thoughts that occur during stadium work - Jelisa Gonzalez

I want to be fucked by the cutesy Romanian guy at my job, even though I told my coworker who I’d just met that night that I didn’t. I then proceeded to ask her if I looked like I had a boyfriend. To my surprise, she said yes. I should’ve hid in the employee belongings container at that very moment and starved to death. Let me elaborate on the cutesy. Cutesy is the best way to describe him because whenever he sees me, he gives me a hug and asks how I am and complains about being hot and tired, which most of us are. He’s one of my eight hugs a day that I get from another human being outside of my parents, which makes me want to coil into a ball. Fucking maggot. Cutesy Romanian guy refers to me as his boss and always lets me know when he takes a “bathroom break”. When he comes back, I ask him how his break was, he breaks into a laugh because he senses me catch a whiff of the Marlboro he smoked while he took his “break”. He’d ask me if I wanted one of the 20 something hotdogs he was grilling at once. He had minimal experience as a cook, but there were times I indulged. It was his flirty personality. Sometimes I want to ask him where he goes and how he finds ways to not get caught. His cheeks go red when I catch him in a lie and I call him dumb and stupid. If I don’t have a little banter, what’s the point when he goes back to Europe? I don’t even know if he’s gay or bi or anything about his sexuality for that matter. He didn’t even know who Kendrick Lamar was when I asked him who he thought he was.

Sometimes, I imagine what I’d ask him to do to me if I had balls. I’d go with him on his bathroom break. We’d split a cigarette and I’d watch him roll his eyes and laugh and talk to me about life “In Romania…”, dramatically in his accent. I’d shimmy close enough to him and he’d put his arm around, side hugging me. I’d snatch the cigarette from his mouth and tell him to do something about getting it back. I’d have him against a wall, take off his NY Mets hat and tell him to make a sauce out of my mouth. I’d ask him what he’d want to do if we were at a club together. Maybe I’d make him nervous with my newfound confidence. He’d then switch my position and pin me against the wall. With his left hand, he’d bring my arms up, while his right held the cigarette that was at its wits end. We’d lock eyes and casually saute each other in the heat. The sweat dripping from our faces as we eat each other, next to the employee elevator, a couple miles from LaGuardia airport. 

Jelisa has been writing for the Arch Literary Journal for about a year now. She's currently a combined student in the BA/MA program studying English. She enjoys writing poetry, reading fiction, and listening to music in her spare time. She is also a tutor at the Writing Center as well as a copy editor for the Albany Student Press.