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Aaron and Trevor
It was the year 1990, before most people had cell phones. Aaron rapped on my bedroom door. “Phone for you, Trev.”
“Be right there,” I called. Closing my Biology book, I left my room and went to the phone. It was Karen.
“Who was that who answered the phone?” she asked.
“That was Aaron, my roommate.”
“Oh, you have a roommate?”
“Yeah. A couple of months now. He's really nice -- you'd like him.”
“What's he like?”
“Uh -- really cool. Quiet, ultra non-aggressive. Super polite -- calls my parents' 'ma'am' and 'sir'. Asks me if it would be a bother if he turned some music on. And neat? You never saw a kid with such a neat bedroom. I have to go some to hold my end up in the housework.”
“Wow. I wish I could find a roommate like that. Listen, can you come over? We’re gonna watch a Star Wars movie and have pizza and soda.”
“Sure. I’ll be right over.”
“Hey, invite Aaron if you want.”
“Okay.” We hung up.
“Aaron, you want to come over to Karen’s and meet some kids? They’re gonna watch a movie and have pizza.”
“Sorry, Trev -- I have to study. Big Accounting test tomorrow. Thanks for asking me, though.”
“Okay. I should be back around ten. Need anything while I’m out?”
“No thanks -- I’m cool.”
I got to Karen’s in twenty minutes.
“Hey Trevor. You didn’t bring your roommate? We got extra pizza.”
“Sorry -- he had to study. Maybe I could bring him some pizza when I go home.”
“Sure. What’s he look like, anyway?”
“Aaron? Tall, blonde, thin, well-built, short hair, blue eyes -- always neat.”
“I’d like to meet him. Why don’t I come over Saturday.”
“Oh, sure -- you’re always welcome, Kare.”
The movie, “A New Hope”, was only two hours, and I got home at nine, an hour early. Aaron was in front of the TV. “Hey Aaron -- I brought some pizza.”
“You did? Oh, good, thanks, Trevor -- I want that. Let me put it in the microwave. Want some of this malt liquor?”
“Whoa -- that’s powerful stuff.”
“Yeah, I dishcovered that. I just wanted to unwind a bit, but I’m afraid itsh got me a little tipsy.”
“Ha ha. That’s funny. Sure, I’ll join you. I didn’t even know you drank.”
“I don’t, usually. It’s in the fridge.” (I went to the refrigerator.)
“Holy smokes -- how much did you buy? There’s nine bottles in here.”
“I got a 12-pack -- it was a much cheaper price that way.” I opened a bottle and joined him on the couch.
Malt liquor is deceptively strong, and an hour later we were both realy sappy. “How’d you get so neat and organized, Aaron? You’re the neatest kid I ever met.”
“Raised that way. Parents are very strict.”
“Yeah? I wish someone would strict me -- my room’s ground zero of an atom bomb.”
“You got that right. I throw my eyes out of focus when I walk by your door.”
“It’s not by choice.” I took a long swig from the bottle, turning the bottom up. “I just don’t know where to start.”
“Don’t focus on the mess -- just make space. One item at a time. Only that.”
“Why don’t you show me?”
“What? You want me to clean up your room for you? Nice try.”
“No, no -- just tell me what to do. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it.”
“Okay, I guess we could do that.”
“Now?”
“Okay, right now. Go to your room.” Aaron's inflections were subtly more confident and authoritative, and I actually jumped in my skin a little. We went to my room.
“How can you be so disordered like this?” (He was starting to bawl me out.) It only takes five minutes to put it in order. The barbell and the weights -- why didn't you put them away?”
“I leave them out most of the time. It’s quicker to set them up.”
“Space, Trevor. Space. Put them away. Over in the corner.” I started doing so, and soon finished. “The meditation seat on your bed -- where’s it supposed to go?”
“In the closet.” I put it there, on the shelf.
“Empty the wastebasket.” I took some time getting it emptied -- we had to go outside for that. “Get your buns in motion, Trevor,” he called.
I got back to the room. “Books on the shelf, in the right order.” I did it. “Pants and shirts put away.” I picked them up and put them away, some into the laundry bag in my closet.
“Now everything on the floor. One at a time. Pick them up and put them where they’re supposed to be. But nothing on the night stand. That should be clear.”
When this was done, he handed me a broom he’d fetched. “Now it’s down to sweeping,” he said. I started to sweep. “Put some muscle in it,” he told me. “Sweep hard. Hard!” (He was drunk as a skunk.) I swept harder.
When he finished, the room was incredibly ordered. “This is really good,” I said, “I didn’t know I could do that.”
“Fine. It is better. Now what about a punishment?” He was really getting warmed up.
“Punishment?” I thought a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I wasn’t put on notice.”
“Okay -- can I put you on notice?”
“All right -- I guess that would be okay.”
“Fine. You are on notice, Trevor.” Then he raised his voice. “If I find your room like that again, you are going to get it, but good. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. I felt very sheepish.
We went to bed. I was really quite crocked. About two a.m. I woke up, and a mood came on me. I got up and got my digital recorder out of the drawer. (I keep a voice-activated digital recorder in my room at all times, for making metal notes and, sometimes, to review anything that gets said in the room, 24/7. It records an entire week without getting used up.)
I plugged the recorder into the computer and brought up my home studio program. It was easy to isolate the last six hours and dupe it. I then found everything Aaron had said and lassoed that. Then I eliminated all the spaces, and had a fairly continual segment containing all of his utterances. Finally I isolated phrases and separated them into files. It took a little time, but I even captured some individual words. Then I began putting them together in a new way.
The fresh recording went like this:
How can you be so disordered like this? Now you are going to get it. Right now. Right now. On the floor. Pants down. (............) Over the meditation seat. (............) Now get your buns. But good! Hard. Hard! But good! This is punishment. Put some muscle in it. (............) Now stand in the corner. Five minutes.
My alarm clock system turns the percolator on first, then fifteen minutes later the alarm. I got up in the morning and drank a cup slowly, sitting on my bed, thinking about the night before. Then I got up and got my bluetooth headphones out, and went to my third bureau drawer and got out the self-applied paddle that I sometimes use in my self-discipline.
(instructions for constructing equipment here)
Setting the meditation seat on the floor with the paddle next to it, I went to the computer, brought up the voice file, adjusted the volume in the headset, and then simply obeyed it. I had my pajamas on, so it wasn’t awkward at all.
How can you be so disordered like this? Now you are going to get it. Right now. Right now. On the floor. Pants down. (............) Over the meditation seat. (............) Now get your buns. But good! Hard, hard! But good! This is punishment. Put some muscle in it. (............) Now stand in the corner. Five minutes.
Five minutes after I started standing in the corner, a deep, roseate glow of pain suffusing the muscles of my bottom from being smacked bare, repeatedly with authority, the voice came on again, saying, “Now you are on notice, Trevor. If I find your room like this again, you are going to get it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” my own voice replied.
I put everything away and left the room.
“Morning, Trev,” said Aaron. “Hey listen, I’m really sorry about last night. I don’t drink that much, and I’m afraid I was stewed to the gills. I couldn’t believe some of the things I remember I said to you. Please forgive me.”
“No problem, Aaron. I think it might have actually done me some good.”
“Whew. I’m glad you’re not mad at me.”
“No, no. Forget it, really.” I headed for the kitchen, singing a line from Shelly West’s ‘Jose Cuervo’. “Did I stand on the bar, did I shoot out the lights, did I get very far, did I start any fights?.............” Aaron laughed.
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