Travis, the new intern, is making quite the spectacle of the busy work. I had to explain to him how to sort the CDs several times. "Hey, so I'm not really understanding how you're wanting me to sort these? Your system is confusing."
I had my huge pioneer headphones on, with only my left ear cupped, the other was left off so I could answer Travis' endless questions. "My system? You mean, the alphabet?"
My eyebrows are raised, silently urging him to please tell me he isn't serious. He squints his eyes, taking the time to let my words rattle around in his skull as though I'm speaking Chinese or some other language that doesn't seem to make any sense to him before he turns and quietly closes the door to the DJ booth behind him. I watch him through the window that looks out into the rest of the studio trying to make heads or tails of what he's doing, confusion becoming my dominating emotion.
Travis finally makes it over to the wall where the CDs and records are arranged and looks them over, and I can almost see the lightbulb as it comes on above his head before he gives me a stoner smile accompanied by two thumbs up. I reluctantly return them while stifling the very real need to roll my eyes at his stupidity. "Ok buddy, yeah."
Don't we have standards here? How did he even get into college? I wonder briefly if I was like that during my freshman year, but of course, I wasn't. For one, I never was one for the weed I can smell coming out of Travis' pores. For the other, I learned the alphabet early on. Kindergarten early.
The song finishes and I flip on the mic to introduce the next song. The only job my boss outlined for me to accomplish besides babysitting Willie Nelson over there for this shift, so I have to take it seriously.
"Alright everyone, I hope your second week is going even better than your first, and if not, I'm here to improve it for ya. Fresh off the presses, we've scored a copy of Black Canvas' new album and I get to pick the first song we play, so here it is - Crushed Velvet, coming at ya, from Brentwood Radio." I finish flipping off the "on-air" mic and let the song fill the airwaves.
It's not the best song. Not even close. I'm fully able to admit that this is a microaggression on my part, but I have to get my kicks where I can. Regain a little bit of the control I've lost over the last few days, and if that means playing the worst song off the album while giving everyone the impression that it's the best they have to offer, that's what I'm going to do.
Trent's bloodshot eyes shoot up to me when I come out of the booth to check his progress, "Oh man, I love these guys!"
"You and the rest of the campus. It's probably the best song with velvet in the title, If you don't count Blue Velvet, Velvet Elvis, or Black Velvet."
He squints at me considering me for a moment. "I haven't heard of any other songs with velvet in the title."
I give him a pat on his back while I lean over his shoulder to make sure he hasn't found himself confused a second time by our very challenging system of organization here. "Probably because there aren't any, Travis. Can't get anything past you, bud."
The door to the station opens, producing a loud squeak that echoes over the muted playing of Crushed Velvet in the room. The door is one of those old rickety doorways with the frosted glass that every single school has for every classroom. Most of the buildings here have been updated, but the communications building seems to be a little worse for wear. I'm guessing it isn't exactly the program that brings in most of their funding, here. The football program has everything that they need and we all know that's the important part, right?
"Hey. I know you didn't get lunch earlier, so I thought I'd bring by your favorite," Gabby says, holding up a bag from Bobby Burger, my favorite joint in town.
"Oh my God, I could kiss you right now." I make my way over toward her, and grab the brown bag from her hands, opening it and inhaling the aroma of bacon cheese bliss. "Gabby this is Travis, our newbie."
Gabby gives him a quick once over before offering a tentative wave hello and pulling up a chair at the old round conference table that sits in the middle of the open space. It's covered with band stickers, radio stickers, and random brand name stickers. I think there might still be some actual table under them all, but don't quote me on that.
"So what did the scholarship peeps say?"
I sit down, pulling up a chair and dropping into it defeatedly. "That I'm fucked. I have to come up with thirteen grand before January or skip a semester." I unwrap the burger and sink my teeth into it, moaning at the flavor and dipping my head to lick the drop of ketchup that is dripping down the outside of my pinky. I look up to see the stoner kid eyeing my burger.
"Want some fries new kid?" I say around the bite of greasy heaven in my mouth.
"Just give him half of your burger, Vale. You never eat it all."
I push the fries forward while tossing a look of incredulity at my roommate. "What am I, Saint Vale? Get real."
She chuckles and Travis comes over to pick at the fries.
"Ya know, if you're interested, I might know of a way that you could make some extra cash," Travis says, shoveling the salty potato pieces in his stoner hole.
I cock my head at him as I swallow my bite. "I have a full course load. I don't know that I have time for a job."
He shrugs. "This wouldn't take much time. You could do it while doing everything you normally do. It just depends on how morally high and mighty you are."
My eyes go wide while pictures of glory holes and stripper poles flash through my mind. He must see the fear on my face because his eyes go as clear as a Sunday morning for a fraction of a second. "No! That's not what I meant. God, I'm sorry, I'm stupid sometimes."
I clear my throat. "Words are hard sometimes. What don't you elaborate?"
He calms down and doesn't take offense at the words I said. I didn't mean anything by them, but I know how I come across. Most of the time I don't do anything to change that, either, but I don't want to alienate someone that is trying to help me, either.
"I have a friend who is stuck with a little inventory he can't seem to move."
I take another bite of my burger, keeping my eyes pasted on Travis'. Gabby is the one to break the silence. "Like, stereos that 'fell off a truck'? Or drugs?"
Travis shrugs. "Just a little molly. It never hurt anyone, right?"
He's serious. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't know that I would be very useful at moving something like that. I'm not a big partier, and I don't know a ton of the partier types, either."
He motions to our surroundings. "Vale, you're the new, hot campus DJ. Go to some parties, wear some hot dresses, and you'll do fine. I'm sure that the guys would much rather buy from you than the other guy that's been running things on campus."
Aaaand the conversation once again finds its way back to fucking Kaden West. I'm not all that certain that Travis knows who ''the other guy running things on campus" actually is. Kaden is basically a God around these parts. I'd be lying if I didn't like the idea of maybe taking him down a notch, though. I feel the corner of my lips twitch at the thought.
Gabby raises an eyebrow at me, catching me in her stare. She isn't one to judge a little party fun, but that's a far cry from selling drugs. She knows how I feel about substance abuse issues, so I worry not only about how she would view me if I took this opportunity but how I would feel about myself.
"Let me think on it a couple of days. It's not like I've got opportunities beating down my door at the moment."
Travis gives me a nod before I push him the rest of my fries. Gabby is right. This is too much burger, but now I have to force it down with that whole show I made of not sharing. Some would say that spite powers ninety percent of my decisions. They would be underselling it.
Travis and I exchange numbers at the end of the night. Once he stopped being so goddamn high, he actually wasn't half bad to be around. I'm going to chalk up his earlier idiocy on the extracurriculars, for now anyway. He even gave me a ride back home, which was nice. I didn't bring my bike this morning so I would've had to resort to public transit.
Walking up to my front door, I was able to spot immediately that both mine and Gabby's bike chains that usually hold the very nice beach cruisers we had bought last year were severed and lying on the sidewalk where we usually chain our bikes against the old aluminum railing that lines the porch.
I made it in the door to see Gabby laying on the sofa. "What the fuck happened to our bikes?"
She shakes her head before sitting up and pausing whatever MTV reality garbage she's binging today. "They were gone when I got home. I didn't want to call you at the station."
I drop my bag on the floor before dropping myself onto the sofa. It's a small campus in a relatively small town. It's rural and the public transit system doesn't suck, but having the bikes was a big deal to us. I take my phone out and start typing out a text to Travis.
"What are you doing? I already reported it to the cops. The case number is on the fridge."
I shake my head without looking up at her. "I'm not calling the cops. I'm texting Travis." Once the text was sent I dropped my phone onto the coffee table, where it produce a satisfying clatter before turning to face her. "I guess I'm going to be a drug dealer. Wanna help?"
She only considers me for a moment before shrugging.
"I don't see why not."