Smells Like Meat

The Vegan hands me a paper covered in circles.  “You have to do this,” he says.  “It’s my homework for Health.”

“This looks better than the Health homework I had in high school,” I say.  “Is this a reproductive system diagram?”

“My name goes in the center circle.”

“You always have to be the center of everything,” I say.  “It’s all about you, isn’t it?”

“You fill in all the other circles with my character traits.”

“How many times can I write ‘lazy?’”

“Once.”

“But I’m lazy too.  Where do you think you got it from?”

Charlie grabs the paper and runs downstairs.  “I’ll do it.”

The Vegan doesn’t seem to care.  He leaves to do whatever it is he does when he’s not chatting on the computer.  This leaves me to be the adult. 

Charlie has already written, “Runs into trucks, especially mine,” and “Likes to make fun of Cops.”

“I don’t think those are character traits,” I say, trying to sound adult-like.

“Has a skateboarding shoe obsession,” he writes.  “Admits he’s lazy but doesn’t have the initiative to do anything about it,” “Won’t tell his parents he has a girlfriend.”

I give up.

“Works at Arby’s while being a Vegan.”

“That’s good,” I say.  “You can have good things on there.”

The Vegan planned to get a job this past summer, like all his friends.  Unlike all his friends, he didn’t.  He collected job applications on his desk and stressed out at the thought of filling them out until it was too late and he could throw them away.

Naturally, he had to work on the house to pay for gas and car insurance.  He didn’t like working for us, but he liked it better than filling in job applications and turning them in.

“Work at Arby’s,” Bobb, whose real name is John, says.  “My sister got me my job, and I think I can get you one.  A couple of people are quitting soon.  They don’t give you enough hours.  It’d be perfect for you.”

“I don’t want to be surrounded by dead animal flesh all day,” the Vegan says.  “That’s the last place I’d work."

He continued to restock his application collection with paperwork from lots of fun places.  He imagined himself working at ValuVillage, Wild Oats, and several cool retail shops.  In reality, he ended up edging almost all the crappy ceilings in our little Kosovo.

Last month, he gave up even doing that.  He used Christmas money to pay his car insurance rather than giving up his chat room time to paint.  He doesn’t realize I saved this work especially for him, just so he’d have something to do.  I’m thoughtful like that.  Now I’m going to have to finish the last bits of cutting in the ceilings of Camp Crap because the Vegan got himself a job.

Bobb, whose real name is John, stopped by about a week ago.  “Can you believe the Vegan?” he said. 

“What?  Are you referring to the extreme amount of slacking one kid can do?”

“He not only filled out an Arby’s application, but he turned it in.  He chased the manager down and shook his hand.  He talked loud enough so people could hear him.  He sounded all salesman-like.  It’s a side of the Vegan I didn’t know existed.”

This is a kid who is too lazy to even feed himself.  Boiling water for ramen or waiting for food to cook in the microwave is too much work.  He prefers to steal candy from the General’s stash, wash it down with a quart of soy milk and call it dinner.  I’ll sometimes make him dinner, vegan of course, and set it at his desk.  My Mom’s a registered dietician.  She’d disown me if I didn’t try to do something.

I’ll walk by his room the next morning and see the dinner I made the night before still sitting next to his keyboard, still looking untouched. 

“I thought you were hungry.”

“I forgot,” he says.  “I ate a little but it got cold.  Can I eat it later?”

It’s so cold and crusty that it wouldn’t tempt rats.  Even little kids eat, don’t they?

He went to Arby’s a few days after filling in the application.  He didn’t say it was an interview and he returned about a half an hour later, so we didn’t ask.

“I start on Monday,” he said later.  He grinned, as would I if I knew I’d never have to cut in another ceiling around here.

Before we could ask him embarrassing questions after coming home the first day, he took off his uniform and put it in the wash.  He cleaned up his room and asked if we owned an iron.  It took me several tries before I found it hidden in a closet.  I don’t even use it.

“Do you notice how he’s hanging up his uniform?” Charlie said.  “I didn’t bother finishing his closet before since he only knew how to use the floor.  I didn’t know he knew how to hang up clothes.  I’ve never seen him take care of his things, unless it’s skater shoes.  He’s even straightening his nametag.”

Now, when Charlie sees the Vegan at home he says, “Don’t you have a job?”

“I already worked for two hours,” he says.  “I’m still in training.”

“Don’t go crazy,” Charlie says.  “You don’t want to burn yourself out.  My first job I worked from 3 pm to 10 at night.  I went to school in the morning and did it all over again all week.  I never heard of a two hour shift.”

“Is it fun?” I ask.  It’s been a long time since he was employed.  Two years ago he got laid off from a gas station.  He swore he’d never work pumping gas again.  He never worked doing anything for way too long.

“You have to remember things,” he said, “but there’s no homework.  It’s good; it keeps you busy.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah.  The only downside is coming home smelling like meat.”

If there’s an empty circle left on his Health homework, I’m filling it with, “Smells like meat.”

A little help? [] 8:09:44 PM