Kissing Balls
“Is this Karen?” said the woman on the phone.
“No, this is Aron,” I said.
“Well, this is Loretta. I want you girls to come back to work.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Last week you claimed to really want this job. You owe it to me to give the job another chance.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I believe you two could make a lot of good money in tips, besides your hourly wage.”
“Forget it. We are not coming back!” I cried and slammed down the phone.
“Is that who I think it is?” said Karen, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah, she wants us to return.”
“That’s sad.”
“You were the one who talked us into getting a nighttime job.”
Two weeks before my collage roommate Karen decided that we both needed more spending money. After going through wanted adds, she lined up an interview for evening waitressing at a Bowling Alley. I was leery, but Karen claimed we would make lots of money.
So we walked into “Sleeze-O-Rama” Bowling Alley and asked for Loretta. She took one look at us and said, “How old are you girls?”
My best friend says, “Eightee…twenty-one. Twenty-one!”
The next thing I know, we’re dressed in a uniforms fit for a hooker in a heat wave.
Loretta hired us as cocktail waitress for the graveyard shift. And it was as cold in there as a case of frozen semen.
I’m freezing my butt off to a disco beat and serving burgers, fries, and beer to Neanderthals.
Now, I’m not saying those men were old. I just saying that they reminded me of…Forget it, nothing comes to me. They were men who liked to show off to other men and say old men sexist shit to make their friends laugh.
Anyway, these “sportsmen” hollered obnoxious things like, “Hey girlies, why don’t you smile? What are you doing after your shift? Can I buy you a drink?”
I barely concealed my dislike of their comments as I delivered their food and drinks. This of course resulted in more why don’t you smile comments.
Then one fellow outdid himself and hollered, “Hey girls, can one of you come over here and kiss our balls for luck?”
Karen, who really was strapped for cash, yelled, “I will for a buck!”
I came down bronchial pneumonia and only made a few quarters. Karen did better, but even she had to agree that the job sucked. Kissing balls isn’t a big money maker.
Aron Lee Bowe is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support the work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.




Whew! I'm glad you meant bowling balls!
Great telling of a miserable time. I was not being treated any better in the corporate world in the early 70s.