Finding Absolution in Getting Egged

In my continued effort at getting into a four-year university, I began classes at Pasadena City College. Here I first met Janet, whose hate-filled goose emasculated me, and Bart, who tried to save me.

This is a college entry from the Honorable Resume.

Bart was thirty. For the sake of reference, in retrospect he looked like Adrian Grenier, the future lead from the HBO series Entourage. It was common for he and I to leave class and walk to our cars together. Over time we became friends, at his urging, but when he started to flood our answering machine with calls I didn’t want, my roommate and I started to refer to him as Ballsac Bart.

While walking one night Bart confessed to me that before coming to California, he worked as a stripper in New York City. As is typical of such confessionals, Bart talked to me in detail about all the horribly delicious vices associated with stripping. There’s lots of drugs and threesomes and spontaneous blowjobs, you know these things are happening all the time and you get used to them, calloused about them.

He had my interest; I wanted to hear more vices.

Instead, Bart steered into that one fateful night when everything changed: on his way to work he experienced an epiphany, something about God telling him that he could not continue living in this filth and sin. He turned around and went home, although he eschewed the subway and, filled with the spirit…