Summer 1994
Aurora, Ohio

I remember it all starting with my dad growling at me, "We expect you to get a job this Summer," as if I wasn't already looking forward to finally having money of my own. I believe my first stop was to apply at McDonald's, the very same one that had built just a few years earlier by a vague process where the townsfolk were advised to "Put a yellow ribbon on your mailbox if you want a McDonald's in town." It may or may not have already been a done deal until my initial interview. I sat down at a booth and interviewed with this girl who told me that boys had to make sure their hair was cut above their ears. I told her it wasn't gonna happen.

I had made a point to recently become a freak, a grunge dude, a punk rocker, an "alternative guy," or whatever mixture of weirdo label we could never really collectively decide on in the early 90's. Kurt Cobain had just died a couple months prior, and I was already in the process of growing my hair like his, come hell or high water. She laughed and said something along the lines of "I know it's kind of taboo to ask," and I still don't really know what she meant by that. She also inquired if "I was in a band or something?," and I shyly told her yes, because in my mind going to my friend's house and randomly wailing on an electric guitar through a tiny amp meant I was in a band.

I don't recall where else I applied if anywhere, and I think I might have gotten the tip about a Sea World mass hiring from somewhere, so I ended up in some building filling out an application alongside a bunch of other kids. (This is where I pause and let you soak in the fact that I grew up right behind a Sea World. I suppose it was always my destiny to work there; we went there countless times when I was growing up, and on Summer nights would often perch ourselves by the window and watch their nightly fireworks display over the lake. And get this, we also had an amusement park called Geauga Lake right up the road from that. It's one of those times where I have to lament the fact that growing up was so difficult, because on paper this all sounds pretty magical).

I do recall when hired that they also had a "boys cut their hair" policy, but I thought the hell with it, I'll just take the job and then refuse if anyone ever asked. I figured if worse came to worse, I could tuck it away in the crummy Sea World trucker hat we were given to wear. I was officially hired as a dishwasher in an Italian restaurant called Mama Rosa's, but they weren't going to open until a couple weeks into the season, so I was assigned odd jobs around the park until then. The first job I was given was to prepare food in their employee commissary. I made friends with this boy I was working next to, and since I had recently decided I was now a smoker, I asked him for a cigarette. I learned a valuable lesson that day that if you put a cigarette in your pants pocket, it will break.

The next job I was given was scooping ice cream, which was extremely hard work. This was before the days where they had those heated spoons to assist with scooping, and digging into the ice cream was like trying to penetrate hardened cement. I honestly wasn't strong enough to consistently create sizeable scoops for the cones, so a lot of people got screwed over. Time seemed to move at a blindingly fast rate, and I ended up with a lot of bruising on my arms. I do remember a mom telling her kid to "Tell the guy what you want," referring to me, and that was the first time I'd of ever been referred to like that, and it was pretty cool.  

Once my job at Mama Rosa's began, I discovered I would be washing dishes alongside a couple of guys I knew from school, Chris H. (who I knew especially) and Chris G., who was a grade behind me. There was also a young looking and stout boy named Eddie, some additional auxiliary characters I'll skip over, and Bill, our 18-year old supervisor (for more on Bill, click here). I shortly realized after starting that this job was very hard work, and time moved very slow. The dishes would be bussed from the tables in the dining room, then given to us to clean in a steamy back room. First we'd rinse the dishes with a spray valve, pile them onto a rack, then send them on track through this large industrial washer. Once the dishes came out the other end, they were blazing fucking hot, and I took to eventually wearing rubber gloves to handle them. Bill had worked there three Summers already, and had somewhat proudly declared to all of us that in that time he had lost some feeling in the tips of fingers from handling the hot dishes, and I wanted no part of that.

In addition to the main dishwashing area, we also had "pots and pans" handwashing duty, where if one was assigned to they disappeared for hours at a time. I also was introduced to the concept of a "wet dry vacuum," which smelled terrible. I would use it to clean the floor when I was on closing shift, sometimes until 12 or 1 AM. I realized long after the fact that I would often be working an illegal shift for a 16-year old, often more than 8 hours per day or 40 hours per week. One day I worked a 12 hour shift, noon to midnight. They asked a lot for $4.65 an hour.

I got into the habit of singing loudly while I worked out of sheer boredom. Word got out that I could sing, and this dopey kind of tough guy waiter asked me to demonstrate for him. I sang a few bars of Teenage Fanclub's "Mad Dog 20/20" while he stood looking at me, and when I was done turned to someone and said "Can he sing?" in a manner indicating that I hadn't just sung in front of his face. We eventually managed to get a CD player back there, and Chris H. brought in The Crow soundtrack. I found myself singing with great expression Nine Inch Nails' cover of "Dead Souls" by Joy Division out loud after just one listen, which Chris H. pointed out was a bit odd. I agreed that it felt awkward, and wondered to myself how many times does one need to hear a song before they can rightfully sing it out loud? 

Chris G. would consistently crack me up. He was so strangely funny for a 16-year old, and would make these bizarre quips throughout the day. It's not like he was an underdog either, he was a good looking guy and a great soccer player, but he also wasn't the upper crust of popular. He would obsess over Julio Iglesias, and would randomly ask the waitresses if they liked Scott Baio. I can honestly say this was a precursor to the concept of "Sitcom-Core," because one day we found ourselves laughing hysterically while both asking the waitresses "Would you let Charles be in Charge of you?" (to which one enthusiastically replied "OH yeah.") One night recently Mary Alice and I had both had a few, and it suddenly became the most important thing in the world to try and locate Chris G. We found a Facebook profile that could be a possibility, and so I messaged this person, but to this date the message has not been viewed. I will make an addendum to this story if this ever changes.

Despite the long hours we all put in, it was amazing that we got anything done. We'd fuck off for what seemed like hours at a time. We naturally would spray each other with the sink valve when given an opportunity, and eventually it broke from all of our abuse. We invented the "glove bomb," which involved filling a rubber glove with dish soap and throwing it at someone. Sometimes the waiters would steal food from the kitchen and bring it in this secret utility room that was behind ours, and eventually we started doing it too. At one point I just said fuck it, and started stealing beers from the restaurant cooler in broad daylight. I remember standing near the front of the secret room downing a beer while a waiter walked past me laughing. I was a pretty skinny kid back then, so quickly drinking two bottles of beer got me drunk for the very first time.

The debauchery didn't end at work. I went to my first rock concert that Summer, and I had to lie to my parents to get there. I told them I had the day off from work, and was going to the aforementioned Geauga Lake with a friend that day. There was a comedy of errors that made my lies fall apart. First, they had said when we started at Sea World that if we ever felt like "We needed a day to ourselves," or something generic along those lines, that we could take the day off. When I called in to the restaurant that morning, I told the girl who answered "Um, I need, I feel like need to take a day," and she interrupted me and said "You're sick?," and I said yes, and she laughed and said "Sounds good." Whoever I spoke to didn't tell my supervisors until much later that day, so they called my house leaving messages asking where I was, which my parents heard. Second, a person who was supposed to be a part of the lying cover up made the error of calling my house and said that they were my friend who my parents had just seen with me, and when confronted he hung up on them.

The lineup for the show included L7, Violent Femmes, Candlebox, Material Issue, Sons Of Elvis, Gigolo Aunts, Machines Of Loving Grace, The Judybats, The Clarks, and Hot Tin Roof (possibly more, but that's all the info I'm seeing). I was skinny and small enough to easily be passed around, so I'd stand outside the mosh pits (which seems absurd considering most of the bands listed) and give bigger guys the thumbs up, like "pick me up and pass me around the place," which they gladly did. I ran into some people from work there, including a couple of cute waitresses who were high or drunk or something, because they kept asking me if I was 18, and I stupidly said I wasn't. They asked me to headbang and I sheepishly obliged, and they were like "WOOOO!" I later found out that the singer of Candlebox (who was headlining and my friends and I made a point to miss) was trying to hook up with one of the waitresses and invited her to do coke with them backstage (she declined), and when I heard that I was so scandalized, like I knew a sinister dark secret about this famous band.

During Machines Of Loving Grace the sky opened up and a huge downpour began, and my friends and I took shelter in various tents at the fairground (One of my favorite stories/memories from one of tents is documented here). After a significant delay, they started up the music again, and we all ended up soaked head to toe in mud. We were exhausted and decided we'd had enough, and left during Violent Femmes. I knew I needed to somehow explain to my parents how I ended up covered with mud, and I figured I would tell them we someone had a mud fight at the amusement park. When I got home, my parents already knew everything, and were quite upset with me. For what it's worth, I did hear later that my mom called the mom of my "alibi" friend (who was perfectly ok with him going to the concert), and started an angry rant when she found out what was happening, to which my friend's mom told her "Well, maybe if you loosened up your rules a little, he wouldn't rebel as much," which amazingly got through to her. The next day at work, one of my supervisors approached me and asked "Are you feeling better?," and in the middle of my reply laughed and said "YEAH, RIGHT, how was the concert?" 

Again I say, the debauchery didn't end at work. One of the restaurant managers threw a party at their house, with the caveat that "the 16-year olds couldn't drink" because she had thrown a party the previous Summer where the 16-year old employees had gotten busted by their parents. We badgered and pleaded with her until she eventually gave in, declaring "Ok FINE, the 16 year olds can drink, just DON'T GET CAUGHT!" I played pool at the party while smoking and wearing a Nirvana t-shirt; I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I looked so cool. I think I had three beers plus some sips of Zima, and I was pretty sauced. Someone put on heavy music and this girl started a "mosh pit," and sent me drunkenly over a couch. I got a ride home along with Bill from another girl, who was absurdly lecturing me about my getting drunk, saying "What are you going to do, have Bill carry you home the rest of your life?" I got home, and somehow did not get caught.

As the Summer wound down, I determined that despite this time of reckless fun I would not be returning next year. The job didn't pay a whole lot, and was pretty backbreaking work. I started to abuse the luxury of my not returning along with some other employees who did not plan to return, like taking excess or multiple breaks to the commissary (where I have a specific memory of hearing on the TV that investigators had found a "bloody glove" at OJ Simpson's house). On one occasion, one of the managers asked me where I had been after taking a second break, then immediately followed before I could answer "You don't care, do you," then turned away. That one stuck with me. I didn't want to be a jerk and make people sad, I just found it funny to suddenly be able run amuck at the park. I quit one week before the end of Summer because I wanted some time for myself. During that week, I went back to Sea World as a visitor, and walked in to the employee area in street clothes just to be obnoxious. I was told amidst some laughter that I couldn't be back there, and that was that.

There's so much more I could say, but probably not enough room on the internet to say it. I left some things out from this time because they're a little too painful, like getting in way more trouble than I mention here, involving the police and such. But since I put that stuff aside, all this really made me happy to revisit. I feel very lucky to be able to retell these tales. Sea World is now long gone, and no I didn't see Blackfish, I don't need to be reminded that keeping a killer whale captive was weird and wrong. Besides, we were just washing dishes. I hope one of my old co-workers stumbles across this one day. Long live the Mama Rosa's dishwashing crew of '94.

On September 21, 1993, Nirvana released the “In Utero” album, the long awaited follow up to “Nevermind” (“Incesticide” being a collection of old singles, outtakes and b-sides). Nirvana had been my favorite band since 1991, I never wavered on that like the other Pearl Jam and Soundgarden jerks I knew. My close friend had his mom take him to get the cassette, something I knew I wouldn’t be able to contrive due to my mom’s disdain for my interest. He let me borrow the tape for a little while, but I feverishly yearned to have a copy of my own.

One weeknight while my dad was out of town for work, my mom and my older sister were headed out somewhere for the evening, and I hatched a plan. My hometown of Aurora didn’t have anywhere where you could buy music, the closest option was the neighboring city of Solon. I not-so-subtly asked my mom what time they would be home, and I calculated that I could ride my bike to a store in Solon, buy the album, and make it back home before they got back.

Right after they left, I put on my Cleveland Browns jacket and began to pedal like hell. They had recently built a housing development that acted as a bit of a shortcut to Solon, something I had noticed the previous year when carpooling with my friend and his dad when we both went to summer school at the Solon High School. Something I didn’t count on was a light rainfall occurring, but it was now or never.

After turning the corner out of the development, I started down the main stretch towards my destination, Route 91. The rain was picking up a bit, and there didn’t seem to be a ton of street lights to help out. It’s probably in my mind, but I seem to recall semi-trucks and their horns going “BERRRRNNN!!!” at me while passing to my left in the pouring rain. I eventually got to market area where I went to Blockbuster Video* and got my grubby wet hands on the album. As soon as the deed was done, I got right back on the horse and headed back.

I got back in plenty of time, but I made the mistake of leaving my jacket out in our living room. My mom took one look at the wet, muddy splatter all over the back of my jacket and angrily demanded an explanation. I told her that I inexplicably decided to go out and ride my back around in the immediate neighborhood while she and my sister were out. “Oh, so THAT’S why you wanted to know when we were coming back,” she growled. In retrospect, while this was better than the truth, I’m not sure how normal it seems for someone to lie in wait for a parent to leave so they could maniacally ride their bike around in circles while it rains, but she bought it, and that’s the important thing.

Included here are pictures of the tape, as well as my route to Solon. In the past when I’ve told people this story, they often say “You rode your bike from where to WHERE?,” but if you look at the map it’s only around a half an hour. One short P.S. for the tape - as we were a church going family, I did attend Sunday School, and one Sunday morning when the teacher (or whatever) was out of the classroom, I put the tape in the player they had there just to be an obnoxious cool dude. During the outro of “Heart-Shaped Box,” the pastor’s daughter got up and angrily pressed stop on the player, which caused a little damage on the tape which can still be heard on it today.

*This didn’t seem to make sense, so I was wondering if my memory was failing me, but I looked it up and there was a time starting in 1992 where they would sell music, not sure how long that lasted.

I had a dream last night that there was a branch of the military called "Peach."

My older sister and I were moderately deprived of pop culture growing up. A major crossroad I remember occurred at her (probably 9th) birthday party at our house when she received Madonna's "Like a Virgin" LP as a gift from a friend. I knew there was no way it was staying in our house for long, so I stared at it in awe for as long as I could before its inevitable departure. It was taken to Kmart and traded in for a children's record.

Because of this deprivation, we often ended up being distant observers of culture as opposed to its participants. To this day, my sister has a tendency to imagine past scenarios as if they were real, generally gleaned from the bits and pieces of television we were allowed to watch. There was one instance where she claimed that my friends and I used to come into our house after playing football yelling "FOOOOOOD!!!," and raid our refrigerator. Although I would play sports with my neighborhood friends, our house wasn't a destination for snacking as we never had anything very good, so I can say with 100% certainty that this never happened.

Based on this, Mary Alice and I have gotten in the habit of saying "FOOOOOOD!!!" to each other, and below is an AI-generated image of "Football boys running into a house," and they look like Sloth from The Goonies.

When I was younger and would hear about the “Wild times of the 1960s,” I presumed the President could allow or disallow this sort of behavior, and I pictured John F. Kennedy chortling like a reluctant father and saying, “Hahaha, ok, you kids go ahead and have fun.”

If you grew up in Northeastern Ohio, you knew about the Chagrin Valley Roller Rink. It was the place to go for all your youthful 1980s romantic escapades, or just to hang out with friends. I didn't end up going there until long after I would hear the other kids talking about their good times had, so naturally I felt left out.

There was one day I was sitting with a group of kids and this girl was talking about the night before at the roller rink, and I chimed in with my own fabricated tale. She innocently remarked "I didn't see you there?," to which I triumphantly retorted "I was in the BACK with the TRANSFORMERS!," as if there was a section of the roller rink where there was a place to buy Transformers toys, or at the very least gather to play with them. The girl gave me a bewildered look, and then moved on with her life.

Mary Alice has heard this story many times, and has said that she pictures me sitting alone in an empty room of the roller rink with a deranged look on my face, mindlessly smacking the Transformers together and making a cheap plastic "Chik! Chik! Chik!" sound.

As a sensitive little kid, I was traumatized by the opening scene in the PG-rated James Bond movie "Live and Let Die" where a guy gets stabbed to death, and so I was under the impression that all movie ratings beyond 'G' were due to upsetting violence (as opposed to profanity, adult situations, etc).

So when "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" came out and I saw that it was rated PG-13, I wondered to myself what kind of violence the movie contained. In my mind, I pictured "Friend of Ferris" (Cameron) being like "Hey Ferris, I hear it's your day off!," and Ferris going "Yep!," and stabbing the friend.

I had a dream last night that I was part of a group that was intending to be the first people to watch a wrestling PPV underwater in a submarine. The event was a live broadcast of the “This Tuesday in Texas” event which aired on December 3, 1991, which included the ordered Hogan-Undertaker rematch by President Jack Tunnney.

We rode around on top of a bay trying to find a place to dive, but the water was too shallow. We gave up after a while and decided to drive the submarine on the street to try and find a place to watch the match. We drove through some grocery stores, but we only found people in the lobby staring at TVs with text that said you had to order the event to watch. Meanwhile, the main event was halfway through, and the Undertaker punched Hogan’s face which made a pile of goo land at referee Earl Henber’s feet, who for some reason was with us in the submarine instead of the ring.

Last night I had a dream that we were somewhere in Baltimore and I was trying to put up a sticker that looked like this on walls. I was going to put one up an outdoor restaurant in front of this group of guys, but I noticed them reading the sticker and thought they may try to beat me up.

I then went to a bathroom that had an enormously long line that went relatively quick, but I eventually got to a stall where I got to put up this sticker and also pee. I went to go wash my hands, but it was a sink that was on top of someone's dinner plate. Mike Tyson was there, and he told me where the water and soap came out. He tried to implore me to not get the soap and water in the person's dinner, but I couldn't help but splash on the plate. Mike Tyson remarked, "Looks like someone's gonna have some intwisting sides," and I left the go find Mary Alice, who was annoyed because we had dinner reservations at 6.