Asshole

Robert failed miserably to explain the character we were about to meet, “He dated a friend of mine. She was into dirty guys or something.”
When he’d said dirty, I somehow assumed this indicated a fetish. I imagined a polished L.A. man with perfectly moussed hair who obsessed over smelling feet or some other more unmentionable thing I’d seen on a Japanese video once. Regardless, I didn’t give the meeting too much thought because I was most interested in our excursion to see the Show. We skipped down the road exhilarated by both our expedition and the backpack full of beer we hauled with us.
Our pristine cheeks reflected the star-flecked sky, perfunctory friends, in the tradition of incoming college freshman. Petit Robert with his incongruously lengthy nose and hair all shaved besides the black tendrils that he shaped into little devil horns. All his pretended villainy couldn’t cover up his darling little rib cage and French accent. Devin was another small guy trying to make up for it in attitude. An angel-haired dual citizen of Israel and Southern California. Both made out like they were intellectual giants, but, I’ll just put it this way, 18 year olds are hardly ever intellectual giants. As for me, the most important thing to remember is that I was naïve enough to be spending one of many evenings with these two characters.
We emerged from the dark neighborhoods below Telegraph Avenue into the plentiful streetlights of Shattuck and crossed the dead thoroughfare without a problem. Berkeley, although wild and crazy in its own right, certainly was not what you would call a “happening hang out.”
“There he iss!” pointed Robert. I followed his finger and saw the back of a tall vagabond with a navy blue beanie pasted to his head and greasy jeans hanging from his hips. He was hanging out in the midst of the usual BART station derelicts.
As we approached the man turned around with a rotten grin, “It’s my little friend Robbie!” and wrapped one large, fuzzy arm around Robert’s narrow shoulders. “who’s your little friends Robbie, college buddies?”
“Yes, my friends from Berkeley: Lena and Devin.”
After the introduction our new friend extended a simian hand to Devin and I in turn, “Nice to meet ya, Lena, Devin.” He grinned at us through chunky lenses, looking almost menacing. “My name’s Asshole… ’cause I’m an asshole!”
“Well, helloo Asshole!” I proclaimed. He smiled. We immediately got along. Somehow fitting like a Eunuch and a harem.
“so we’re goin’ to the Show, who’s been before?”
“I’ve been, een L.A.” Ricky said.
“I’ve never been,” I said, having no idea what I was getting myself into. “I’ve watched it lots of times but I’ve never seen it live.”
“Devin?” Asshole looked at him poignantly.
“He’s nevair been! He’s nevair been!” Robert bursted with merriment.
“What, no, no, I have been!” Devin stuttered to no avail. Asshole gave him a magnified glare through his glasses. “Ok, fine I haven’t been to see it!” Devin rolled his eyes.
“We’ve got a couple virgins here!” Asshole whooped.
“Virgin? What do you mean virgin?” I cocked my head, still not comprehending what was in store for me.
“It’s just something we call people who haven’t seen it.” Explained Asshole.
“But I have seen it before!”
“Not live!” Asshole’s eyes glimmered. “Don’t worry we’re just gonna put a little ‘V’ on your face so people will know they need to help de-virginize you.”
“What the hell are they gonna do?”
“ Oh, some people just may come up and give you hickies or something.”
I immediately relaxed. “Oh, well I can handle some hickies, de-virginize me!!” A vagrant approached me with a large, black tagging marker. First he drew a V covering my forehead. Then he began to draw something vigorously on both my cheeks. “OK! OK! Enough already!” I pulled away. I turned towards Rob and Devin; they immediately gushed with laughter.
“You’re a fucking idiot!” Devin told me, then turned to the drifter, “You are not coming near me with that marker.”
“Ok, fine I’ll just yell really loud and tell everyone you’re a virgin.” Asshole wagged his head at him.
“What?! Well, if I let you put a little ‘V’ on my forehead you better not breathe a word to anyone.”
“Ok, my lips are sealed.”

I admit we received plenty of stares on our way to University Avenue, especially my colored face. But of course, Asshole will always elicit glances wherever he goes, all six dirty feet, two gimpy inches of him. Our destination was an art house movie theater just west of the Berkeley campus. When we arrived the whole front sidewalk was a heap of people waiting to get in. Some were t-shirt and jeans folks but most were dressed up for the occasion. A couple cross-dressers and a handful of Goths, all pierced and dyed black, wearing fancy ruffly dresses.
A goth girl made a bee line for Devin’s neck and began to suck intensely. He was surprised but soon his face relaxed in pleasure.
I laughed as I looked on the delighted Devin distracting myself from an enclosing predator. She lunged at my neck. I recoiled slightly, but sat still like an obedient girl, hoping for the best. Unfortunately the pressure increased and her mouth began to feel like a high-powered vacuum cleaner. I don’t think this is what it’s like for Devin. I thought as I glanced over at him. The goth girl had finished and now he was obviously enchanted by her. What’s the matter with this girl, when is this going to be over? Right as I was reaching the end of my endurance I felt the carnivorous edges of her teeth on my skin. Oh no! I thought as she made sharp, stabbing contact. I leapt away belatedly. My neck felt soggy and numb. Every member of my party erupted in unrestrained laughter, and I could tell my face bloomed in embarrassment.
“Damn, that chick bit you hard!” said Asshole.
“Am I bleeding?” I asked him.
“There’s a little bit of blood but not much,” he said looking down at my neck. “You certainly have a set of teeth marks though.” He grinned. “Looks like you got your fair share of the virgin greeting!”
“Man, that hurts!” I dabbed delicately around the wound, “Jeeze am I gonna have to get rabies shots?”
Asshole just laughed, “Oh, you’ll be fine after you drink some beer, come on, let’s go inside.”
The doors had been opened and people were streaming inside, so we meandered down to the row of seats that our group had lain claim to. Devin and Robbie were there, still chuckling at my misfortune, so I disappeared into a plush-red seat at the opposite end of our row.

I heard a soft crack as the lights began to dim and Asshole pressed a cold beer into my hands; it was—I soon learned—his favorite, Henry Weinhardts; cheap and…well…cheap. I chugged thankfully to forget my insecurity and palpitating wound.
The curtains covering the screen opened and Rocky Horror began to play. I looked on in dismay, all this just to see the movie again, I thought. Then two actors dressed as the unsuspecting young couple came walking down the aisle to the small stage that was in front of the movie screen. As the song played they began to lipsync and act out the movie below the real thing. Can’t they at least sing for real, I continued with my thoughts of disappointment. There was nothing left to do but put out my hand for another Henry Weinhardts.

Shitty’s Pillow

A group of motley sneakers made their way down Telegraph Avenue on the age-old quest for beer. Only this evening the quest was made easier for this crew by the presence of legal-age drinkers; subsequently all the youth’s faces were donned with expectant grins. 

We were quite a disparate sight, fresh-faced hippies with various nose piercings, a half Japanese boy with a red tri-hawk, all led by the most perplexing sight of all, an over six foot tall homeless man with thick coke-bottle spectacles, known as Asshole. Not far behind him was another older, although much shorter, man, Jason, who attempted to flirt enthusiastically with the hippie girls of the group. He was dressed in black with a bulky black backpack and a matching rotten tooth when he smiled. Skipping around the group was a young redhead, Ravyn, who didn’t quite look homeless but, well, there was definitely something not quite normal about him.

Asshole shook his head, “We’ll never get beer with this lot of youngsters, especially with you. Stop skipping!” Ravyn momentarily calmed down but then took off across the street to a median where he saw a person he knew, another Telegraph derelict. Asshole sighed, “he better not invite anyone else along.” 

The fair Ravyn had a mind of his own that fluttered as close to the sun as possible. He slept around various places on campus, and who knows where. Sometimes I would catch him at Hate Circle in Sproul Plaza where you could push the Hate man for a cigarette and the commonly heard greeting was, “fuck you!” Sometimes Ravyn claimed to be 17 and a runaway sometimes he claimed to be almost 30 and that his parents had taught him to do an anti-aging spell on himself. It was always hard to tell truth from imagination with Ravyn and I didn’t really care. That’s how good story tellers are.

“Alright you guys, for this to work you’re gonna have to at least wait on the corner,” Asshole motioned and we obediently halted. We had already given him the money, so he and Jason went to the liquor store.

“So where are we gonna go?” I asked Hughie, the Japanese tri-hawk, and Sama’a, my fellow fresh-faced hippie. “We could always go up the hill behind Clark Kerr.”

“With all these people, I don’t think so,” Hughie’s limp tri-hawk shook has he glanced furtively to make sure Asshole couldn’t hear him.

“My roommates are gone this weekend…” Sama’a started.

“Hell yeah! We got a place to drink,” Hughie practically high fived. Sama’a looked slightly trepidatious. 

“There’s not much space and Shitty will kill me if she knew. You have to promise not to touch her pillow.”

“Sure…I’ll only hold her pillow for ransom!” Hughie laughed and so did Sama’a. After trying to spend the least amount of time in her dorm room as possible throughout the semester she seemed happy at finally getting the chance to have her own space, especially as you can see, at least one of her roommates was neurotic.

The relationship had started out ok. Sama’a was in a triple room–a tiny dorm room with three people. Shuti, her Indian roommate had gotten along with Sama’a at first. They both had close-knit eastern style families and plus Shuti partook of Sama’a’s favorite herb with her. However, Sama’a could first tell something was not normal when they were smoking a bowl in a grove of trees on one of the Berkeley hills. She invited Shuti to sit down next to her on the ground as they were smoking. 

Shuti’s answer, “no thanks, I don’t want to get dirty.” 

Sama’a’s response, “oh don’t worry about it, we can change when we get home.”

“NO thanks, I really don’t want to get dirty.”

“Oh come on, it feels good to sit on the ground and hang out under these trees.” Shuti eyed her nervously, “I totally dig what you’re saying but you  don’t understand…I can’t get dirty.” 

As Sama’a’s clothes pile grew and grew, her and Shuti got along less and less. Sama’a began sleeping on Hughie’s floor and sometimes my floor, although my roommates eventually forbade it. Hughie came up with the idea of twisting Shuti’s name and we all began to call her Shitty. Shitty got mad at her grandmother for stepping on the little carpet she put out next to her bed. Shitty was livid when her mother touched her pillow. Shitty told Sama’a to never ever ever sit on her bed, the only lower bunk in the room. Naturally this made Sama’a never want to be in the room while Shitty was there, so tonight was the perfect opportunity to finally hang out in the forbidden dorm room even at risking the pristine state of Shitty’s bed. 

 

Asshole and Jason returned toting a case of henry weinhardts and a couple forties “Where are we goin’?” 

“Back to the dorms!” said Hughie.

“The dorms, eh? They won’t be scared of an Asshole like me?” He chuckled, “Alright, let’s go…lead the way, I’m ready for some trouble!”

“Wait, what about Ravyn?” I asked.

Asshole grimaced, “Who cares, let’s go.” 

So we took off to Sama’a’s room, beer and motley crew in tow. First, we had to pick up Robert and Devin. After 15 minutes walk, we approached what looked to be Dracula’s castle, the ‘all boys dorm.’ A quick knock on the door and Robert joined us, accompanied by his constant companion Devin. I call them companions not so much because they were romping together, if you know what I mean, but because they were best friends with similar tastes, similar attitudes, and constantly around each other. In fact, despite differing physical features, somehow it was hard to differentiate between the two of them. I don’t think I had ever hung out with one without the other. Our destination was just a short hop and a skip from the boys dorm. 

 

We entered Sama’a’s dorm room amidst plentiful admonishments to not fuck with her roommates bed.  We cracked open some beers and sprinkled ourselves around the room. 

“We need some tunes!” Asshole growled.

“I’ll take care of that.” Hughie’s tri-hawk was the clue to his musical tastes and he was not tolerant of other types. Sama’a handed him her CD book and he flipped through it. “Cat Stevens??” He asked incredulously. “Do you listen to anything besides hippie music?”

After another couple pages, “Great…all we need is more of the Doors and Janis Joplin.”

“Hey, I love Joplin!” Asshole quipped, “Put her on.”

Hughie sighed as he placed the CD in the stereo. This party finally had a soundtrack. Before long, we found ourselves observing college students from the comfortable window view. When nobody was walking by Hughie spit out the window and watched it fall two stories with a satisfying splat. 

“Hey let’s throw water balloons at people when they walk by!” Hughie was always the trouble-maker. “I’ve got some water balloons in my room…”And with that he rushed out of Sama’a’s room.

“Hey is this yer freaky roommates bed?” Asshole asked as he sat down on it. 

“Yes,” Sama’a sighed, “not like she’ll notice if anybody’s been sitting on it. And she can’t stand anyone touching her pillow, not even her own family.”

“ Jeeze, no wonder why you never want to stay here.” I said as I sat down on Shitty’s bed too, I sort of bounced up and down as the effects of the beer started to hit me, “I’m sitting on your bed Shitty!” I called. Sama’a laughed nervously.

Then Robert decided to join the bandwagon. He grabbed Shitty’s pillow and threw it on the dorm floor and then hopped up and down on it. Devin, as usual, joined in.

Sama’a was laughing but added through gritted teeth, “Just don’t get it dirty.”

Like a magic word, this set Robert off in a misguided fit of rebellion and he really began to molest Shitty’s pillow. “Fucking dumbasses,” He said in his delicate French accent, “Sama’a’s worried about getting in trouble.” He mocked. I’m still convinced that little Robert always overdid his rebellious attitude to make up for his petite stature. Although, his Father being an asshole may have something to do with it…

Anyways, Robert really twisted up Shitty’s pillow and even chewed on it a little bit. Sama’a  started to get pissed.

“Shut the fuck up Robbie give me back the pillow!”

Robert just laughed as he and Devin began to play a game of keep away. Sama’a finally grabbed the pillow back from them amidst a chorus of laughter.

“Why do you even care about your stupid roommate?”  

“I don’t.” She said firmly as she put the pillow back on the bed.

At that moment Hughie returned with water balloons. “Hey, are you going to tell Shitty that Asshole was sitting on her bed!” He said with a grin. Sama’a even laughed at that one.

“No way…”

“Hey, what’s the matter with an ol’ dirty asshole?” With that, Asshole grabbed the pillow and rubbed it down the back of his pants. The room erupted in giggles.

 

My God, how little it takes to entertain some college Freshmen, or 6 dirty feet, two gimpy inches of Asshole.

 

Unfortunately, at that point Sama’a’s third roommate, Lisa, came home early from her party. She stood aghast for a second until she noticed the plethora of beer in the room and then she smiled and relaxed. 

“Hey Sama’a, Laura, Hughie, who are your friends?” She asked. 

“Um, this is Robert from the boys’ dorm, Devin lives up at the top of the stairs. And this is Jason and Asshole.” Sama’a held her breath for Lisa’s reaction.

“Hi! Can I have a beer?”

Asshole opened up a Weinhardts and handed it to her. She hesitated, with a deer in the headlights expression but after a couple seconds, her desire for alcohol outlived her fear of dirty homeless people and she took the beer tenderly from Asshole’s dirty paw. It seemed as though Lisa had been momentarily placated with alcohol.

However, the boys weren’t cute enough for a drunk Lisa so a limit was unknowingly placed on the tranquility of the evening. At some point Lisa left the room and came back with Shitty in tow and a sordid tale of pillow molestation red on her lips. Some of us had been in and out of the room for cigarette breaks out at the ’smoking circle’ and I plea innocence through smoking absence. However, whenever Shitty returned all hell broke loose, well, hell for Sama’a at any rate. I don’t think she ever slept in her dorm room again after the verbal lashing Shitty gave her, and I don’t think Shitty ever used her pillow again, in fact I believe she threw it away right then and there. Perhaps a water balloon or two was thrown, perhaps not, I plead innocence.