There’s the few at work rubbing their hands already. The holiday means they’ll get their checks earlier. I had the 10-6 shift so I took it easy. Randy wanted it but I like it also. This poor Randy, he jumps to conclusions faster than [even] me. It’s basically a defense mechanism. When I casually mention that his suggestions concerning the girls are unfounded on my behalf, that is, I tell him they’re too old for me, he goes right for the extreme. Like Dave, he seems to forget there are millions and millions of girls 17, 18, and 19 years old. We know what it is, tho [that is really bothering him].
[Author’s note: the phone company paychecks come out on Thursdays. If a holiday, as shown on this calendar, union rules say they come out on the previous Tuesday.]
I should have taken the junior guitar class. I walk past and it’s full of pretty girls. The two women in my class are not pretty. I don’t learn anything there, why do I go? For the exposure I guess.
After, I was practicing with Dave and the phone rings. You’ll never guess, Sonja. Little Sonja [she was 4 foot 9, adding to her youthful appearance]. She was calling from a friend’s place and the three of us will be getting together this weekend. I hope, I hope. No holds barred, with what I’ve suffered at the hands of older so-called mature women, I deserve a little fun. Dave got the phone and I think he’s jealous.
[Author’s note: today’s passage takes a little understanding. Clearly I was much younger and full of hormones. I was also new in the corporate world. November 11 was a holiday, so the paychecks came out two days earlier. I had not yet learned how desperately the proletariat celebrated the 48 hour difference and how they suffered when the next check was on the regular schedule.
Also, I had just got out of college and was unfamiliar and unaware exactly how much difficulty other males had getting laid. The workplace was full of women over 25, I had never dated a girl over 19 nor did I intend to. The age of consent in 1982 was 14 and at that time I was seeing a 16 year old named Sonja. The few “older” women I’ve dated have all been disasters. I’m still not into the motherhood thing.
There was a yahoo at work, Dave, who was incensed by my dating “younger” women, so I used to bait him because Sonja looked so young. To Dave, every woman under 28 looked 12 years old. I now understand this mental defect in, you know, unsuccessful men, but hey, this was 1982.]
