Tough Girl | Eriq & Jim | Eluding the Cops '94

by the Gus

It seems that somehow Ben Neaubaurer became manager of Uncle John's Pizza in Oberlin, and when he wasn't making moves on his female employees, he was given to employing industrious individuals, such as a certain guy named Jim Eriqicker who appeared in town this past August in anticipation of his girlfriend, who, being an Oberlin student and living off campus, would provide him a place to live and jollies as necessary. I know that was a long sentence, but it is grammatically unassailable. So anyway, until Jim's girlfriend blew into town (from her home town of Seattle, no less), Jim would have no place to sleep aside from the grunji streets of Oberlinistan. Meeting Ben Neaubaurer, however, hooked Jim up to both steady employment as well as a steady paycheck. What was more, Jim was even allowed to sleep off the nights in Ben's VW ubus.

I was in Oberlin during these interesting proto-times-of-things-to-come (excuse the foreshadowing) and I met Jim. He was making himself useful by accosting citizens in the streets to offer them Uncle John's Pizza Coupons, in a desperate effort to increase business for the increasingly disreputable Pizza Place. Meanwhile, Ben was giving away free pizzas to his friends and the many objects of his less arid fantasies, but that is another story. Ben thought Jim a remarkable employee, and took to hanging around him socially as well as businessally. They became friends, and I was often witness to their conviviality.

Jim's most fascinating trait was his constantly expressed desire for female companionship, not necessarily that of his girlfriend. He couldn't wait the week it would take for her to arrive. I thought this amusing, and brought it up continually in conversations with both Jim and Ben. And when, for example, Deb Toll and Christin Knowlton blew into town to begin the school year, I told them that I knew of a guy who was busy looking for a member of a gender not his own. To this Christin was silent, but Deb responded that she already had a boyfriend, a certain individual named Palau whom she met during her Spring Semester in Chile.

One day, I appeared in the Pizza Place after one of Jim's especially excruciating days of hustling coupons. Jim was somewhat exhausted, but he had enough reserve energy to speak highly of himself, something he took great pleasure in doing. To this I responded that maybe he should run for a political office. He claimed that he had "a checkered fucking past" and that he probably couldn't go anywhere in "fucking politics." On reflection, I mentioned that I too have a checkered past. To this Jim's response was simply, "fuck... anyone that's fucking cool has a checkered fucking past." His logic was at least as good as the combined wit of Beavis and Butthead.

So I left Oberlin, and returned to Staunton to do what I normally do, and Ben, Jim, the Pizza Place, and the rest of Oberlin stuck as a frozen frame in my mentality, much like the whitish-blue spot you see when you close your eyes after looking at the sun for too long, LSD not included.

In October I returned, and heard the most amazing story related to Jim, and this is where Eriq Schliqer becomes an important factor. It seems that Eriq, living as he did at 30 Vine Street with Ben Neubaurer, often had occasion to run across Ben during such common activities as forays to the indoor fecal graveyard, the food preparatory facilities, and other such common space as you would expect to find in the mutual home of two Oberlin residents coping with the malady of testosterone poisoning. Though Ben and Eriq lived seemingly contentedly with one another, the frequent presence of Jim rummaging through the silverware and refrigerator often injected tension into the household. Nothing was spoken, but under the surface, bad blood began to build. The only other resident of the house was Meley Mulugetta, who'd just moved out of the very familiar Apartment #6 of the big place on Morgan Street. Now she was the bemused spectator as the sociology of her housemates unraveled around her. For this reason, most of the unbiased (or bilaterally biased, as the case may be) intelligence gathered concerning this affair was gathered from interviews with her.

A series of seemingly small events contributed to the overall dislike that Jim and Eriq started to have for one another. One such event that Ben Neubaurer related to me centers around a plate of nachos that Jim and Ben prepared one day at the pizza place. Piled high with chips purchased with Jim's meager income and festooned with cheese shoplifted with utmost care from IGA, these nachos proved a welcome sight for Eriq when he happened to walk in, coincidental with the nachos' emergence from the oven. Eriq, being the sort of testosteronitis victim that he is, invited himself to dine on the nachos, and aside from lavishly praising their yumminess, scarcely paused to breathe as he ate a large fraction of them. Not wanting to see good food go to waste, he moistened his finger to lick up the few crumbs remaining. With a merry burp, he leapt up to go play pool down at the Féve, the Oberlin Coffee Shop where all the cool people work. Jim was left with a scowl on his face, and he made a number of invectives against both Eriq and what he termed "that sow that suckled him." (Actually, I have no idea what Jim said at this point, but that sounded like the sort of thing a tortured intellectual might say to affect a reproachment, and this parenthetical sentence segways nicely to the next paragraph.)

Jim was a writer. He wrote stories about his life, stories that proclaim what a cool guy he is and what an interesting life he has led. There are stories that tell of kicking people's asses. There are stories about drinking lots of beers. There are stories of having sex with beautiful women whose hearts he was forced to break for the sake of freedom. There are stories of people who think of Jim as the most significant person since James Dean. There is even one story about Jim riding all around the country in an Amtrack lounge car, not having a ticket but never having to show one as long as he kept on drinking. And he could drink anyone under the table, so he claimed. I never had an opportunity to read any of Jim's body of work, but Meley Mulugetta has. She told me that every three or four words throughout the length of any of Jim's stories is a word built from the root word fuck. Thus, knowing only this, I will now construct a hypothetical sample of Jim's writing:

The Bitch I Fucked Next Door

by Jim Eriqicker

I was fucking tired of watching fucking teevee when the fucking doorbell rang. I was fucking out of fucking beer, but I was fucked, so it didn't fucking matter. I got out of my fucking chair after getting the fucking tarantula out of my fucking lap where it had been fucking sound asleep. Fucking Sally Jesse Raphæl can't even keep my fucking pet spider fucking interested. I went to the fucking door and there was a fucking bitch, standing there with nothing on but her fucking negligé. She fucking told me she was fucking locked out of her fucking house and she was fucking cold so could she fucking come in and fucking get warm? "Fuck yeah" I told her. So she fucking goes into the fucking living room and fucking sees my fucking tarantula and screams like fuck and fucking passes out fucking then and there. So, I fucking pick her up and fucking carry her to my fucking bedroom. My fucking bedroom, it's seen a lot of fucking action, I can fucking tell you. Fuck- the night before I had two fucking bitches in there, one fucking sucking my fucking dick while the other was fucking giving me a fucking backrub. About this time I'm thinking, fuck, this bitch is fucking beautiful. Then I fucking look around the fucking room and there're all these fucking rubbers full of fucking jism laying around, and I'm like fuck, what if she fucking wakes up and fucking looks around and sees all these fucking... and about that time she fucking starts moaning like she's coming to, so I go around and fucking pick up all the fucking rubbers and put them in my fucking used rubber collection, which is fucking starting to smell like a fucking rotting road kill because of all the fucking come in there. Then I happen to notice that her fucking hand has fucking come open and fucking big as day, I see she was fucking holding on to her fucking house key the whole fucking time. So I'm like fuck, the getting locked out of the house thing was a whole fucking ploy. So I fucking yank off her fucking panties, which were fucking peach-colored, I'll fucking have you know, and I get my fucking face in her fucking scrub and I'm like giving her the fucking snail and she's wide awake by now, her hands fucking pulling fucking hair out of my head as she fucking bucks her body in approval of the dance of my fucking tongue. Now this fucking bitch, she was plenty fucking beautiful, but fuck it if I'm going to fucking linger with my fucking face in some bitch's fucking swamp. So I unsheathe my fucking pink cannon (it's no fucking pistol), and leap up and fucking do the fucking plunge. By this time, fuck, she's fucking coming like a fucking punched hornet's nest and she's begging me to fucking jiz it over with, but fuck if I'm going to fucking shoot my fucking load yet. So I fucking leap up on her fucking chest and make her fucking suck it fucking out of me. A half a fucking hour later I fucking jiz in her fucking face, and she's fucking happy about it. I fucking give her a fucking minute to wipe off her face then I fucking kicked the fucking bitch out the fucking door. I fucking added her fucking panties to my fucking collection. I was fucking pleased as all fuck because this was the first fucking peach colored panties I'd ever fucking yanked off a fucking twat.

That sample of Jim's work wasn't quite representative, since it uses some form of the word fuck only 118 times in 607 total words, which comes to a fuck to other word ratio of only 0.24. Typically, the ratio is about 0.3, so I understand from the experts in Jim literaturology, none of whom have yet applied to teach an ex-co course on the subject.

Joe Getter, who lives on Elm Street and is good friends with both Ben Neubaurer and Eriq Schliqer, once had the occasion to have Ben, Eriq, and Jim over for dinner. The thing that greatly disturbed Joe about Jim was that all ever Jim talked about was himself, and what an amazing and interesting guy he is. What is more, Joe was most unimpressed with Jim's general regard for women, which seemed to be consistently at about the level of the sample of his literature just provided.

Back to the story at hand. Let me advance the time frame a week or so. All the students came flooding into Oberlin in every colour of Volvo imaginable. Jim soon heard of the arrival of his girlfriend from Seattle, and he set off to renew old acquaintances. Now Jim's girlfriend (her name escapes me) lived only two doors up Vine Street, and was easily found. However, she had been unaware of Jim's presence in town, and in any case, had in the meantime become the girlfriend of a certain Ben Reuben (formerly of Harkness), who also lived in her house. When Jim appeared at her front door, his old girlfriend was not even remotely interested in renewing old acquaintances, and advised Jim simply that he shouldn't let the door hit him in the ass as he left, and on that note she coolly turned and went slowly up the stairs to the bathroom to pierce another part of her body- maybe her other eyebrow. (A month or so later, after she had enough piercings, she had the qualifications necessary to work at the Féve, where she was often seen pouring ethnic coffees and spreading imported goat cream cheese on overpriced bagels.)

Jim's life now was nonetheless better than it had been when he lived in Seattle. In Oberlin he had friends, a steady job, and his bed in Ben's microbus was actually sheltered from the rain. Jim had decided that he liked this town, and he intended to stay. But the nights were growing cooler, and Jim was starting to have difficulty staying warm as he slept. Besides, should Jim score with a member of the vagina-equipped gender, it would be embarrassing to lead her back to a microbus for a romantic liaison. So Jim decided one day to move into Ben Neaubaurer's house, to live with Ben and his housemates Meley and Eriq. Both Meley and Ben were ambivalent about Jim's moving in. Jim had apparently decided to live in a very small room in the house that was currently only being used for storage, and this didn't trouble anyone except Eriq. You see, by now Jim was openly hostile to Eriq, and the two were scarcely on speaking terms. For legitimate reasons, it would seem, Eriq didn't find the idea of a hostile man living across the hall very appealing. Eriq's resistance to Jim's moving in caused further animosity to develop, and soon it was clear that the future was pregnant with confrontation.

One evening, Jim and Ben were in the house discussing what a jerk Eriq is; every bit of faulty personal minutæ was gone over, stories were told, and the discussion repeatedly came to the point where Jim would say something to sum it up like, "And fucking now the fucking fuck head won't fucking let me fucking move the fuck into the fucking worst fucking shit fuck room in the fucking house, the fucker!" After the conversation had run its course, they both left for the pizza place, and on the way by Eriq's door, Jim stopped and drew Ben's attention. Eriq's door had a big old lock barring anyone without a key from entering (he'd been doing this since someone stole a light bulb from his room). Said Jim, "Look at this fucking door! Fucking locked! What the fuck is the fucker so fucking afraid of? Well fucking take this-" and he jumped back, throwing his weight behind a swift steel-toed kick, and the screws popped off around the latches and hinges like the Fourth of July, and the door fell over like a tired mercenary, as if to say "leave me alone, I just work here." At the time Ben's eyebrows were raised. But he'd seen things a hell of a lot more puzzling while on LSD.

A couple days later, Jim met Eriq in his living room, and tough guy Jim found his way into Eriq's face to say that he was going to live in Eriq's house, that he o... hold on, let me put it in Jim's words, "Fucking look here, you facial hair scraggle-pustule. I am going to fucking live in this fucking house. You can't fucking stop me, you fucking insect. I fucking own this fucking town. Fucking everybody thinks I'm fucking great, especially compared to your fucking sorry fuckship. So fucking watch the fuck out." And with that he climbed down out of Eriq's face and set off for the Taphouse, where he fancied he was developing a klan of brutish followers and a cadre of female admirers.

Jim drank many beers all that afternoon, waxing studly the whole time about how he would "kick fucking Eriq's fucking ass." Some of the people he told this to, a girl named Jeannette, for example, didn't know Jim was talking about Eriq Schliqer. Say what you want to about Eriq, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would piss anyone off enough that they would be moved to conspire against him.

Meanwhile, Eriq had gone to his friends (Joe [Getter] and Kate's) house for dinner, and he had no idea as he returned home with a belly full of fine vegetarian cuisine what lay in wait for him on his own front porch. But there he was, Jim.

Jim leaped off the porch and ran up to Eriq and socked him right in the kisser. Eriq was puzzled. He'd never been hit in the face before, and it was an odd sensation, he told me later. He asked Jim, "Do you want to talk about something, I'm sure we could just talk about this..." Jim was apparently not in a talking mood, except that he paused long enough to say, "There's more where that fucking came from, and I'm fucking wearing steel toed boots too." (The more Jim had to say, the fewer fucks he used.) With that, Jim socked Eriq again. Eriq was still puzzled, but he decided apparently that there was little to be gained by lingering in this rather punishing environment. So he ran diagonally across the parking lot behind the Muffler place to the general vicinity of the Féve. There Jim pummeled Eriq until he fell to the ground, and then he kicked him a few times. Eriq wasn't resisting this in any way, and Jim felt like he'd made his point, so he fled north on Main Street and disappeared.

People who go to the Féve expect a little pleasant coffee, a bit of overpriced food, perhaps, and maybe just a little firtive eye contact with someone whom they do not know but would like to know. They certainly don't expect someone to get their sweet little ass kicked outside the window. So, while most of the customers stared in caffeine-enhanced disbelief, a few of the cool people who work at the Féve came out to see if Eriq was severely damaged. As it happens, Eriq was only superficially injured. His lip had begun to swell dramatically, and elsewhere he was bruised. One of the more multipli- pierced employees asked if the police should be called. Eriq said that sure, he figured that would be a good idea.

When the police arrived, they accompanied Eriq back to where the crimes had commenced. For some reason, Eriq found it necessary to go to his room, which he had been unable to keep locked for the last few days. Inside, he found devastation. His fish tank had been cruelly smashed, and all the water had spilled onto the floor and the fish had smothered in the air and died. All the books had been shoved to a pile on the floor. A large carving knife had been rudely inserted in the wall above the bed. And the bed itself was wet with some vaguely ammonia-smelling fluid. Up until this point, Eriq would have been content to just let Jim go and not press charges. But the death of his fish, the menacing knife in the wall...this made him agree with some vehemence with the cops when they suggested he press charges. As for the state of Eriq's room, the police had no way of knowing whether Eriq had arranged it to look that way, and they told him so. But they were pretty sure that Jim had committed assault at the very least, and they took notes and interviewed witnesses in that characteristically moronic fashion that cops are so famous for. They also drew up a warrant for Jim's arrest. The cops didn't make any great effort to search for Jim, since they knew the likelihood of finding him was small. In fact, they set out from the crime scene directly for Duncan Donuts, where they were seen a half hour later by some Féve employees making a coffee run (no Féve employee actually drinks Féve coffee, and this has caused me discomfort on more than one occasion). Eriq alerted his friends that they should call the cops if anyone happened to see Jim, and he set off to straighten out his room.

Oberlin was now fully abuzz with the "How Eriq got his ass kicked by that guy Jim" story. Meanwhile, Jim had found his way back to the Taphouse, where he not only boasted of his day's accomplishment, but tried to round up a posse for the purpose of kicking Eriq's ass one more time. Crazy Al, Féve smoking room regular, told me that Jim had attempted to recruit him for such a mission, with Jim saying things like, "Fucking come on Al, let's go fuck him up fucking good this time. The Fucking loser doesn't deserve another fucking day of life. Fucking I am going to fucking live in that fucking house!"

It probably isn't worthwhile to speculate on how Jim thought kicking Eriq's ass would affect Eriq's opinion on whether Jim would be allowed to live in Eriq's house. The truth is that Jim's unproductive violence had burst forth as a result of a day of heavy drinking, and it just isn't likely that he thought much about the consequences of his actions.

By night time, Jim had run out of drinking money, and he had sobered up considerably. He had started thinking about what might happen as a result of the day's events. Paranoia set in. So he went to Harkness and sat in the lounge, chatting up some random girl, hoping time would pass. When she went off to bed, he was alone and was forced to pace the floor, looking nervously out the window.

Joe Getter, the guy who'd had Eriq over at his house for dinner, stopped by Harkness to visit his friend, Rhea. Passing the lounge, he noticed Jim, the wanted man, face in his hands, sitting on a couch. Joe sneaked off discreetly and called the cops, having stationed Rhea to make sure Jim didn't slip out. When the cops showed up, Joe led them right to Jim, saying to him, "Well Jim, it looks like your time is up. The man's come for you." Asked the cop, "is you name Jim Eriqicker?" To which Jim responded calmly in the affirmative. And he left without complaint.

I now cut ahead to the arraignment. Jim was brought out in handcuffs, having had a pleasant weekend in the clink. He was in a foul mood, even though he had to concede that the food had been good. Eriq was there for the purposes of being confronted by the accused. The police report was read, "And on this day of ______, the plaintiff, a certain Eriq Schliqer, of 30 Vine Street, Oberlin, did, while peacefully approaching his domicile, meet with the first degree misdemeanor assault of the defendant, a certain Jim Eriqicker, vagrant, of no fixed address..." To which an indignant Jim shouted, "I am not a fucking vagrant!!" And predictably the judge said, "One more outburst like that, Mr. Eriqicker, and I'll charge you with contempt of court." The report was finished, and the Judge asked all present if the account was accurate. Jim said, "Well, your honour, Eriq fucking hit me first..." The Judge told Jim, "You are welcome to use that word in the privacy of your own mind - or your own home, that is if you actually had one. But you are not to use that word in my court! Okay then, how do you plead, Mr. Eriqicker?" Jim pled, "Not guilty, your honour. He hit me first! - well, okay -Guilty!! Guilty!! GUILTY!! FUCKING SATISFIED, SCHLIQEMEISTER??? FUCKING SATISFIED JUDGY-WUDGY??? FUCKING SATISFIED FUCKING PIGS?? HUH? Said the Judge, "get that animal out of my court." And Jim was roughly led out. The Judge asked Eriq what sentence he thought Jim should receive, and Eriq suggested that Jim be held until his airplane reservation arrived, some two weeks from that day, and that Jim be escorted by the cops to be sure that he made it onto the plane. The Judge agreed and sentenced Jim to 30 days in jail and a 500 dollar fine. That part of the sentence after the airplane departure date was suspended, and two weeks later Jim was escorted by police to the airport and was seen off into those friendly skies. A two year restraining order bars Jim from returning to within the Oberlin City Limits.

Eriq still had mixed feelings about pressing charges against Jim. You see, Eriq is virtually a charicature of anti-establishmentarianism, and generally is of the belief that anyone who seeks the aid of the cops has sold out, and anyone that is captured by the cops is a martyr. Still, Eriq's brooding on this matter didn't last long. He had become a celebrity, with people viewing him much as they view Gandhi, a man who will not raise a hand against the thugs who beat him. His pacifism puzzled some, but it enamoured others. Soon Eriq was involved in a relationship with a blond girl named Qate Luqer he met at the pool table in the Féve, and life seemed to be going very well indeed.

Tough Girl | Eriq & Jim | Eluding the Cops '94