“I’m in school.”
The next day, I ran into her at community college. We hung out in the cafeteria, laughing for hours. She was as witty as me, but much prettier. Soon, we were hanging out between classes, going to the movies, eating dessert at Dave & Buster’s, and doing the corny shit you do when you’re too scared to make a move because you don’t want to lose the only female in your life with whom you have a chance.
“How long you gonna be her best friend?” Spank would ask me.
“I’m just taking it slow. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Well, you better hurry before you get so thirsty you die of dehydration.”
* * *
I was now in my third week of community college, and I just couldn’t bring myself to crack open a textbook and care about these random subjects that had little to do with the real world. I felt like school, and this way of learning—cramming random knowledge into my head and then trying to retain it long enough to pass a test or two about it—wasn’t for me.
Like most things I’d done in my life up to that point, I didn’t think much about the decision that came next. Better to be happy, I figured, than successful or rich.
The next day, I left the house with my book bag just like every other day. But instead of going to school, I went to a clothing shop called Net and filled out a job application. Then I applied to work at a Ross Dress for Less store. I didn’t tell my mom about my change of heart; I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes.
I had no work experience outside of those two disastrous days of lifeguarding, so I figured it would be a while before I got hired somewhere. But at my third stop, a City Sports on Walnut Street, I got lucky.
The manager was a woman named Brooke, and she asked why I wanted to work there. I knew that the words I spoke didn’t matter. She was judging something deeper—my personality, my values, my character. Like anyone in her position, she was looking for someone who’d make her job easier, someone who was committed to the work and not just going to disappear into school in the fall. So I poured on the charming manipulation. “School isn’t on the horizon for me, Brooke,” I told her—with a laugh in my voice, but all the while thinking about how my mother would reach for the closest Hot Wheels track to whup me with if she heard that. “So I’m looking for a job where I can be for a while.”
It worked, because she soon told me, “With your personality, I think you’d be a good fit in the sneaker department here.” Then she gave me a pamphlet. “Memorize this,” she instructed as I left. “You have a week to study it, and then you start training. You need to know these sneakers inside and out, because our customers expect us to be experts.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, thank you, thank you. You won’t regret this.”
It was a miracle. Not only did I find a job quickly, but that store and the people there ended up changing my life. I might not be doing what I am today if I hadn’t walked into that particular place on that particular street with the exact combination of people who worked there.
I was on such a high that night, I finally ended the drought: I slept with the girl I’d met at Dances. It was worth the wait. We’d spent so much time talking and getting to know each other that it wasn’t just sex by that point. It felt like love, which was a scary thing.
Her name was Torrei. We would have an on-and-off, up-and-down, round-and-round relationship together for the next twelve years. And well before the end of this story, you’re going to be scratching your head just like our friends and families did, wondering how—and more importantly, why—we put up with each other for that long. That first love casts a spell that’s hard to break.
* * *
A few days after I was hired at City Sports, I broke the news to my mom. I knew her well enough to add just the right amount of optimism to the conversation.
“I told you, you’re not gonna do nothing,” she said, predictably, after I informed her that I was leaving community college.
That enabled me to respond: “I’m not doing nothing. I got a job. They hired me at City Sports.”
She hesitated, trying to figure out how to get me back into school, and I continued. “I need more time to figure out what I really want to do, but in the meantime, I’ll work.”
I watched her chew this over in the steel teeth of her mind, until at last she spat out the one word I was hoping to hear: “Fine.”
26
* * *
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A TWELVE-LETTER WORD, SO YOU MAY ALSO NEED TO BE A GENIUS TO UNDERSTAND IT
A week later, I reported for work. “Did you study the pamphlet?” Brooke asked.
Once again, my aversion to studying had bitten me in the ass. “Inside and out,” I replied. That was true: I’d spent a lot of time studying the outside of it, then put it inside a drawer.
After a short on-the-job training period, I received my first test: I was on the floor, and a customer was asking for a good running shoe. I had no fucking idea.
I looked around and grabbed a nice-looking sneaker.
He seemed surprised. “Really? That one?”
I committed. “It gives you great forefront protection and ankle support. You’re gonna get a lot of mileage out of this one.”
He picked it up and examined it.
“And it’s built with Thinsulate for comfort, so it won’t feel bulky on you.”
I had no idea what I was saying, but I kept going—until, to my complete shock, he tried it on, thanked me, and bought a pair.
After that, I was on a roll. The next customer played tennis. “Oh, okay, I got something for you. These are some of my best tennis sneakers. I like them because they’re more flexible for those short sprints.”
I just talked out of my ass, and people bought it. At the end of the day, they were happy customers, and that’s what it was all about.
I didn’t need to study that pamphlet. I didn’t need to study anything again. I could bullshit and personality my way through all the footwear here.
Personality, man. It’ll save your life.
After a few weeks of this, I started to think, Damn, I’m actually pretty good at shoe sales. I could really shine in this space. Then I thought, How much better would I be if I actually took the time to learn about the sneakers, the verbiage, and how to spit the shoe talk? That night, I surprised myself by opening my drawer, pulling out the pamphlet, and studying it.