I walked to the 7-11 to get a giant coca cola classic and a DiGiorno for one. It was Christmas eve. I grabbed a liter of coke and a pizza, walked to the counter and waited for the man to ring me up. I paid with my check card. The transaction was declined. I apologized and said I was going to get cash out of the atm, knowing that I was lying. Another lonely person walked into the store and I snuck out of the 7-11, walked back home and went to sleep. When I look at a DiGiorno for one now all I can think about is extreme loneliness and longing.
In high school my best friend was a white boy. He would get a little crazy when he drank, his father had been an alcoholic. He had some major troubles at home. From what I could gather his divorced parents were not the best support system. One was too strict and the other was extremely lax. My parents were also divorced so I could relate to him. He loved the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He was always a great friend.
After high school we drifted apart. He began drinking all the time, developed a speed problem and eventually sold drugs. He got out of jail a year ago after two years of being locked up. He was so swoll. Scar Tissue by the Red Hot Chili Peppers always reminds me of him. It’s the only Red Hot Chili Peppers song I can stand.
For two summers in a row, while my dad was overseas, my mom took me to work with her. My mom sold women’s clothes at Dillard’s, so I hung out at the mall for nine hours. She’d give me $4-$5 and I’d turn that it into tokens for Street Fighter/ Mortal Kombat at Aladdin’s Castle. When I was out of tokens I’d ask her for more money. If she refused, I’d go to Service Merchandise and play Sonic the Hedgehog on the Sega demo. When they kicked me off, I’d go to the pet store. I’d pet guinea pigs, put my face against aquariums, excite puppies by tapping on the glass. When I got bored with that I went to Sears and played with the power drills.
I got my first job when I was 14 after getting a special work permit because I was underage. I had grown tired of not being able to go see movies or buy Tommy Hilfiger shirts. I started looking for any place that would hire a 14 year old whose only job experience was lawn mowing and weed smoking. This old burger restaurant hired me as a busboy, where I lasted about three days before never going back. The work was fine. I left because the cook dropped his tongs in the deep fryer and followed them in with his hand. He screamed because his hand was frying for a second and then he went to the hospital. His arm looked like a white newborn baby’s when it came out. The manager kept cooking fries in the same oil minutes after the ambulance took him. I never went back and never called or quit or ate there again.
I think the microwave was the first appliance I learned to use. After school, I microwaved Hot Pockets and giant burritos. I ate them alone, drank generic Hawaiian Punch, watched Rap City until my dad came home from work.
I weighed 307 pounds by high school. I ate Taco Bell almost every day for lunch. My favorite was the Chilito, which is slang in Mexican Spanish for ‘small penis’. It was a runny mash of chili and cheese in a tortilla. It cost 89 cents, I think, and I always ordered three. If we got tired of Taco Bell, my friends and I would go to Burger King. Whoppers were 99 cents back then.
Like all my friends, I ate my Whoppers and Chilitos with a large Mountain Dew. Once we heard Yellow 5 ‘shrinks your balls’ we all switched to Sprite. In the late 90s, Sprite was marketed heavily towards the ‘urban’ demographic, so there were a lot of Sprite commercials on Rap City.
Now I only eat fast food occasionally. I usually feel like shit afterwards, like my body is saying “what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Other than the occasional diet Coke, I almost never drink soda. My microwave is used to reheat pre-cooked meals with mostly organic ingredients.
I never sold drugs when I was young. I used to buy weed in high school bathrooms early on. I would save up lunch money from the week and buy a quarter sack or, if times were tough, a blunt for three bucks. Later on I used to buy in alleyways or walgreens parking lots. Eventually one of my good friends got tired of this and started selling. It was beautiful. Free weed and everyone wanted to be your friend. Down the line he got into selling serious shit, ecstasy in large quantities and cocaine. I remember being at his apartment days before the cops battering rammed his door in and arrested him on seven felony counts. My voice is probably on a tape somewhere as evidence.
Earlier this year I was in a show with my art collective at Scope Fair in NYC during Armory week. We were at the Volta party and decided to get some weed, but could only cop a large amount, which of course I had to front for. I spent the rest of the week selling the weed we didn’t need out of our booth at the art fair to friends from the city to make my money back.
I wanted a starter jacket so bad in middle school. My parents laughed at me when I asked them for one, asking what the hell I thought I needed a 100 dollar jacket for. When I finally saved up enough money to get one, I quickly made back my investment by stealing replica NBA jerseys from JC Penny and selling them to kids at school. I could steal two jerseys under my shirt if i had that Starter on.
