Spanks for the Memories

The college radio station…that’s where all the cool kids worked and hung out.  At least some of them were severely picked on as children and now had to overcompensate with the “we” vs. “them” lifestyle.  In 1998, if you weren’t listening to esoteric indie pop recorded in Athens, GA, you were nothing.  I wanted to fit in, so I would work the station’s table for every show that came through my small, southern college town.

One night as I DJ’d the graveyard shift at the station, Carlton the Bounty Hunter, called in to request Motorhead’s Ace of Spades, which he did every week.  Now, whether Carlton was really a bounty hunter or not, I’ll never know. But the nickname seemed fitting. I do know that he was a rather old man who worked “security” for all the rock shows that came through town.  He was always dressed to the nines in Vietnam era fatigues and he carried a stun gun for anyone who got out of line.  His beard was creepily tied together with a rubber band.  Carlton also carried an Ace of Spades card around in his wallet because according to him, he “got it off some Vietcong” during Carlton’s Tour of Duty.  Who was I not to believe him?  He seemed legit.

“You have such a pretty voice,” he drawled in a lonely southern accent, “Next time I see ya, I’m gonna spank ya.”  Even though Carlton seemed harmless, the thought of him spanking me really sketched me out.  My buns were my own and no one touched them.  I felt the dire need to deflect his offer.  “I’m not allowed to be spanked, “ I nervously giggled, “I’m Catholic!”  “Really?”  “Oh yes!  I even dressed as Pope John Paul for a book report once.  I’m really, really Catholic.  Oh so very religious.  I can’t be spanked!”

Carlton wasn’t buying it, “The Pope, you say?”  “Yes!  The Pope.  Uh, when I was in 5^th grade we had to do these book reports and since I am verrrrrry religious and verrrrrry Catholic, I dressed up as the Pope.  I used an upside down KFC bucket on my head and made a cardboard pope mobile to walk around in.  I got an A +”  Why  was  I giving Carlton so many details of my damned story?

Carlton scoffed, “What kind of fucking teacher would let a little girl dress as a grown ass man?”

“Hmmmm…the kind who DOESN’T spank little girls I suppose.”