Spanky’s Pizza
When I was 12-13 years old, my dad opened a pizza shop named Spanky’s Pizza in downtown Miamisburg. He decorated it almost “Goodfellas” style, with a 30s-50s vibe, and black & white pictures of old-time movie stars on the antique brick walls. My mom actually planned my sweet 16 birthday party there, which was horribly embarrassing because I really didn’t have many friends, and my “party” was empty except for my best friend Rhonda and my boyfriend, Mark.
Popularity versus Notoriety
I was always a social pariah in school; one of 4-5 kids in my high school class that really stuck out as odd, or different. I felt it all the time. I remember my dad describing my friends or school success to my Uncle Barry once during the holidays – I didn’t tell my parents about my social issues. My uncle said, so – you’re popular, huh? I replied, “Well, more like notorious.” Which was pretty much the truth, and I always was precise about my words. I also just never could lie. I often wonder, because of that conversation between my dad and his brother that day, if my dad also experienced feeling like an outcast in school – just because of his apparent need to brag about his daughter’s supposed social prowess.
My First Boyfriend
Anyway, I met Mark working at my dad’s pizza place where I’d often help out after school. He was one of the delivery boys that worked there. He was a student at the county vocational school, so he didn’t know my reputation (it didn’t help that I was about 15-20% overweight in high school either). He was tall and blonde and 2 years ahead of me (a junior) – so I felt like I’d finally stepped up on the social rungs. We had a lot of fun times – he was definitely one of the vocational kids, but he was sweet to me, and I got to try on a social role I hadn’t experienced before – being an official “girlfriend” as in “going together” we called it back then. I took him to a family reunion at the lake, where a whole bunch of Spanky’s staff joined us, and I played with the other couples in the water as if I were just regular teenager like everyone else. Most of those kids were the potheads. It’s interesting that most of my life I’ve noticed that the “potheads” as I knew them back them, are actually kinder and more accepting than most people. They mostly tended to exclude me though because I was seriously anti-drug and a potential snitch. After months of dating and hanging out together, I for some reason broke up with Mark just out of the blue (common to 16-year old girls testing their social power I suspect). Mark drove me home from Spanky’s one night, and I decided to play with him by taking the string of beads on his rearview mirror down. I’d hung them there as a gift and “mark” of our going together when he first asked me to make it official. He was pretty hurt – I could see it in his eyes, but I was always just testing the water with him (even social pariahs can be cruel). And then he got angry and said, fine and I got out of the car and went in the house to bed.
Threats for a Blow Job
A few days later I was visiting my friend Cheri way over on the other side of town, probably 15 miles from Spanky’s. I’d ridden the bus home with her after school, but I could only stay for a while because her mom insisted it was time for homework. My dad sent Rod, who was Mark’s best friend, to pick me up and bring me back on his way from a pizza delivery. Rod and Mark lived in the same neighborhood, but Rod went to Miamisburg HS same as me while Mark was at the Vo-tech. We were driving back to Spanky’s, on Centerville Pike (Rt. 725) out by I-75 in front of the K-mart in his little tan Pinto, when he brought up me and Mark. He asked me was I serious about it, or was I going to get back with him. I told him I didn’t know (in my head I was still testing that little bit of social power). Then he got onto the subject of, “I know who you are at school. I know nobody likes you.” I was dumbfounded, I guess, but then he said, “You should give me a blow job.” I remember looking at him like he was crazy (frankly I didn’t even know any more about a blow job than the connecting parts). He then continued, “Either you give me a blow job, or I’m going to tell Mark the whole truth about you.” Well, that sort of blew my newfound social power out of the water.
I got justifiably mad and told him he could either drop me off out there on Centerville Pike and I’d call my dad for a new ride, or he could take me back to Spanky’s, but either way, he wasn’t getting a blowjob. I was socially awkward, but I had principles. He took me back to Spanky’s, and I avoided him from there on out. Mark quit his job at Spanky’s, and even though I tried to call him a couple of times over that summer, he never answered, and I didn’t see him again until the next year at the start of school.
The Inescapable Realization Hits
The Vo-tech kids were picked up from all over the county on the regular school buses, and then dropped off at Miamisburg HS where they had their lockers, before boarding a new bus to the Vo-tech school way out on the west side of the county between Dayton and Germantown. The very first day of school, I nearly walked right into Mark in the main lockers area. I took a step back (I frequently didn’t watch where I was going, because I always had my head in a book), looked up at him, and said, “Well, hello there!” The shame and humiliation in his eyes was plain to see. He did a 180 degree spin and started walking, (quickly) the other way. I called after him, but nothing. I realized that Rod carried through on his threat to tell Mark all about me (probably even embellished a bit), and Mark was ashamed and humiliated that he’d ever dated Faye Martin, social outcast. All my hopes of having outgrown my social awkwardness, and looking forward to presenting myself as a new, cooler me, and no longer an outcast starting my sophomore year – went straight into the ground right then and there. I wanted to cry – I wanted to run and hide. But all I could do was put on a face – and get through the day. Many times I got picked on, made fun of, singled out, played hurtful pranks on, stared at and more in high school. I learned to just keep my mask – pretend it didn’t hurt, and consider suicide alone at home. I never really had anyone to talk to about it except Rhonda. I had a definite sense that saying anything to my parents would just shame them too.
