Leather Nazi Cheerleading Outfits

 Jimmy K. was a bartender I worked with back-in-the-day who often described himself as "Your worst nightmare- a hippie with a job!!" He was very quotable. We would be scoping out the bar for good looking girls, and we'd agree on one and he would say to me, "Could you imagine her in a leather Nazi cheerleading outfit?" And I could!

Jimmy was my age and quite well known locally but we had gone to different schools together yet managed to have a lot of mutual acquaintances. He had worked at a convenience store owned by his uncle and I sorta knew him from there, but just well enough to think I didn't want to work the bar with him. Younger Ferrerman was pretty tolerant of oddballs though, so I just rolled with it and him. He was a very serious Cubs fan and that goes a long way with me. 

It turned out to be a lot of fun working with him. Though a libertarian (nothing more than a republican who smokes weed according to me, and an assessment that he liked very much) he was intelligent and politically astute. Like me, he seemed to know that life and politics was pretty much about right and wrong. We had good political conversations when we weren't talking baseball or chicks in leather Nazi cheerleading outfits. We both had either Tuesdays or Wednesdays off and, in the summer, we'd go to Cubs games if they were in town, or Chicago's beaches if they weren't. Though the Cubs had won their division in 1984 (but blown a 2-0 lead in the playoffs to the fucking San Diego Padres!!??) good seats were still available for pretty much any game in the 80's. Baseball was on the cusp of corporate bastardization. Lights at Wrigley were due to be fired up. We both swore we'd never go to a night game, but it would turn out we were wrong about that. 

Jimmy could be a piece of work though. Once he told me about how his estranged father had been dying of cancer in the hospital. Dad was in a bad way and begged his son to get a pistol and shoot him! I was horrified. Felt awful for Jimmy. And I certainly wasn't trying to one-up him, but I recalled how my own dad had taken younger me to visit his mom in the hospital. Grandma was in and out of recognition of my dad and I don't recall who she thought I was, but it's been in my mind ever since how painful it must have been for dad, and how confusing it was for my young self. On the way out that day, dad asked that I never let him get into that circumstance (the old folks' home). Young me didn't know what I could do to prevent that, but I told him I would try. 

Jimmy was aghast! How could a father do that to his son??!! Do what, I countered. He hadn't asked me to fucking kill him. Just to take care of him. Jimmy was still incredulous at my father's request. I sure hadn't thought I had one-upped him. Whatever dad hoped I could do for him in the future, it didn't include fratricide. Still amazed that Jimmy had gone there to this day. I guess it could have been some sort of emotional pain transference psychobabble defense mechanism to protect himself. I don't know. It might just have been that Jimmy was an asshole, and I was just then noticing. 

Some people are always looking to get over on you in life. Perhaps they are narcissists and they can't help it. They might just be assholes. Jimmy and I had been through a lot of doors, but we were never good, lifelong friends in my estimation or his, and that's fine. We've all probably had such friends in our lives; the kind you have a lot of fun with, but you should never share intimate thoughts with because they are undeserving of such trust. You don't know until you get there one day.

I can't look at Karoline Leavitt today though without imagining her in a leather, Nazi cheerleading outfit, and I have Jimmy to thank for that. It brings a smile.