he’s going to be a firefighter.  I am real proud of him.  It’ll be great to see him again.

Kevin’s great too.  He gave me 300 dollars so I wouldn’t be homeless in Columbia anymore.  I paid him back as soon as I could, but he really helped me.

Sherman’s great.  After he heard I was homeless he told me that’s something Dylan would’ve done, just packing up, and going for it.  He respects my determination and focus.  I want people to see me that way.

Mackenberg’s is just a silly bastard with a great heart.  I know he’ll make me feel better. 

When things are bad, and you’re not sure that you’re as great a person as you thought you were, it’s nice to have people around who tell you that you really are.  When I feel weak and scatterbrained it’s great to hear it’s only temporary, and that I really am a strong and focused man.  Everyone goes through tough times.  Hemingway said you couldn’t judge a man until he’s been gored.  I can handle adversity.  I’ve got practice.  Life’s beautiful because if you keep evaluating yourself, and keep pushing forward you’ll eventually be successful.  I don’t know if it’s providence or karma, but something directs passionate people with good hearts.  I am thankful for every hiccup because I get to learn new things about myself, and I always come out a better man.  Life’s difficult but fun.  I am lucky that I get to share it with the people I mentioned before.

The boys are back in town

I have around 10 friends coming in this weekend.  Most of them aren’t showing up until Saturday, but 2 friends came in last night.  Jeff and Sherman.

Sherman got in around 2.  He had to finish up some work for his job.  He used to be a cop, then he worked at Quik trip, now he sells phonebooks.  He likes selling phonebooks because it’s an easy job, and he doesn’t have to do anything.  He’s got a great heart though.

Him and Jeff gamble on the internet, and they mostly lose.  Sherman was betting on everything.  He bet under in the Denver/Cleveland game and lost.  Some how we got to talking about a girl, and he decided I should call her. 

“If you like her you should call her,”

I was drunk, so that seemed logical.  Why not call people you like?  Well how about because your drunk ramblings are unfair to the other person?

I love Sherman because he has a good heart, but I don’t even let him make his own decisions.  Why’d I let him make mine?  It’s not fair to blame him though.  I am the one that did it.  From what I remember she was great though.  When the situation’s reversed I get so mad, but she was patient with me.  She has to lose some respect for me.  Strong people don’t make such mistakes, but she was real supportive.  It’s hard to be friends after something like that.  She shouldn’t have to bear the ache of pushing me away.  I should be strong enough to do that, but now she has no choice.  I guess it’s a human mistake, but I like to believe I hold myself to a higher standard.

“I can’t believe you called that girl last night,” Sherman said this morning “that’s so unlike you”

“you told me to,” I said.

“I did? I don’t remember that. It’s going to be real uncomfortable seeing her again.” he said

We both just laughed.  What else could we do?

Piglet’s in Town

My little brother was in town this weekend.  He came to see a girl on Saturday, but on Friday he was going to hang out with me and some of my friends.

My brother’s a shy kid and a bit immature.  He had a strange childhood, and may suffer from a little bit of arrested development.  The idea was on Friday we would teach him everything we could, so he could get his girl on Saturday.

I got off work around 9:30, and met him at my apartment.  He was restless.  I took a shower, called Matt, and we met them up at Quentins.

Clay, a friend of his, Matt, and two of his buddies were there waiting for us.

Clay had the idea that he was going to show my brother a thing or two.  Clay’s real name is Matt Cohea.  We call him Clay because he looks and acts like Clay Aiken.  When the real Clay Aiken came out of the closet Clay had to turn his phone off.  Clay is certain strippers love him because he gives them money.  He is not the guy I want my brother learning from.

But Matt Suhr is a different story.

Matt’s great with girls, but don’t ever tell him that.  It goes to his head.  Between Matt and I, I was certain my brother could learn a lot.

Matt has many talents, but he’s no intellectual.  One time we were talking to some girls about room 38.  The girls said it was an intimate setting. 

Matt responded, “Do you mean sexual?”

“Yes Matt, a place is sexual.”  Casey and I laughed at him pretty hard for that.

Matt thinks he’s great with girls because he acts disinterested.  Playing disinterested is always great advice, but that’s not why Matt’s successful.  Matt is successful because he comes across as warm.  He may be a heartless bastard, but he seems like a kind person.

If happiness a warm gun then Matt’s a machine gun.  He’s always smiling.  He actually smiles while he talks.  And when he does stupid things he laughs at himself.  Matt is going to be happy no matter what.  Whether you’re a man or a woman being happy is very sexy.  People feel like they’ll happy if they are around happy people.

Matt’s outgoing too.  He’ll talk to everyone in the bar.  This is a great idea.  It seems like he’s just a very social person, so when he approaches girls are more relaxed.  Clay and his buddy, were hovering around chicks, waiting for a good moment to approach.  This is a terrible idea because it builds tension.  If you’re going to go in, go in, and try to keep them relaxed.  Having a warm personality makes girls relaxed.

Finally, Matt’s touchy.  Not just with girls, with everyone.  He’ll put his arm around you or rub your shoulders.  Most people like some touching.  Obviously, you can go overboard.  Don’t try to snuggle every person you meet, but a little bit of touching is relaxing.

By the end of the night Matt was going home with an attractive girl, and Clay was at the strip club.  My brother was hanging on Matt’s everyword.  I gave him some advice, but he really wanted to talk to Matt.  I like to be the one that gives him advice, but there’s no denying Matt’s good.  My brother text me the next day.

“Your friends method actually works.  I have a chick driving 2 hours to see me.”   

I am not telling Matt though.  His head’s already too big. 

 

The Mexican

Marcos Cazares is a grill cook at Cracker Barrel.

Like many of the Mexicans that work there he is short, about 5’4, and he came to America very young.  He sees his family rarely.  But unlike many of the others Marcos speaks english very well.  That’s why he got to be a grill cook instead of a dishwasher.

During the day Marcos works at the animal shelter.  He likes animals, but he won’t admit it to me.

The kitchen at Cracker Barrel is mostly male and as a result is prone to alpha maleness.  Men are either alphas or they are trying to attach themselves to an alpha.  Lots of people attach themselves to my friend Matt (more on him later).  Men attach themselves to alphas hoping to feed off some of their glory (i.e. kick back girls).  Marcos has attached himself to me. 

Unlike most of the men at work I don’t pick on Marcos.  Cayce (more on him later) calls him his bitch and pushes him around.  All men do this: even I do.  I called one kid garbage d___ for a long time and thought it was hilarious.  We’re always jockeying for position and name calling can set people in their place.  A good man doesn’t do it in front of women though. 

I do tease Marcos though.  There’s a girl he likes.  I call her El mosa tracera (my spanish spelling is bad).  She speaks spanish and she makes Marcos blush.  He likes her a lot, but he’s too shy.  I call her la novia de Marcos and that makes him blush even more.  She’s 18 with long black hair and is the embodiment of her spanish name sake.  Marcos would love to be close to her.

Marcos works very hard, but he doesn’t like to be in charge.  When things get hectic Marcos wants me to lead, and I want to lead.  This must be why Marcos looks to me more than Matt.  I work hard and lead great.  It certainly isn’t because I am taking all the woman– although some of them are very interested.  He couldn’t possibly respect me if no woman were interested. 

When I first came back Marcos and I had a conversation about the woman at Cracker Barrel

“Have you had any of the woman here,” he said

“No” I said

“How come”

“I don’t know.  I guess I just didn’t want to,” I said

We didn’t say anything for a while, and then he said

“These guys take all the girls, all of them”

“They’re good guys and they have fun,” I said.

Marcos just laughed, and I could tell he wanted to have fun.  It must be tough for a 5’4 mexican in a kitchen with big Americans.