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By Root 340 0

bangs are surpassed in height only by the heels of the Payless pumps that are constantly caught between the wooden planks as they walk. These women cling to their men in never-ending adoration, as if they were cartoon cavemen returning from the hunt. Basking in a blinking neon glow, these outer-borough heroes stalk elusive prey like the overstuffed Squishy Bears that burst their seams and spill their mini Styrofoam guts the moment the victors sling them over their shoulders. If unsuccessful in their quest, they save face with an air-brushed T-shirt, the official sign of guido pre-engagement: Gino ’N’ Tina 4-Eva.

When they aren’t competing for prizes, or riding one of the Six Flags knockoff rides, they eat food with little or no nutritional value: saltwater taffy, frozen custard, caramel apples, cotton candy. All provided by yours truly at Wally D’s Sweet Treat Shoppe.

God Bless America.

To think I actually lowered myself by begging Sara to persuade her dad to hire me despite his having already filled all positions with Europeans with temporary work visas. (They fly in for the summer to take advantage of the typical American teenager’s piss-poor work ethic. Only a foreigner would jump at a 100-hour, minimum-wage week. Hurrah for the land of the free! Home of the brave!) But I had to get out of the house. My mom was trying way too hard to bond with me, wanting to take me shopping or to the movies or out for lunch and—get this—girl talk. Ack. How transparent can she get? Mom doesn’t really want to spend time with me. She just doesn’t know what to do with herself now that the big day is over and Bethany has moved across the country with G-Money. No way will I ever be a bubble-jet print of my sister.

Anyway, I am not a religious person, but I pray that your job sucks less than mine. And that I actually earn enough to pay for that plane ticket. Until then, you keep right on molding the artistic geniuses of tomorrow at your camp. And I’ll do my darndest to make my contribution to the Red-White-and-Blue’s obesity epidemic—one sprinkle-covered cone at a time.

Jingoistically yours, J.

july

the twelfth

When you take a summer job in Seaside Heights, New Jersey, the self-proclaimed Home of Sunnin’ and Funnin’, it pretty much guarantees that you will have no time for either sun or fun. This is particularly frustrating because your sole duty is to serve thousands of ugly urbanites hell-bent on holiday hedonism. (Try telling a bombed-out-of-his-mind Longuylander that you’ve run out of rainbow sprinkles. It’s Armageddon.)

I come home coated in a second skin of funnel-cake grease, chocolate syrup, sea-salt spray, and sweat. My ears ring with buzzers and bells and the unz unz beat of the never-ending dance-party mega-mix blasting from Life’s a Beach, the clothing store next door that sells T-shirts with slogans like I’m Not As Think As You Drunk I Am. When I come home, I’m too disgusted with myself to go anywhere or do anything. I’m so tired that I fall asleep as soon as I make contact with the mattress, if you can believe that.

My first few weeks on the job, I bitched and moaned mightily about how catering to these tyrannical tourists guarantees that I’ll have little downtime. Not to mention that I spend every shift fending off the advances of my oversexed coworkers. At any moment, an undeodorized, hirsute Hungarian with a no-vowels, unpronounceable name will ask me if I am spoken for. (The answer is always Yes.)

I almost considered quitting, fully aware that the extra time would leave me no choice but to give in and hang out with my mom, who is more desperate than ever for company. Good thing I stuck it out long enough to enjoy my job’s brightest benefit: I have an automatic out from all forms of socialization, without being classifed as antisocial.

Practically the entire PHS student body works on the boards. I get face time with people from school without actually having to go through the hassle of hanging out with them. Manda works behind the counter at Winning Wally’s Arcade. As far as I can tell, she gets paid to flirt