A Christmas Tradition

 Starting to feel a little festive around here!

"Hello, my name is Klaus, I'm a manager at Rustler's and I wanted you to come in for an interview."

...And that was how it all started. I was fresh off my seventeenth birthday and was recently "relieved" of my duties at Big John's.  All of this left a young Cheeks DeBelly trying to afford both gas and drug money in the spring of '85. Every spare moment was used filling out job applications. In a surprising fact, Rustler was not the first interview I went on. The day before I received the call from Klaus, I was invited to come and interview for a job at McDonald's. So I went to the interview at Mickey Dee's and the following day I had set up my interview for Rustler Steak House. Now beggars can't be choosers and I had already accepted a job at McDonald's the previous day, but I figured "What the heck? Just go and see what happens." Besides I had never actually spoken to someone named Klaus, it could have been fun.

 

The next day I drove to Marlton and parked "The Stang" (before it got the most awesomest paint job, at the time it was brown, it would soon be "Hell Black". That was the name of the paint. It was of course black but when you got up close to it there was red flecks in it. Way cool. But I digress. I interviewed and he offered me a job. Now here was my first exposure to the business world and I was suddenly a commodity that was in high demand. How the hell did that happen? Yeah, I know, 17 year olds looking for a minimum wage part time job are so hard to find. Now I had to make a decision. It was actually a "no brainer" Rustler was only a few miles down the street, not even 6 miles to be exact.  McDonald's was in Voorhees, which was near where I went to high school and thought it would be cool to be able to leave school and go right to work. My first schedule I was given for McD's were all 6-11 shifts. I was done school at 2:15, what the frigg? I told the manager when I interviewed it would be good if I could get like 3:00 shifts since leaving school and driving home and then driving back only to work five hours and drive back home again wasn't what I was looking for. Shit, all my money would be spent on gas alone. Seemed kinda pointless as well as weedless.

 

On the other hand... Klaus, who after conferring with his boss (who happened to be Cindy Johnson, later to be Cindy Johnson Barr, and a very close friend of mine for many years) said I was hired at Rustler and could I come in for my training. I asked him what was my schedule. He said he could give me between 20 and thirty hours a week usually 3-9 or 4-10 shifts.

 

We have a winner!

 

So the rest is history. But I often wonder what it would have been like if I had worked at the golden arches instead? Considering I met my best friend working at Rustler and even though time has taken away the innocence and naivete of that seventeen year old boy it has given me lasting memories, when the memory works. A lifetime of laughter, fun, tears, love, and somewhere out there is someone who knows why I said "Burma". All in all, I'd say it was a good choice.

The Mustache That Says "I Love You"

 

I will treat you all to a story, that I have told before, and that is unfortunately true. It would have to be, I mean there is no reason to make up what you are about to read. Some of you know the story already and to you I ask that you either suffer through yet another retelling or simply go away and leave me with what dignity I still have. Those of you that do not know the story, please to enjoy as I tell you the story of "Cheeks and the self imposed Dirty Sanchez!"

 

A few winter seasons ago I found myself home alone with a day off from work and nothing much to do. I was lounging around the apartment while tooling around the information super highway. I was two cups of coffee into my day when I felt the first grumblings of a sweet AMS (Awesome Morning Shit) and I decided I would kill two birds with one stone and refill my coffee mug on the way back from the commode. I dropped off my coffee mug in the kitchen and took my normal position for a nice movement. It was quite uneventful and after a few moments my crap sausages were completely deposited into their watery grave. I then began the paperwork part and a little background info is needed here: I am usually a three wipe and done guy, unless there are extenuating circumstances i.e. the brown apple splatters - in which case it might just be easier to get in the shower and deal with it than going through wipe after wipe trying and clean that up. But as I said this was an uneventful evacuation and after the first wipe I did the wipers version of "spell check" and inspected the paper and found that it was unmarred by the second wiping. Wow I almost had myself a "Walk Away" awesome indeed.
 

 

After I flushed the fetid tootsie turds I made for the kitchen to fetch myself a fresh cup of coffee. I added cream and sugar, stirred, sample taste, ahhh, perfect, and started back toward the computer. A few steps removed from the kitchen I found myself the recipient of a wriggling ass itch. You know the kind where it makes you do a little dance before you even get to dig in and it feels like something is burrowing its way into your rectum. Well, I got that approximately 10 seconds before I got one of those itches across the tip of my nose that is 49% painful and 51% itch. You know the kind that makes your eyes water in the few seconds it takes you to get there and scratch it. Well, I had one hand full with a hot cup of coffee so there was only one solution it would seem. Use my free hand to scratch both offending areas. Which I proceeded to do.


 

Now, let me tell you what really happened in the bathroom: When I wiped the first time, two entire squares of TP remained in my colon and formed a barrier between the second wiping attempt and the horrid mess that so needed that second (and a third) wipes attention. I dug between my cheeks with a vengeance attempting to rectify the dreaded crack crickets that already had me doing the St. Vida's' Dance across the living room. So much so that on the way back towards my face I didn't notice that through my boxers I had managed to get a finger full of fecal matter and proceeded to try and clear up the nose itch that had me ready to sneeze, spit, and spill my coffee all over the living room.

 

I immediately began to wretch and had to make my way back to the kitchen and I will leave the rest to your imagination!