Job Requirements.

Sixty-five, too old to work too poor to quit.

Clock in.

Marching Bands, Floats, Juggler's, Clowns, Beauty Queens all reach the end of the parade route and disband in a Winn-Dixie parking lot.

I'm older than the boss. Older than dirt.

Bare foot children in torn jeans, dirty t-shirts run ahead of the street sweepers picking up hard candy thrown into the crowd by Brittney from the Discount Auto Parts float.

Boss asks if I ever worked temp labor before and, while he's thinking about it, he needs my social. Yes on temp labor. I'm so old my Social Security is 1. Boss laughs, hands me a box cutter. "Line one, number one."

Jerry from Clowning Round LLC changes from his bright red costume into basketball shorts and Converse hi-tops. Sips MD2020 sitting behind the wheel of his, slightly rusty, 68 Mustang.

He waits for her.

I cut open my first box, and hand bags of chips to Esmerelda who places each bag on a tray. I cut into a second box.

Linda unzips her blue gown, She let's it slide off her shoulders and gather around her feet; She looks down, admires her perfectly pedicured, blood red nails. Underneath: sports bra, yoga pants. Are the boys watching? She likes that boys her own age stop, glance over. Don't even try to hide it. Her man sips his adult beverage; watches the boys watching her.

Break time.

Esmerelda and I, we talk a bit. Her English better than my Spanish. She asks, do I have kids? Keeds. And what am I 'chewing' after Job? I tell her I own an airline. "I can no afford fly" I offer her a sip of my adult beverage.

Linda slides into the passenger side of his 68 'Stang, kisses Jerry hard on the mouth. He's still wearing clown make-up. She doesn't care. She likes that boys her own age stop to watch. Sorry guys, real man in the house

The boys laugh and point.

I cut open another box of chips and place each bag into Esmerelda's outstretched hand. Our hands brush against each other. She laughs, talks Spanish to her friend who points at me. Apparently I own a 'chairline.'

Jerry, Linda alone in the High School parking lot eating taco's, talking, shooting hoops, sharing a bottle. He threw the game winning pass here nearly ten years ago. Won state. She's graduating this coming June.

Clock out.

Esmerelda asks my shame. "Jerry." She says, "Cherry owns a Chairline, has no Keeds." That's it in a nutshell. My back's killing me. "Bye Cherry my huband here." She runs to a man standing beside a used, blue Eldorado. Arms crossed over massive chest. No Smile.

Her father pulls into the parking lot, gets out, stands beside his new Caddy. All smiles, "why are you still wearing clown make-up, Jerr?" Linda laughs, says she never even noticed. Dad says, "you're both sharing the same grease paint." We laugh, the three of us. "Be home by midnight, girl." Dad, he takes off.

Midnight.

I walk through the factory gates. She's the last one in the lot standing beside a 68 Mustang I spent years restoring. She smiles, arms open, gathers me in. Hugs. "How was the job, babe?" The only girl willing to share the same grease paint waits for me.