"Porn and Quarters"

After meandering my way through 8 years of community college and undergrad, I had recently moved in with my mother. My plan was to complete 2 more years of post-grad to get my teaching certificate as the last 8 had produced a degree that qualified me to do absolutely nothing.

I was doing just that.

I enrolled at WMU to get a teaching certificate and reasoned to myself that substitute teaching would provide "hands on experience”.

In reality, I could work exactly whenever I wanted and get paid to read and manage my fantasy football teams while holding on to certain habits and lifestyles.

Happily, I took to substitute teaching. My hometown high school had provided me with constant work. I liked the kids and quickly became "the cool sub.” This was a distinction I held with great pride which pinpoints to a tee where my priorities were.

Moving back home at any age can alter the lifestyle one is used to. Doing so at 27 adds a degree of pride swallowing humiliation on top of any crimps in that person's style. Needless to say, my mother's upcoming trip to Germany was looked to with such eager anticipation that I didn't even bother hiding it. I extolled the virtues of bachelor-hood with my mom in earshot.

"MY mom is going to Germany for TWO WEEKS...house to myself" I'd say to friends, completely oblivious to the fact that no 27 year old man should ever speak that sentence.

The big day arrived and my upbeat mood was palpable as I drove my mom and her friends to the airport. The plans for my first afternoon of solitude had fallen nicely into place.

Day one festivities would involve porn, John Madden, and the joint I'd been squirreling away for this momentous occasion.

"First I'll get stoned, go get porn and Madden and ...OH...I HAVE TO DO LAUNDRY AND CLEAN," I exclaimed to myself after dropping the travelers at the airport.

I learned in college that if I were stoned, the menial tasks I performed were actually enjoyable while providing a focus and intensity that simply wasn't present when sober. Even now, cleaning the house or mowing the law brings forth a slight yearning for the scent of burning cannabis.

With my conscious altered and my focus narrowed, I set off for the necessary accoutrements, no hint of the disastrous trip that lie before me.

Things began swimmingly. I secured Madden '02 and was off to that nefarious corner of the store for some adult entertainment.

Family Video, ironically, has a fantastic porn selection. (On a similarly ironic note, Hollywood Video has no porn at all.) Rows of titles give recognition to a variety of fads and fetishes. New releases, retro, straight, gay, group sex, and solo. Literally anyone can find what they are looking for. After some perusing, I found "Hawaiian Blast”, A Kobe Tai/Heather Hunter feature. This had exceeded expectations.

The considerable down side to Family Video is the porn room was equipped with a swinging door more befitting a nineteenth century Old West saloon. Trying to open the door slowly was met with an audible "CREEEEEEEEEEAK”. A quick exit resulted in the doors banging against each other rapidly. Either exit sufficiently alerted the other customers that a pervert was in their midst.

It was probably the THC and the excitement of my find that helped me to forget this. I burst through the door remembering halfway through and tried to reach back and catch the unmistakable racket produced by the wildly flapping doors. This actually made things worse in that my attempts to slow the door sounded the afore-mentioned "CREEEEEEEEEEAK”. I had managed to elicit both undesirable outcomes in one badly planned moment.

I tried to steel myself. If you are high, the last thing you want is attention. It goes without saying that the only time you want less attention is leaving the porn room. My carelessness exiting the doors made me certain that an audience, and possibly a spotlight, awaited me. I stood in the little hallway separating the deviants from the general population and steadied my nerves. I strolled casually out and felt OK for about three steps until I heard a female voice say

"Hey, It's Mr. DeMott"

The only saving grace is the voice came from somewhere behind me so the look of shock and terror wasn't immediately seen. I actually considered for a brief moment, of taking off in a dead sprint and never acknowledging the voice I had clearly heard. Instead I stopped dead in my tracks and stared intently at the empty boxes in front of me. My brain rapidly firing as best it could against the THC and adrenaline flooding my system.

I was the only DeMott in the store-this person called me "Mr."-this person sounded young-this person was a girl. I wheeled around, pornographic movie and video game in hand to find two girls I had gotten to know through teaching at my old high school.

"HE-HEY-WHAT'S UP GIRLS?"

"Not much...you?"

Oh my mom's left the house to me for two weeks so I smoked some weed and rented porn and video games. You know...the usual

In truth, I have no idea what I said. Doubtless, it was awkward and my face betrayed me. I had no chance of this not spreading like wildfire and I knew it. I was fucked.

I left the girls probably four seconds before they exploded into tear stained hysterics at my expense. As I approached the counter, I felt a sense of relief in seeing the portly, pony-tailed cashier. With this kid’s lack of social life and knowledge of video games, I had no doubt; found a sympathetic, if not friendly exit from this hellscape. I could then try and salvage my day and my high.

Fate had other plans in the form of comic book guy's gorgeous and nubile coworker.

"Can I help who's next?"

I stood there, eyes watering, and stared at her long enough that comic book guy actually looked up from the customer he was helping and shooed me from his line

"She can help you, sir"

you treasonous fucking bastard

I meekly shuffled to the counter and placed the porn and video game on the counter. Certain I also reeked of pot; I watched her face carefully for any sign of reaching for a panic button. In the clear, I reached into my pocket and was awashed with a new horror.

I had changed all my cash to do the laundry. All that was left was a handful of quarters.

I don't know why I didn't just leave. It might have been defeat. Maybe it was dogged determination to make something of this awful trip. Whatever it was, it clearly altered my judgment.

It became clear, halfway through, that slowly and painstakingly counting the sixteen quarters needed to consummate the transaction was the worst possible thing I could have done. After I sorted the four stacks of four quarters and scooped them into my hand, I gave them to the video beauty without a word and hurried from the store and into my mother's mini van where sadly, a better day await me