Canned Ass

It was a beautiful Sunday morning in Spring. This morning's team consisted of myself, Mel, Guru and a brand new staff named Candace, who, and I'm being as sensitive and as politically correct as possible, was a fat dyke. She wore her opinions on her sleeve and injected any conversation with her sexually and politically charged agenda.

Plus, she had terrible hygiene. When she did a sleepover, she didn't change the sheets. The next sleepover, Mel, would complain that someone had eaten cheese in the staff bed. The first time I worked with her, I walked into the house and asked her (after she had gotten up) if she had cleaned the staff bathroom, as is the sleepover's job.

"Oh, yeah, I cleaned it."

"Cool," I said, and walked in to take a piss. I noticed that, in fact, nobody had cleaned the bathroom and there were pubic hairs in the bathtub. Why would she lie about something like that? When I came out, she said, "I'm gonna kick back in the staff office for a while since we don't get the kids up for an hour."

This pissed me off forever. I walked over to Kyle's room and announced, "If there is anyone who needs to work off their work details so that they can go out on the outing this morning, they had better get up and clean the staff bathroom, especially if their name is Kyle."

Kyle walked out rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, Stokie? I'll do it. I wanna go on the outing."

"Great Kyle. Go knock on the staff office door and tell Candace that you need to clean the office for work details. She'll help you with the rest."

Kyle banged on the office door until Candace opened it. "Hi Candace, I need to clean the staff bathroom for work details. Can you supervise me?"

"But the staff bathroom is clean already," said Candace.

Kyle took a look and said, "No it's not!" He was laughing. He grabbed the 409 from under the sink and sprayed it all over the sink, toilet and bathtub. He took a rag and wiped everything spic and span. "See Candace? Now it's clean. Easy as that."

I yelled from the kitchen, "Thank you Kyle! Just another training session, that's all!"

"I hear that, Stokie. Place was humming!"

"Dude, sometimes you shine so bright. No more work details, thank you."

She walked out and looked at me. "Do you have a beef with me?"

I said, "No, Candace, nothing me and Kyle can't handle."

I had heard that a kid had asked her the other day if she was gay.

"I'm not gay, I'm queer," was her answer.

It was time to get the boys up, which on Sunday morning is not a big deal and can be done in a very casual and slow manner. The staff were split up in different sections of the house and were helping various boys hop to. Mel and I were having fun with Brian, who you remember is not only conflicted about his own sexual orientation, but also comes from a household with two moms. Brian wanted to get one of us staff to go out and buy him a bandanna which he wanted to wear on his head.

I told him, "Why don't you go ask Mel if it's more cool to wear it around your neck. That's the way Mel always wears it when he goes out."

In a moment Brian returned and said to me, "Mel wants to know if you think I'd look better in a bandanna that is 'cool blue' or 'flaming red."

And so it went until Brian came back to me and asked, "Can a person be so fat that their ass eats their underwear?"

"Brian, I don't know how your brain is malfunctioning, but I need you to calm down."

"Okay, Stokie, but I think Candace is wearing a Mercedes Benz sign on her ass."

"What are you talking about, Brian?"

"Just look," he said pointing to Candace, who was squatting down to help Freddy, who didn't need any help, tie his shoe. Her jeans had sagged down to reveal her fat, pimply ass-crack decorated with a string thong that resembled the Mercedes Benz sign. I rolled my eyes and groaned.

Brian went on. "Not only that, but she's flirting with me, and I think that's inappropriate. Every time I walk by, she shakes her tits at me and I think she's trying to make me get excited. Can you tell her that I'd never want to have sex with her because she's fat and ugly?"

"Brian, I can promise you that she's not flirting with you. You're completely fabricating the whole thing. I tell you what, I will talk to her about..."

Just then I realized what Brian was talking about. Candace got up and turned around and walked into the kitchen. As she did, her big, bra-less, pendulous tits shook all around the house and into the hearts and minds of just about every resident in it. I wanted to strangle her for being so naiive. Freddy got up and waved his hand by his nose, "Whoa! Her shit smells like hamsters!"

"Brian, you may not have said it in the most appropriate way, but I know exactly what you're talking about and I am going to help you. I will talk to her right away and get her to make a change, but what I need from you, right now, is to stay in your room until I can get her to make the change. Can you do that?"

"Sure Stokie, no problem. Thanks for helping me. I hate it when big fat bitches shake their tits at me and make me want to have sex with them. The last thing I'm gonna do is start screaming, 'GUACAMOLE!! GUACAMOLE!!"

It was too late. Brian had lost it. Much like 'Whoa guy,' 'guacamole!' was something a kid would yell out to let everyone know that sex was in the air. Strangely, after yelling it, Brian calmly walked back to his room and sat down on his bed.

However, it was enough to get the rest of the house really agitated; voices grew louder, kids became less and less compliant, there was more irritation.

I needed to to talk to Candace immediately. But how? I was thinking that I couldn't say, 'Hey Candace, your floppy boobies are fucking with the kids' minds.' I was actually thinking that she would try to bring a harassment suit against me or the agency if I tried to talk to her myself, so I first called the Administrative Backup so I could get some support (and a witness) that the confrontation was appropriate. Our Backup today was Mike, the Supervisor for the house next door. I went to the staff office and called him.

"Mike, dude, I need some help. You know that new staff, Candace?"

"Biggums?" asked Mike.

"Yeah, well she showed up this morning without a bra..."

"Oh please don't make me come over there, Stokie."

"You gotta come over. The kids are getting all fucked up about it and I don't want to talk to her myself because I'm afraid she'll sue the agency."

"Good point. I'll be right over."

As Mike arrived, the boys were getting more and more agitated. When I walked out to greet Mike, Francis was asking Candace, "Hey Canned Ass, do you drive a Mercedes? Hee!"

Candace was oblivious. "I use public transportation as much as possible."

"Whoa, guy!" Francis ran back to his room.

Mike said, "Candace, we need to talk to you in private. Would you join us in the staff office?" The three of us walked in and shut the door behind us.

I began, "Candace, I called Mike here so that I could have some Administrative support when I tell you what I have to tell you. I didn't want to confront you alone."

"Confront me? There's nothing to confront me about. What are you talking about?" She put her hands on her waist which pulled her shirt tighter around her tits. I tried to maintain eye contact and not wince. At the same time, I could hear yelling out on the floor.

"Well, the thing is, you're not exactly dressed appropriately for the job. I mean, some of these boys have been sexually abused and any hint of sexuality can set them off. I'm sure you've read their case histories by now, right?"

"I was gonna read those on my free time. But I'm not dressed inappropriately. Since when are jeans and a t-shirt inappropriate?"

"When you're not wearing a bra, that's when," said Mike. "And you're obviously not."

"No I'm not," said Candace. "And I can't think of a better way to teach kids, especially kids who've been abused, that the human body is beautiful. We're all just people you know, and
the human body is a beautiful thing."

"Not here it isn't," said Mike. "Here it's a provacative set-up. You can't be out on the floor like that. Did you bring a bra?"

"No I didn't. I didn't think this was such a draconian, backward thinking organization."

I heard Guru's booming voice,"TIP THE HOUSE!"

"Mike, I gotta go out there and help out, it's just the two of them out there. I'm sure you can finish up without me." I winked at him and he tried not to laugh.

When I came out of the staff office, I saw boys running everywhere. Guru was at the Quiet Room door holding residents in while Mel was catching the out-of-control boys and bringing them to Guru. My Sunday was ruined.

There were cat-calls of "Canned Ass!" "Whoa, guy!" and "Guacamole!" along with the usual crotch grabbing and overt finger sucking. Where to start?

I went over to Brian and Rudy's room and stood in their doorway so they couldn't get out. As far as I could see, Guru and Mel had about 6 boys over in the Quiet Room and there were a few who had turned on the TV and were watching without any problem.

I saw Mel run out of the Quiet Room Area, catch one of the kids, Manuel, and walk him to the Quiet Room. Manuel was a funny little Mexican, pudgy and bossy. Whenever you gave him a direction or a time out or generally said something he didn't like, he would respond with,

"I don't HAVE TO! I'm gonna TELL! Then you're going to JAIL! Cuz I'm gonna call the COPS! And then they're gonna SHOOT YOU! Because I know the number to nine one ONE!" He was so authoritative, fat and pompous about it that I nicknamed him "El Presidente."

Mel led him by the collar and handed him off to Guru who was standing by the Quiet Room door, holding the lock so that the 5 or so other residents could not come out. As Guru took hold of El Presidente, and as Mel left the area, some of the boys in the Quiet Room managed to push the door partially open. Instinctively, Guru pushed the door, and El Presidente into it. This action scraped El Presidente's face against the door. El Presidente was yelling at Guru,

"You're gonna go to JAIL! I'm gonna tell on your ABUSE! My dad's gonna come here and SHOOT YOU!"

On the other side of the house, I saw Candace emerge from the staff office, arms folded, and walk out to her car. Mike came out after her and told me, "I already called for back-up so there will be more staff here soon. What do you need me to do?"

I said, "Go help out Guru. He's got too many kids in the quiet room and he's by himself. Mel and I will watch the floor."

It took about an hour and a half for the house to calm down. Even then, there was a tenuous and uncomfortable sexualized feeling in the house. Candace never came back.

After lunch, I took most of the boys out onto the back porch to play basketball. Every now and then I would glance inside to see what was going on. At one point, I saw El Presidente on the phone. I figured that he had gotten permission from another staff to call his family. As it turned out, all of us staff had thought the same thing, wrongly.

In a few minutes, a sheriff's car pulled up to our house. The deputy knocked on the door and said, "Is there a staff here named Guru? May I talk to him please?"

El Presidente had called 911 and said Guru had hit him and thrown him on the floor. El Presidente had scrapes on his face to "prove" it. Although Guru had explained to the deputy what had happened, technically the intervention was illegal because Guru was handling the kid by himself. After interviews were conducted, Administrative staff called to the house and El Presidente immediately transferred out of our agency and into a temporary shelter, Guru was put on Administrative leave. I can't tell you how difficult it is to lose a seasoned staff member like that. Maybe the only thing harder is to dispel the belief in the residents that all staff are abusive.

Two weeks later, Guru had been transferred to the "transition house," the house for 17 and 18 year olds whose programs do not require hands-on. If they act up, you just evacuate the house and call the sheriff. I ran into Guru not long after he had been put out to pasture.

"Guru, I'm really sorry about what happened. When the whole house is blowing out like that, it's just impossible to go by the book."

Guru was philosophical. "I've been here 17 years, I may be here 17 more. This is what I was born to do, and I'll keep on doing it as long as I'm able." He pushed out his eyes for effect, took a long draw on his cigarette and stared out into the distance. I had to wonder if Guru was thinking the same thing as me. How could we have all been so stupid as to let El Presidente and a staff named Candace who had been here for all of 2 minutes mess up the career of a dedicated staff who had been here for 17 years?

Entry 33: I Read The News Today, Oh Boy

I have been working here long enough to have the dubious privilege of reading about some of our former charges in the newspapers. And as you can imagine, the stories are never for something good like winning awards, getting elected or making a pro sports team. So you can imagine my reluctance when, as I walked into work one day, one of the a.m. staff members held up the local paper and asked, "Have you seen this yet?"

I really dreaded what I was about to read. Thoughts came rushing in of the other newsworthy events that our "graduates" have committed during my career here:

- A black kid from the worst part of the ghetto was placed here, swore for 4 years that when he was discharged he was going right back home to sell crack. He said he wanted to get rich just like his big brother. The newspaper reported that he was shot to death right outside of his house a week after he was discharged.

- Another kid, placed with us after being sexually abused for years by his mother and sister wound up strangling his sister to death after leaving us.

- Another kid was found drowned in a creek with toxic levels of meth in his blood.

- Another kid tied up an 84-year-old woman and beat her with her own cane until she told him where her credit cards were. He was arrested an hour later at the mall trying to buy cd's with her card.

So, yes, it was with some trepidation that I picked up the paper to read "Two Group Home Boys Hold Off Police for Hours, Suffer Hypothermia in Lake."

I sighed in relief.

"Well that's not too bad," I said. I looked around the house. "Am I to assume that Michael and Francis will be needing to be picked up from the Hall?"

"Francis will, but Michael's still at the hospital. You have to pick him up there."

"Well, fine. But how the hell did they get out to the lake?" I wondered.

"They slipped out last night right after dinner. We had half the campus looking for them. We searched
everywhere: the freeway, the school kitchen, Toys R Us, everywhere. Maybe when you see them, you can ask them."

"Yeah, maybe I'll just work some of that Stokie Jaye magic." And that's just what I set off to do.

Wouldn't be a good idea to pick them both up at the same time. Unless you have several staff with you, the kids will get right back into their bravado routine and probably try to escape or do something equally as stupid. I decided to first pick up Francis at the juvenile hall we call "The Country Club," bring him back to the house, then go get Michael at the hospital.

I checked in at the front desk of the hall, and waited until they led Francis out. As he opened the door and limped toward me, I could see that he was caked in mud, clothes ripped beyond use. He was wearing county issued paper slippers.

"Where are your shoes?" I asked.

"Fuck if I know. If I had them I'd still be running. 'Stead these fuckin' neeger cops made me lose 'em."

The guard, a large man of the "neeger" persuasion stepped up. "Apparently, your boy here lost them in the mud on the shores of the lake. That mud there is about 4 feet deep."

"The bastard cops made me lose 'em and now I got this!" He took off his paper wrap and showed me cut and bloodied toes and soles.

"Oh yeah, and them reeds can be awful sharp can't they, boy?"

"Shut the hell up neeger wardie bitch, before you get sued!"

I could see that Francis might not be in the best mood to talk about the previous night's exploits. In the van, I decided to give it a try, "Gosh Francis, I'm glad you're okay. The whole campus was looking for you last night. You guys are really good AWOLers. How'd you do it?"

Francis liked it when you told him he was good at something. "Hee! I knew it. Everyone was looking all over the place, so we didn't go nowhere. You know that metal circle down by the school basketball courts?"

"You mean the sewer?"

"Yeah, that. We got in it and just stayed there til morning. Then we walked to the lake."

"So you two spent the night in the sewer."

"Whoa guy, why do you have to say it like that? I'm not like that. And I'm not gay, either. Plus, we really fucked up those cops. That'll teach them not to mess with us."

"Oh God, what did you do?"

"Well they seen us on the road near the lake and they tried to get us, but we had too many rocks and then we ran through all them bushes -- that's where we lost our shoes--and they couldn't see us and we got in the lake."

"Wait a minute. You guys can't swim, what do you mean you got in the lake?"

"We walked out up to our noses so we could still breathe and they couldn't do nothing cuz they couldn't get in the water. They're all bitches, anyway. That's why they got that fuckin' boat, cuz they're bitches."

"Oh Jesus Francis! You mean they had to get a boat?"

"And a fuckin' helicopter cuz the boat couldn't see us neither. That'll teach them not to mess with us hoo-riders. It was only cuz the helicopter seen us that they grabbed us with the boat. But I'm calling Johnnie Cochran and suing cuz that's police brutality and they can't put hand cuffs on you and throw you on the floor of a boat."

I thought about that for a while, taking it all in.

"Francis?" I said, staring very seriously.

"Now what?"

"You know I already talked to Michael," I lied.

"Goddammit! We didn't have sex in the sewer! Plus it wasn't my idea. He's the one who said it already smelled like shit. Besides, I ain't no fag. Just because you have sex with boys doesn't mean you're a fag, goddammit!"

"Never said you were, Francis. Never said you were."

Entry 32: Springtime is for Lovers

The organization is in big trouble, financially. Like many non-profits, we have had to put up with our share of budget cuts, salary freezes and program reorganizations. We are situated on a huge chunk of protected, sensitive land which has been the center of a protracted battle between environmentalists and our own administration who want to sell parts of the property to developers to increase revenues. This is a fight that existed before I ever got there and will probably continue long after I am gone. For all I know, this issue may never be resolved.

In any case, one of the ways the organization has managed to generate income and services is through leasing out office and storage space at low cost to sympathetic and beneficial companies, like a certain contracting/construction company who then performs upgrades and improvements to our physical plant at no cost. So while we staff continue to struggle through cuts in health benefits and overtime pay, we continue to see nice new gardens, white fences and newly paved roads sprout up all around the campus.

The crowning jewel is the restoration of a century old arboretum and courtyard, complete with fountain, fresh grass and cobblestones. Since we are a religiously affiliated organization with an adjoining chapel (freshly painted), many marrying couples hold a reception, for a fee, in the rejuvenated courtyard.

One such event happened to be taking place on a lovely spring morning when Michael (who you remember saw an image of Blue Boy in the wall) and Francis, another marginally developmentally delayed boy who incidentally looks just like Jughead from the Archie comic books, slipped out of the house, unnoticed.

Michael and Francis have had a history of secret, sexual escapades. Once, Francis was caught sitting on Michael's lap, pants off, in Michael's laundry basket. They said they were playing "Santa Claus." Another time, Francis attempted to get Michael in trouble by revealing what a lying cheat Michael really is. He told me, "I hate Michael. He's such a liar. He said he'd give me four batteries for my radio if I booty-bumped him. But when I did, he only gave me two, the bitch."

A hillside overlooks the courtyard where the wedding party was taking place. Michael and Francis decided to use this as a staging area to launch their attack. At first it started as a raid to steal food and provisions for a longer and, no doubt, sexually motivated escape to calmer environs, but when the caterers caught them in the back of their van and demanded that they stop eating the pate and baguettes they had found, it became a more serious battle involving larger armies.

The boys retreated to the hillside to recoup the honor they had lost in being caught by a caterer. Their identities discovered, they began to throw rocks and sticks at the lovely couple, as well as a hundred or so stunned guests. Francis began a war-cry of "Fuck all you neegers! Heeee!" When he said this he stuck his jaw out and closed his eyes in a retard-style proclamation of self-satisfaction. Michael ad-libbed his own running commentary, "That bitch is gonna get fucked tonight just like my mama!" all the while jabbing his pointer-finger in his eye to slow the uncontrollable twitch that causes it to roll around in its socket.

They tore branches off the trees and held them out in front of their waists like giant, leafy penises, all the while screaming, "Wedding balls are ringing! Take it all, you ho! Look, I got a woody, get it?" Some of the braver male guests threw off their tuxedo jackets and attempted to scramble up the hill to intervene but quickly backed off when they were hit with dirt clods and spit.

The warriors continued their assault until two deputy sheriffs arrived. The officers moved through the wedding party to the edge of the hill. Emboldened by the sight of the law, the boys defied all demands that they surrender and put down their weapons. The officers climbed the hill and approached, commanding that the boys put their hands on their heads. Michael picked up a large branch and cracked the cop over the arm.

From the bottom of the hill, the wedding party, agency administrators and a half a dozen counselors watched the gentle orange mist of pepper spray rise above Michael's head after it slammed into his face. The cop held the screaming and gagging Michael with his billie-club over his neck.

Francis saw this, interlocked his fingers on top of his head and calmly turned to the other officer, "You mean like this?"