$12,000 Loan
Author: Jay Molina

Chapter 6
The Dream Job

The Dream Job

"Don’t get lost in heaven they gots locks on the gates

Don’t go over the edge, you’ll make a big mistake.”  

–  Don’t Get Lost In Heaven by the Gorillaz

            “I can’t believe we survived that,” JMo says.  JMo, Miles, and the Z-man are walking down the hallway of the sports building talking about their meetings with Coach.

            “Did you guys see that family portrait?”  asks the Z-man.  “It was frightening.”

            “He looked like Satan,” adds Miles.

            “Thanks to you Z, I couldn’t help but laugh in his face when he told me to spread some Holiday Chair,” says JMo.

            “Yeah.  What was he saying?  Holiday Chair?”  The Z-man is still confused by the Coach’s accent .  They are in the lobby about to exit the building when a fairly tall, heavy-set woman approaches JMo.

            “Hey there,” the woman says.

            “What’s up?  How’s it going?” is JMo’s response.

            “Who’s that?” Z-man whispers to Miles, nodding at the woman.

            “The athletic director,” whispers Miles.

            “I’ve never seen you this early before,” remarks the smiling athletic director.  JMo doesn’t say anything at first. He has a blank look on his face.  He has no idea what the woman is talking about.

            “Well…The early bird does catch the worm,” he finally manages to get out.

            “I was just heading down to the court right now,” the woman tells JMo, jogging his memory.

            “Yo, I’ll see you guys back at the house,” JMo yells to Miles and Z, who have started creeping toward the exit.

            JMo has a part-time job on campus where he works as a scorekeeper/ball boy for the school athletic department.  It is the perfect job for him, he gets paid to watch female collegiate athletes play sports in very tight, revealing clothing.  And this is a small college, so the athletes aren’t these huge physical freaks of nature, they’re cute.  And it wasn’t even considered creepy because it was his job to watch.  If one could somehow make a living out of this JMo would be looking for the sign-up sheet.  During volleyball season he would keep score.  Anyone who could count could keep score for a volleyball game, because it’s just one point at a time.  It’s not like they have touchdowns or 3-pointers.  From JMo’s point of view it’s just: a cute ass in spandex hits the ball to another cute ass in spandex until the ball hits the floor and another point goes up on the scoreboard.  Sometimes in the fall JMo would be the ball boy for field hockey and soccer games, for which the job description was: watch the cute asses in either short skirts or short shorts run around until the ball came your way, at which point politely hand the ball back to the girls with  the cute asses.

He gets down to the court where all the volleyball players are doing their warm-ups.  JMo tries to discretely check-out all the players on his way to the scorer’s table.  But for JMo discrete is basically just staring.  There is another college student already at the scorer’s table.  He is standing holding a red flag, meaning that he is to be a linesman for the game.  The linesman is a lanky kid of average height with a very youthful face and dark, shaggy hair on his head.  JMo is happy to see him there because the kid looks like a hippie, and there is a lot of time to kill before the game starts.

The linesman sees JMo walking over and smiles.  The kid is obviously bored and glad he’ll have someone to shoot the breeze with.  Without introducing himself or saying anything else, the kid asks, “Can you believe some dudes don’t like muff diving?”  A sly grin is affixed on the ball boy’s face, as if that’s the way his face as constructed.  His question would confuse most humans, and at the very least catch the rest off guard.  Muff diving is a slang term for when a guy gives a girl oral sex.  Not the topic you generally bring up when you’re greeting somebody.  JMo is not phased in the slightest. 

“What!?” JMo responds in true disbelief, “Who doesn’t like muff diving?”  JMo realizes this will be a fun couple of hours of work based on the start of their conversation

“Right?  That’s what I said.  I love carpet munchin’.”

“Hells yea. Gotta eat the cooch.”

“It’s one of my joys in life, to just give lip service.”  This gets a giggle out of JMo.  The linesman’s same smile is always on his face.

“I mean… I don’t really get the chance that often, but I’m all for it when the opportunity presents itself,” explains JMo.  It’s always somewhat of a competition in the macho, male culture to show off how much you got laid.  That’s all most college guys cared about, so there was a tendency for them to exaggerate or lie about the action they were getting in order to one-up their peers.  But JMo never took part in that, nor did he try to pretend he was getting any action.  Whenever typical guy conversation turned to talking about their sexual accolades, and it always did, JMo would just stop contributing to the conversation and sit their silently, hoping no one would ask him anything.  He always thought it was stupid, although that was probably because he had nothing to say.

“Yeah, man, I can’t stop whistlin’ through the wheat field.  It’s actually a problem.  I’ve cut down to about 7 muff dives a week,” the kid says, referring to giving head like it were cigarettes.  “There was a time when I was up to like 15 eat outs a week.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I know.  I just can’t get enough.”  There are a series of loud whistles, meaning the game is about to start.  The two teams take their sides and begin.  The team on the left serves first.  The team on the right executes a perfect bump, set, and spike for the first point.  If you’ve ever seen a volleyball game, you know that after each point the team huddles together in the middle of their court and yells some cheer at the top of their lungs with their high-pitched female voices.  “Schacka Lacka Booya!”, or “3,6,9 our serves are fine!”, or anything along those lines.  It’s funny the first couple times, but they do it after every point.  It takes 25 points to win one game, and in a volleyball match it’s the best of 5 games.  So there are on average 150-200 points in a match.  That’s a 150-200 times of “Bump, set, spike it...thatssssss the wayyyyyy we like it!” a match.  And both teams do it after every point, even the losing team.  It can drive a sane man crazy.  JMo cringes when the first pair of cheers hits his ears, so he strategically moves his headphones from his neck to over his ears and puts the volume as loud as possible.

The game continues without any problems.  JMo keeps adding a point to the scoreboard when necessary while rocking to his tunes.  Somewhere in the 3rd game a deflected volleyball comes whizzing at his head.  With reflexes like a cat JMo snags the ball inches from his face.  There are a lot of pothead stereotypes that aren’t true.  The image of a stoner having a slow-reaction time isn’t necessarily true, that’s just what happens when you’re real baked.

A short blonde girl comes running up to JMo, hands extended, wanting the ball back.  He’s caught off guard.  JMo had drifted off into another world (he was good at this) and now a pretty girl is a foot away from him.  The game is halted and everyone is watching the player/scorekeeper interaction.  It’s the only time in the game when people actually notice the scorekeeper.  JMo is frozen, staring at the girl in amazement, just sitting there holding the ball.  The player asks for the ball after a few awkward seconds, but JMo wasn’t anticipating any social interactions and has his headphones turned way up, so he only sees her lips move.  A few more awkward seconds pass.  It’s always awkward when a large gathering of people goes silent for a moment like this, but JMo doesn’t hear the awkward silence, just Don’t Get Lost In Heaven by the Gorillaz.  That’s one of the reasons he thinks life is better with music, no awkward silences.  Finally the girl just takes the ball out of his hands.  Okay, maybe the pothead stereotype of slow-reaction time is true.  “Dumb stoner,” mutters one of the volleyball coaches, but again JMo can’t hear.

The 3rd game ends and there is a 3-minute break.  The linesman from before comes over to the scorer’s table for some more friendly conversation.

“Nice catch before,” the linesman says.

JMo puts his headphones back down around his neck and says, “Thanks.”

“Why wouldn’t you give her the ball back?” the kid asks, laughing.

“I was just zoned out, man.  And then this really cute girl came out of nowhere and my music was on loud.  It was like an out-of-body experience.”

“Word, she was cute.”  After pondering something for a few seconds the kid asks, “Do you think you could ever get tired of getting head?”

“No way.”

“I mean, even if you got it like 5 times a day?”

“I think that’s one thing in life you couldn’t get tired of.”

“Good, that’s what I thought.”  A whistle sounds and the linesman trots back to his spot on the court.  The match resumes.  One of the teams clinches in the 4th game and the match ends.  JMo stands up and heads back home after a hard day’s work.  The sun has gone down, which is when most of the action happens at college.

 

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