Welcome to another chapter of the Fuckno Tales. This one is called "Joey."
Chapter 1.
MEETING JOEY
So you've seen the first time I met Sean, you've witnessed how I met Bryan, and now, here's how I met Joey.
I got the hell out of Roosevelt High because it was hot. I mean besides being 110 degrees in the shade. In such a high desert valley that runs north to south, the air does not get a chance to move east to west all that often, which is how the jet streams most often travel.
Occasionally, you will get the awesome wind from the north, which cleans out the stale fertilizer smell of agri-land and all the pollution from the activities of a million people in the city of Fuckno, CA. God help you if you lived anywhere near the industrial wine distilleries way down on the lower east side. PeeeeYuuuuu. Rotting grapes that turned into cheap wine would clear out your nose and make your eyes water.
Of course, we partook of such shitty wines that were mixed with fruit juices to become Boones Farm and such. Someone introduced wine coolers (Bartles and Jaymes) in order to sell the cheap wines, and that was the next Big Thing. Gayties, indeed.
I chose McClane High, located on 2727 North Cedar because it was closer to my section eight housing by the airport further up north. If you Google Map this address, you will be shown a city that has changed quite a hell of a lot from when I was there 27 years ago. Fuck, I'm an old bastard. But this is all true.
Yes, sadly, this is indeed all true. Make your jokes in the forums, and I'll simply hang my head in shame and nod.
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I chained up my blue ten speed out front and strode in through the front gates with a pleasant feeling of being born anew. Again. This time, I was not going to get beat up for my clothing, for I wore the clothes that many others wore. Not a stitch of Mainard clothing like when I first showed up at Roosevelt High down south further, and then got laughed at and shunned.
Nobody knew me here, you see.
It is always difficult to change high schools, but even worse so when you do it near the end of the school year, after everyone has their own circle of friends, or "cliques" as they were called back then.
I think they call them posses now, or gangs, or what have you, but I'm probably wrong Holmes. Homeboy. My homey.
But I relished the thought of being the new kid. I could start over, reinvent myself, as you might do when entering a new blog or website forum. Me, I'm always known as tdcwillies wherever I visit.
I try to help out TDC, ya know.
Inside the two-story classroom structures that surrounded a huge grassy lawn (The Quad) there were wrought iron benches with iron wood slats for seats, and picnic tables on the large cement area to the rear, beyond which the cafeteria sat. To the front left on this cement area stood a tiny kiosk-building known as the "Junk Box."
In the morning, one of the lunch ladies would serve out pans of cinnamon rolls the sixe of your head (well, almost) for 50 cents, and she had baked these delicious monstrosities atop a layer of brown sugar and butter and then drizzled with sugra cream sauce, all fresh from the oven in that shack. During the day, other treats were always available there.
The school made mucho dinero doing this, and also, they were in cahoots with the growing medical supply companies for diabetes, cholesterol and weight loss. Well, that's what I figure now, looking back.
At lunch, awesome hand-made sandwiches, candy, chips, and soda were available for cheap.
Joey sat on the middle picnic table at the front of the cement area that chilly morning. The desert is always cold in the morning. Little Lion Man was front and center, on stage.
I noticed him on my way to the throng of students milling about in front of the small, brick building from which a lovely smell of sweet stickiness emanated. My tongue got a hard on. For the Cinnamon rolls, you fucker. I knew what you were thinking.
I saw how Joey was wearing a grey suit and skinny red leather tie, and also some Red Ray Bans. Second pair I ever saw in Fuckno, but the first and only time I would ever see a male wearing them.
There were girls standing in front of this small guy, who had his ass planted atop the picnic table, and his black dance shoes gleaming on the bench, spread our far and wide like he owned the whole friggin Quad. He stood up and pressed play on the boombox behind him. He played "Master And Servant" from Depeche Mode. But I won't do that to you. Instead:
The girls all screamed as this little Messican cat began to dance on top of the picnic table. Vato Gato, heheh. He spun, he dropped to one knee, and his sports coat swirled around, as those young ladies clapped.
What the fuck was that shit?
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
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