Jerred Jolin, 3/5/2012

Current Occupation: Intake/Assessment Coordinator for a company that provides vocational-related services to individuals with a variety of intellectual deficits and developmental delays

Former Occupation: Clinical Assistant for a compay that provides early intervention services to children with Autism.

Contact Information: A writer by night, between the hours of 9-5 Jerred works supporting individuals with special needs. On any given day he might be found at Walgreens completing a vocational assessment or learning the ins and outs of selling flirty flats in the Kohls shoe department alongside a young man with Asperger’s Syndrome. He resides in Oakland, Ca., holds a Master’s Degree in Human Science and has been interested in writing poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction since around 2005, the year he completed an undergraduate degree in armchair anthropology. His writing has appeared in Challenger International and he currently has forthcoming publications in The Binnacle, Chest, The Ultimate Writer, Conceit Magazine, and Amulet. He has managed to survive 31 years on this Earthplanet.

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Country Club Ruffie

The bow tie is asphyxiating.

Always ice cream stains on the shirt cuff and sleeve;

varying hues of cappuccino and peppermint stick.

The paisley vest is more

at home at a Native American Casino black jack table.

It hides the wrinkles, though.

Slacks need pressing—

any semblance of professionalism, gone.

This is four-star service.

Now it’s time to begin:

Feigned interest in menu items

coupled with little knowledge of wine gets me by.

Important to respond quickly,

no quavers,

no weakness,

then smile.

Many demands and questions.

“How is that bisque? How big is this salad?

May I have 7/10 of an order? Not too big though

and with the dressing on the side.

I’ll have the petrale sole, no potato.

Give me the rice from the steak plate and

substitute the haricot vert from the lamb dish.

No sauce, no breading.

Cook the fish in extra virgin olive oil.”

The menu is never good enough,

always there are substitutions.

I have my revenge though:

“Decaf you say? Right away.”

They’re sensitive septuagenarians,

a little caffeine going quite a way.

So I drug them:

The country club ruffie.

“If this isn’t decaf and I’m up at three in the morning, I’m calling you.”

This gets a rise from her guests.