Slow to Grow

by Lonny Cyrelle

Chapter 15

  The next few years were terribly nondescript as he bounced from one crappy job to another. His next job after the radio internship, was at a 911 call center for cell phones. Lloyd would connect a person on their car cell phone to the nearest 911 operator, as back then the calls could not be tracked. He took the job because it was headquartered in the same building as sportsphone. Way back in the aught-90's before the internet, people actually dialed their phones to get recorded updates on sporting events that were currently in progress. It=s like describing the telegraph after the telephone was invented.

  It was a horrible job and Lloyd hated it. The whole job was determined by the weather. Lloyd would wake up and see that it was going to snow and he knew his day would be miserable. Cars skidding out, crashes, the whole shebang.

  One of his coworkers, Chester, was a man-child, 400 pounds with curly hair and coke bottle glasses. His natural voice sounded like he was doing babytalk. AHewwo Wooyd, how are you, today, big fella.@

  He always wore a Toys R US shirt that was way to small and his pits were always stained. Mike would stop by with the sole intention of talking to Chester about the TV show Perfect Strangers. Chet did a particularly bad Balki imitation and said he did his hair in the same style as Mark Lynn Baker, the nerdy dude on that show.

  One benefit of the job, was that the facility that housed both the 911 center and Sportsphone, had satellite cable. It was necessary in order to keep up with all the sporting events, and not only did it get every sporting event on the planet, most importantly it got satellite porn. The sports guys would put it on for a laugh during the day. Chester did not find it amusing. He was fired after he was caught fucking a Barney the Dinosaur doll hidden in his sweat pants. He had sat in the back of the room and turned on the Greek Erotic Male Wrestling channel at his cubicle, and when he thought no one was looking, he went to town. One of the sportsphone dudes turned around to grab a pencil and to his horror caught him. Before he could even yell at Chet, he began vomiting profusely. A 400 pound man in a jew perm grinding a toy dinosaur was too much to stomach.

  What an idiot, Lloyd thought, getting caught cranking one out. Lloyd was smart. He knew to surreptitiously go outside when no one was paying attention and peer through the window slats while the porn was on and spank it out there. That way only strangers could catch him, not coworkers. Amateur.

  Soon, a new opportunity came along, and once again it was set up by his daddy. The main sports radio station in Chicago had an internship opportunity available, and Nathan had set up an interview for Lloyd. It was a pinnacle job for him to have. He was so excited and nervous after the interview that he got the shits and had to run into a nearby McDonalds. It was too late. He chucked his underwear in the trash and headed home. And he got the job. He was 24, and taking an internship that paid nothing. At his last day of work at the emergency phone line he spit on the floor as a parting shot to the hell he endured. Because poor baby had to answer phones. Life was so rough for him.

  At the radio station there were three separate talk shows that he would be working on. It was very exciting. Sports talk, Chicago sports teams, and phone calls from fanatical listeners. He was thrilled to have the job, as it was a steppingstone to what was going to be a successful career in sports broadcasting. His ascent had begun.

  He worked 8 hour days, 5 days a week at the start. His main job for the first month was ordering fried rice from Chin's House of Chin, for the on air talent, and refilling their empty coffee mugs. After awhile he even learned how to use the copy machine and send faxes.

  He also learned that the morning host was a gigantic douchebag who spent every commercial break berating his producers for all things large and small. It was tyrannical and epically prickish, and Lloyd found himself despising him. The dude enjoyed screaming at the interns for all things little and small while he was on the air, be it for disagreeing with him or bringing him a tepid cup of coffee. On air he came off as nice guy while the truth was that he was a miserable two faced son of a bitch. He once berated Lloyd for deigning to enter his space and hand him a cup of water while he was on air.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you Kulligan? don=t you see I am on the fucking air, you idiot? You ruined my rhythm, how the fuck am I supposed to talk about the Bears O-Line issues when some pimply faced 25 year old man intern is in my face?

  AUh.", stammered Lloyd.

  "Uh? uh is all you can say? Uh? Get the fuck out of my face....@ and three, two one, AWelcome back to the Ron Baer show here on 820 am, it sure is a great day to be a sports fan...."

  Lloyd had better luck with the hosts of the afternoon show and found himself getting more and more important assignments from them. He was allowed to edit tape and set up some phone interviews. Stuff that producers would normally do. He still needed to get them their fried rice, but the other duties weren=t too bad.

  He had started to learn how to run the board, that is shop talk for the, uh, board, that had all the controls. It was sort of neat. What was not neat was the half breeds who called in to talk sports, or pretty much known as the lifeblood of talk radio. Lloyd was trusted to screen calls for the hosts. People would call in and he would decide whether they were worthy of air time. Worthy?

  A 7 year old had more cogent thoughts than the majority of callers to talk radio. It=s bad enough when you want to be referred to as BearsFan Barry, but to pontificate about the intricacies of the Bears defensive schemes in early July was borderline retarded. Dante had his levels of hell, and callers to sports talk shows was near the top. Or bottom.

  He didn=t realize it at the time, but he was beginning to hate sports radio and being in sports in general. It looked like his dad=s advice was right. He should have focused on news. Lloyd was becoming much more interested in politics and daily news events and being an intern at a sports station was starting to seem foolish. He sometimes was sent out with reporters to cover events which was neat, if you were 15, and he began to realize that most of the sports reporters were dorks. Watch a sports interview someday where reporters are gathered around an athlete and he makes a mildly amusing comment. Gushes of laughter from the ass-kisser sports geeks in the gallery. Nerdy guys who were never good enough to make their eighth grade basketball team and instead became the team manager to hang around the action. And then they grow up and kiss some more ass.

  That happened to Lloyd in eighth grade, actually. He wasn=t good enough to make his school basketball team, but he had a chance to be a team manager and he was considering it, until his dad put the quick kibosh on that.

  ANo way in hell are you going to be picking up the jockstraps and towels of your classmates. That job is for nebbishes. You aren=t a nebbish.@

  Lloyd always was grateful to his dad for that. He was right. He wasn=t a nebbish. A wuss, yes. Pussy, check.. A weakling. Check. But he was no nebbish.

  Just as his hate for sports radio was kicking into high gear, he was offered an actual paying job at the station. And the term paying is used loosely. For six dollars an hour he was hired to be a producer on the morning weekend shows. What that entailed was being at work by 6 am and handling the phone calls. Wheee, his favorite task.

  Someone who was actually trying to get ahead in their career would have embraced the task and taken it head on. Lloyd would stroll in about 7 minutes before the show started and wonder why the hosts didn=t care for him.

  Also, there was nothing like dealing with morons calling at 6:30 on a Saturday morning in December to talk about the Cubs off-season plans.

  "This is the Gene Thomas show, lets go out to Ernie Banks Jr in Maywood, Hey Ernie!!!"

  "Uh, yeah, Gene, thanks for taking my call, how ya doing, love your show."

  "Doing good. Thanks." Every caller in the history of radio starts with that. How you guys? Love your show.@ And then the inanity kicks up a notch.

  "Uh, yeah, I saw the Cubs 39th round draft pick is a 2nd Baseman from Georgia, do you think he can be better than Ryne Sandberg some day? I wa
s looking at his numbers, he is a career 298 hitter during the day, but hits 19 points higher at night. I think this kid may have a future."

  So he was raking it in now. Working eight hours a weekend for six bucks an hour. 48 bucks a week at age 25. He was living the high life. To supplement his hedonistic lifestyle he needed to find a job that supplemented his huge weekend paydays. But he didn=t want anything too taxing, of course, god forbid a man of his age support himself. The nerve.

  He brain stormed to come up with the easiest possible job he could handle during the week. Nothing full-time, of course, come on, he was a big-time radio producer on the weekends, well on his way to greatness. No, no something that would pay the bills. Well, his Daddy was paying the bills, but you know, money he could spend on gambling or candy and stuff.

  One day he finally had his gigantic epiphany. He loved animals. Dogs and cats especially. Working with people=s pets. How can he do that? Walking peoples dogs, taking care of their cats. Somewhat gay, but also somewhat awesome. But he didn=t have the wherewithal to put out ads and solicit work. Too much effort for someone already working 8 hours a week.

  He mentioned the idea it to his mother, and she remembered seeing a help wanted ad for dog-walkers in her neighborhood grocery store. His parents had moved downtown and lived in the hoighty toighty Gold Coast, where the rich farm out their animal care to the unwashed masses.

  A few days later he found the ad himself.

  City Kitty, the premiere name in Chicago Gold Coast PetCare was hiring catsitters and dogwalkers. What the hell was a cat sitter? Do cats need to be sat with, he wondered? They seemed pretty douchey and self sufficient to him.

  The next day he called and left a message for the proprietor of City Kitty. It was a woman with what seemed like a pleasant voice. He imagined the type of woman who would own a petcare business.

  I wonder how dykey she is? Butch haircut, glasses. owns 7 cats. unmarried. Reads lots of vampire fiction. Plays golf by herself.

  He was amusing himself. An owner of a petcare business. Yowza. He was actually excited to see how spot on he was with his guess.

  She called back and set up an interview at a restaurant near his parents apartment.

  How do you dress for an interview with a dog walking service? You can=t show up in a shirt and tie, can you? Was a t-shirt too informal? His resume was already diverse, but he wasn=t sure what would qualify him for petcare.

  He went with a polo shirt and jeans. The owner was named Rebecca and she said she would be wearing a yellow blouse and black pants.

  Size 20, I am sure. Ha. this is going to be funny. Rebecca, I bet she will say her name is Becky. Haha, Becky, what is this 1959?

  He went to the restaurant and looked around. No dykes anywhere, just a pretty woman in a yellow blouse and black pants.

  Whoa, she was hot! She was definitely older, probably 30, but blonde hair, a seriously nice chest, and a pretty face that more than one person said resembled Cameron Diaz.

  She asked him about why he wanted to be a dogwalker slash catsitter and he told her about his love of animals and that it seemed like an easy gig. She seemed to cringe at that answer and he realized that maybe he should take it more seriously, especially if he wanted to impress her. And make his move. Just kidding. Making sure the reader is paying attention.

  At one point he brought up the harrowing tale of how his turtle Marlon had run away. It may have been a tactical error, who the fuck would hire someone who lost a turtle?

  At one point he brought up the harrowing tale of how his turtle Marlon had run away. It may have been a tactical error, who the fuck would hire someone who lost a turtle?

  She asked him for references. References? He couldn=t give people he really worked with at previous jobs, that would be too embarrassing. AUh, hey there, can you give a reference for me, I, uh, am trying to be a catsitter. It=s where you babysit cats. Hello? Are you there? Hello?@

  She could tell that he was bemused by the question and said he could use family if he wanted.

  Steve would probably get a kick out of it. He gave her Steve's number. And then called him just to make sure he played nice.

  She called him the next day.

  AHi, Steve, this is Rebecca from City Kitty, Lloyd gave me your number, he said you could be a good reference for him regarding animals, as you know him pretty well."

  ADid he tell you his turtle ran away? A turtle? How the hell does a turtle run away? That is like the dictionary definition of irony. I mean, seriously.@

  AHe did, he seemed very devastated at the loss,@ Becky told Steve.

  AWait. Wait. A guy trying to get hired for a petsitting service admits he lost a damn turtle.? Are you sure you want to hire someone like that? That would be like a eye doctor hiring a blind person.@ He was amusing himself, if not Becky.

  AHe did love that turtle, though, he was always kissing it. That is pretty gross. It swam in its own filth, and he treated it like a member of the family. Odd. But, honestly, he would be good with pets, he is trustworthy and honest and an animal lover,@ Steve said truthfully.

  AI see on his resume that he graduated with a degree in Radio‑TV and Film, and....@ she continued.

  AWhat? That=s a total lie. His major was Theater and Film, he is just too embarrassed to say he was a Theater major.@

  It was true, the University had changed the name of Lloyd=s major in Liberal Arts to Theater and Film and that amused the shit out of Steve. He would call Lloyd a Theater fag all the time.

  AUh, ok, I don=t think that has anything to do with pet sitting but I will take it under consideration, I was just leading into his career in radio and how seriously he would take this job.@ she answered.

  AWell, him being a theater major, could help with your gay clients, I imagine. I assume you have a large proportion of gay clients, because seriously, who else but the gays would hire someone to pamper their kitties, am I right?@ Steve joked

  AWe do have a large homosexual clientele, yes, you make a valid point,@ she laughed.

  In the end Steve said he was messing around and that Lloyd would be fine. She took him at his word.

  She called his parents next, and spoke with his dad who told her how broken up he was when the damn turtle ran away, and the reason that they never had pets was because it would be too hard for everyone when it eventually died. She was touched by that.

  Somehow, he got the job. And it was the turtle running away that did it, she told him. She could see how heartbroken he was over the whole thing. So just like Jesus, Marlon the turtle became a martyr.

  The job consisted of taking care of cats of vacationing uppity, high class, hoity toities, who paid top dollar for someone to come in once a day and spend quality time with their felines.

  He quickly learned that there were two types of client. The fussy ones and the even fussier. These lunatics would have a pile of instructions with specifically ridiculous details on treating their beloved. And the cats always had pretentious names. ANow Mahler likes to be fed promptly at 6 pm and Prado eats at 6:10. So make sure their cans are separated in their compartments in the refrigerator. And don=t forget Mahler likes his water at room temperature and Prado needs his fucking pixie dust sprinkled liberally into his specialty Tuna.@

  Inevitably these people didn=t have children and therefore treated their cats as such, when the truth was the cats didn=t give a shit and all they cared about was playing with a piece of discarded tinfoil and sleeping for 22 hours a day.

  One thing he did learn in his feline travails was that a lot of gay men had cats. And inevitably the cats were extremely feminine. What was the deal with that? You know, there are some playful cats of both genders, and those are fun. But the real prissy cats always tended to be with gay men. So Lloyd deduced that if you are a single dude with a fussy female cat, you are most likely gay. He told his single Uncle Dave never to buy a female cat, lest his female companions think he was a homo. It was a ridiculous theory.

  It was inevitable
that eventually Lloyd=s rational and earthbound demeanor would not be suited to such high maintenance bullshit, and the end came rather quickly. At one such sit, Lloyd had the temerity to not clean the empty can of cat food to the owners liking, and rudely left remnants only detected by microscope in the sink. FOR SHAME, Lloyd. FOR SHAME. Persnickety pains in the asses. The lot of them.

  Becky (he was right, she preferred Becky) was good spirited about it and told him that his Anature did not match up suitably with the clients.@ She was good like that, and he found himself liking her. A lot. What else is new? A female person who actually talked to him. Turns out she was 37 to his 25, so nothing was going to happen there. So he felt no pressure talking to her.

  He reverted to his college and high school days and regaled her with his woeful tales of his failures with women, his late loss of his virginity and its subsequent re-attachment. All the same annoying bullshit that he always yammered on and on about. But she listened and gave him tips on what he could do to improve his luck, just be himself, blah blah blah.. As she was talking he pretended to listen, but was in reality mentally undressing her. Plus his inner monologue was getting edgier as he got older.

  37. Man. I would still do that. Ha, would you, you pussy? You wouldn=t do shit. I know. I know you are right. But she is pretty. And nice. She seems to like you enough. Big fucking deal you are like a baby to her. She was in high school when you were in diapers. Whoa, that just gave me a boner.

  In her infinite wisdom Becky decided to transfer Lloyd to the Dog Walking portion of her business. He was more suited to that. Dogs were more laid back, and so were their owners. There was a fundamental difference between the finicky cat owners and more grounded in reality dog owners. They may think of their dogs as family, but they don=t treat them like children.

  Most of his dogs needed to be walked while the owner was at work. It was an awesome job. He would walk four dogs a day, and he liked all of them. Fresh air, happy doggies, all was good. He was living the life.

  Now one aspect of pet sitting was that these people trusted the service in allowing their sitters into their homes. Ritzy homes, mostly. Lloyd was honest, trustworthy and reliable. The one problem he had was that he was nosy. Every new house he went into he snooped through the drawers. He was looking for one thing and one thing only. Porn.

  Being a horny man-child himself, he figured that some of these people must have had porn stashed somewhere in their homes.

  He didn=t have much luck, thought there was one creep who had every Playboy ever, a sword collection, and leather chaps hanging on his wall. There was a new client, with a cute retriever named Harvey, and he hit the jackpot. There next to the television was a video titled All Day Orgy. Jackpot!

  He popped in the tape, (first looking at the time code, so he would know to rewind it to that exact spot), found some nivea in the bathroom, which he found sort of odd for a man to have, didn=t put much more thought into it, and hit play.

  On popped 30 men fucking and sucking each other. Bam, he almost broke the remote hitting stop. Well how about that. Apparently homosexuals owned dogs too. He couldn=t come up with a female dog to homosexual owner ratio like he did with cats, so he was more careful the next time he found a porno in someone=s else drawers.

  Lucky for him, Becky had no clue about his rummaging through the clients houses, or else she may have turned on him. As it was they were becoming close friends. A sharper fellow would have noticed the signals she was sending off, and that she appeared interested in more than friendship. But the age difference seemed like a huge barrier to him so he didn=t even really consider the notion. Even though he really liked her, too. He just figured, wrongly as usual, that she was not interested.

  One night she called him at home and asked him to come with her to a cat clients house. Becky showed up an found the 18 year old cat dead of natural causes. The callous owner wanted her to chuck it into the garbage, which made Lloyd laugh, but he stopped after he heard her crying. She loved animals and couldn=t believe the person wanted to dispose of the cat so heartlessly and she wanted Lloyd to help her do it. He met her there, Put Rigor Mortis in a trashbag and unceremoniously disposed of it in a dumpster in the alley.

  She gave him a long hug in thanks and peered at him through her tears. He didn=t notice how she looked like she wanted to kiss him. He didn=t pick up signals like normal humanoids. She asked him if he wanted to go out for drinks and he was happy to oblige. Being seen in public with an attractive woman couldn=t hurt his image he smugly felt. Who he thought would see him was up for debate.

  They hit the bar and pretty soon were engaged in a pretty intense conversation about Lloyd and his life. In a lighter moment, she demurely told him about how you could tell a person=s happiness with their sex life by their handwriting. Apparently if you crossed your y=s near the top you were satisfied, and the lower it went, the more hard up you were. Lloyd asked what it meant if his y=s were invisible. That made her laugh, and of course the discussion veered into Lloyd=s lack of sexual experience and why women didn=t like him, blah blah blah. Surprisingly Becky didn=t pull out a gun and off herself, and instead found herself once again dispensing advice to him.

  ASometimes what you are looking for is right in front of you@, she said.

  ALike where,@ dumbass asked, Athe radio station? I don=t have any girls I really am attracted to there.@ Being hit over the head with a two ton mallet wouldn=t knock any sense into that head.

  AMaybe, you could keep your eyes open to a lot of different possibilities, you might be surprised what you find,@ she not so subtly hinted.

  ADuly noted, thanks for the advice!@ he replied, not noticing the perplexed look on her face.

  But Becky was not to be deterred. One day Lloyd got to his work at the radio station and checked his answering machine. She had left a long message telling him what a good guy he was and not to be deterred and that there was someone out there for him and that they should get together again.