At 16

1987


I’ve never had a real job before, but I’m sixteen years old now and I think it’s time I earned some cash. Time that I was able to afford school clothes and not rely on hand-me-downs and whatever’s on sale at K-Mart. I’m getting a little too old for Garanimals. It’s time I tossed my green pants with the stitched-on frog. My brown pants with the bear. Adults don’t usually have cutesy animals on their clothing. I was a paperboy for years, and I spent a few summers working for the Summer Youth Program, but now I’m ready for the next step. The type of job that makes me feel like a grown-up. A job where adults work side-by-side with pimply-faced teens. Where girls wear tight pants and suggestively unbuttoned tops. Fast food. Pizza Tent, to be exact. A friend of mine said I should come by and fill out an application. He told me they’ll hire anybody, and I could be that anybody. I’m ready for responsibility. I’m ready for a real job. Ready for anything.

I’m at the local Pizza Tent in South Jersey, sitting in a booth across from Vito, my best friend, slowly filling out my first job application. I’ve never done this before, so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to write. References, experience, education. It’s only fucking pizza. Vito tells me to write down his father’s name as a reference. He’s stuffing garlic bread into his mouth and staring at our waitress’ shapely ass.

"You should fill one of these out too, Vito," I say. "Wouldn’t it be cool for us to work together?"

"Nah, I don’t work. Working would just take away from all the fun I plan on having until I graduate from high school. I’ll work when I’m, like, twenty-five or something. But not until I’ve had my fun."

"Well, I need some money, so’s I gotta work."

"Money’s overrated," he says, as our pleasantly plump, thirty-something waitress comes by and drops off a large pepperoni pizza. Her shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show off the beginnings of her ample cleavage. Her breasts are large and unable to stay still. Her boobs are all over the place. Vito looks pleased.

"Anything else I can get you guys?" she says sweetly. Her name-tag say "Tricia" and she’s more than twice my age. She has short dark hair (cut in the slightly out of fashion Dorothy Hamill bob), peppered with a few strands of gray, a gorgeous, dimpled smile, her scent like a drop of honey on the tip of my nose. She’s a big girl, but not big enough to deter any reasonable teenager from wanting to have sex with her. I’m charmed by the way she smiles at me, the way she looks into my eyes.

"I’ll take your phone number," Vito says, with a slickness I could never muster. Vito is a smooth operator. An Italian stud of the first order. Girls like him. We’ve been best friends for three years now, and I’ve assumed the role of Sidekick. In any friendship, the guy who’s getting the least pussy automatically becomes the sidekick. I don’t mind. It’s a learning experience. Vito is teaching me all he knows about woman. Sometimes, he lets me sit in the front seat of his Trans Am while he has sex in the back with whatever girl he happens to be bludgeoning with his massive tool that week. I have to admit, though, it’s mostly just depressing to be that guy in the front seat listening to his best friend make some random girl, laugh, moan, scream, beg, and cry, in that order. Vito gets laid constantly. I get laid never. But he’s very encouraging. Vito is convinced that I’ll get laid before I turn seventeen. I’m not so sure. He recently said, "Erv, even retards get laid. So I’m sure you can, too." I’m sure he meant it in a positive way, but it just made me feel sad. Like a real loser.

Tricia laughs, blushes mildly. "My phone number? How old are you guys?"

Simultaneously, I say "Sixteen" and Vito says "Twenty-one."

She shakes her head, smiling her big pretty smile, and says, "Nice try." Tricia turns to me and says, "Give me a call when you’re eighteen."

"I may be young, but I’m all man, baby," Vito says.

"I’m old enough to be your very young mother."

"I’ve had sex with people’s mothers before," Vito says proudly. "I can barely fight the moms off of me."

She turns to me and rolls her eyes, as if we’re in on a joke together, and I shrug. Without words, she says What’s up with your friend? and I say Damned if I know. She then notices that I’m filling out an application. Tricia says, "I wouldn’t worry too much about that application. It’s a sure thing. Consider yourself hired. We’ve got a major cook shortage, and unless you’re completely stupid, I guarantee you that Ben will hire you. Are you stupid...um, what’s your name?"

"Ervin. My name’s Ervin, and I’m not stupid. Not that I know of, anyway. I’m, you know, just...average. Not too smart, not too dumb, I guess." I’ve always seen myself as a normal kid. Decent-looking but not gorgeous. Smart but far from a genius. Funny but not humorous enough to take my act on the road. Caring but a little selfish. I am Every Kid. Mostly shy, mostly nice, mostly cute.

Tricia runs her fingers through my spiky blond hair, flattening a few of my well-sprayed spikes, and I blush. She says, "I can’t wait to work with you. You’re a cutie pie. Your blue eyes are beautiful. And those dimples. Yum. If you were eighteen, I would so make you my new boyfriend." She winks at me and walks away.

"Wow, she so wants you, dude," Vito says, clearly shocked, as he shoves a gooey slice into his mouth. I can tell by the slight hint of bitterness in his voice that he’s jealous. This is the first time a girl has shown more interest in me than him. This never happens. Vito is always the good-looking one. Tanned and muscled. Maybe my time is coming. He adds, "She’s not my type anyway. I like ‘em skinny, but with big, giant tits. She’s good for you, though. I mean, you need to get laid, and maybe it’d be best to start with a big girl. I hear big girls are freaks. And who are you to be picky, right?"

"Right. Who am I?"

I have little experience with women, so I tend to believe everything Vito tells me. But deep inside I feel a spark. A bit of pride. A feeling that maybe I am someone special. Someone a girl would like. Maybe even love. I know my awkward early teenage years are ending and I’m growing into my looks. My body is finally big enough to match my super large head, which has always been super large, even when I was young and small. I’m sixteen, and all of my pieces are finally starting to fit together properly.

We’re halfway through our pizza when a tall, big, smiling Pizza Tent assistant manager walks over to our table. His name is Ben, and he looks like he should be playing linebacker in the NFL. Ben has sandy blond hair and a matching retro 70's porn star mustache. He picks up my application and takes a quick glance, then folds it up and puts it in his pocket.

"You’re hired, kid."

"Wow, I am?"

"Yeah, that’s what I just said. I thought Tricia said you weren’t a dumb-ass."

"I’m not. I’m just surprised is all. I thought it would be harder to get a job. This is the first time I’ve even tried."

"Yeah, some places it’s hard. Not here." He shakes his head. "These idiots hired me, so how hard could it be? Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a complete fuck-up."

Ben smacks the back of the my head and laughs robustly. "Anyway, come on back and we’ll get you started."

"You mean, like, right now?" I ask.

"What the fuck? Yeah right now, you big dummy." Ben looks at Vito as if Vito’s my father and I’ve just tried to shove a breadstick up my nose. "What’s with this guy?" he says to Vito.

Vito says, "He’s fallen on his head a few times."

I wave goodbye to Vito and follow Ben into the back of the store.

Tricia walks past us and smiles sweetly.

"That girl is madly in love with me. She’s always trying to get in my polyesters. Too bad my wife works here, too. If you work hard, I’ll let you have some of my leftovers. How would you like that?"

"Um, that would be fine."

"You like girls, right?"

I nod.

"It’s okay if you like boys, just don’t be looking at my crotch. I don’t play that. All right, you can look, but don’t make it obvious." He laughs, smacks me again.

He leads me into the dishroom, and I see what looks like a small disaster area. Pots, pans, cups, plates and silverware are piled high. The wet floor is covered with bits of old food. The trash is overflowing. The ceiling is stained yellow. Ben smacks my back hard enough for it to sting, and says, "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to work!"

"Is there a uniform I need to wear or something?"

"God dammit, kid! I’ll get you a uniform later. Just fucking get working, all right? These dishes aren’t going to do themselves."

"Sure. Um, one other thing. What’s my starting pay?"

"It’s all about money with you kids. Minimum wage. $3.35 an hour. Be happy you’re getting that. But there are perks. Lots of hot girls around all the time, wearing their tight, shit-brown polyester pants, and all the leftover pizza you can eat."

"Sounds good to me."

He smiles deviously. That seems to be his only way of smiling. "I’ll see if I can get one of the girls to blow you after your shift. All the new cooks get blow jobs. Do you want one of the younger girls, or one of the older ones. Fat or skinny? Let me guess. You like Tricia, right? Girl with a little meat on her bones. Then it’s settled. I’ll have Tricia suck your little dick right after we close. It’s a sort of, you know, welcome aboard kind of thing."

"What?" I feel my face grow hot.

"Just kidding. I don’t have that kind of power. Not yet, anyway. If you want a blow job, you’re going to have to pay for it like everyone else." He laughs, then squeezes my cheeks. "I’m messing with you. Relax. You’re turning purple for fuck’s sake. Take a breath, chill out, and then get the fuck to work. Lighten up, kid. We’re all friends here."

I roll up my sleeves and start piling dishes into the dishwasher. Almost immediately I begin to sweat. Tricia drops off a tray of dirty dishes. I bend over and she takes a long look at my ass.

"Welcome to Pizza Tent, Ervin," she says.

"Nice to be here, Tricia," I say.

I think I’m going to like it here.