Convenient Encounters: Mike Maddox

I didn’t have to work while I was living with my dad. I’d won a modest scholarship to college. My grandma was paying for the part of my college expenses that the scholarship didn’t cover, which wasn’t too much, since I was attending a state school. When Dad had invited me to live with them, it had been with the clear understanding that I’d be taking care of the boys while Mary dealt with my baby sister (who was a toddler at that point) and her pregnancy (which turned out to be my brother, Aaron); and in return, I’d get free room and board, plus a little spending money.

My problem was that ‘a little spending money’ was enough to do some running around, get the occasional burger, and see a movie every once in a while. It was not enough to buy my comics and gaming stuff.

I’d quit Comics and Stuff because it wasn’t convenient to Dad’s house and because the hours the boss wanted me to work just didn’t work for my schedule. I tried not working for a bit but quickly had to dig into my savings account, which was supposed to be set aside for opening my store. That’s when I saw the sign for part time help at a local convenience store.

The store was open from 6am until midnight, seven days a week. They had someone that came in at 5:30 to open and worked until 1:30pm, then someone else would come in at 4:30pm and work until close. My job was to come in from 1pm to 5pm to cover the middle hours. It got me home a little later than I wanted, but Mary just made a point of putting Amanda down for her nap then, and it worked out okay. (Later, after I’d filled in on a couple of weekend shifts, they started scheduling me to work weekends, giving me as much as thirty-two hours in a week, and I finally quit, but that doesn’t have an effect on this story).



There were a few things I didn’t like about the convenience store, but a lot of things I did enjoy. The owners were as old as my grandparents, and they didn’t seem to get along well with younger guys (they were always nice to the girls that worked there, but it seemed like they were always suspicious of me and just looking for something I hadn’t done correctly). The worst problem I had with them was the hours. You’d think that since I’d gone in telling them my situation and why I was looking for very limited hours, they would have understood, but it seemed like they thought since they were paying me, I should do whatever they wanted.

Still, there were a lot of good things about it. The best thing was, it was a local store. It wasn’t far from the local elementary school, and the bus from the middle school and high school actually let out right across from our parking lot. There were always a lot of kids in and out. We had soft serve ice cream, fountain drinks, a pinball machine, and two video games, and a lot of kids came by after school every day. I got to know a lot of them. Many of them would even drop by to visit when it wasn’t right after school, and I got to be pretty good friends with some of them.



I remember one day, it must have been mid-spring of 1985. It was a pretty nice day, and I’d hated to come into work. It must have been a Friday because I’d already picked up my paycheck and was looking forward to picking up my new comics. Dad was even giving me money to take the boys out to dinner and a movie so he and Mary could have a quiet evening at home (I think Grandma was going to sit Amanda).

It had started out like most days. I’d come in and filled the drinks in the cooler, then Mrs. Eustace (the old lady who opened Monday through Friday) had left. Those afternoon shifts were always pretty quiet—I checked the small back stock they kept, did a little dusting, checked the dates on the merchandise, and all the other things the bosses expect you to do during the boring times.

Normally I had until about 3:30 pm when the elementary school kids would show up for a quick candy run on the way home, and then the older kids would show up a bit after that. Until then, I normally only had a couple of gas customers run in, which is why I was a bit surprised to see Mike Maddox coming up to the store. Not only should he not even be home for another hour, but he was pushing his bike.

"Hi, Jack," he greeted me, a bit shyly, which was a bit unusual—Mike was normally very outgoing.

"Hello, Mike. You stay home sick today?"

Mike blushed a bit and shrugged, noncommittally.

He was a decent looking kid, but he could be a bit of a problem. He was very tall for having just turned fourteen, maybe about 5’7" or so, but he was very lean—probably less than 120 pounds. He had dark brown hair that he wore fairly short and blue eyes, with a narrow face, sharp cheeks, and a chin that was nearly pointed. He had a slight problem with acne, but nothing too horrible. I’d have been willing to bet that, in another fifteen pounds or so, he was going to get to be pretty decent looking.

He started to walk by me, and I stopped him.

"I just need to get some bread and milk and…" he took a list out of his pocket. "A can of green beans."

"Mike, you’re supposed to be in school today. Do your parents know…?"

"Yeah, they know. I got suspended. Just for one day," he rushed to add as I started to say something.

"What happened?"

"I kinda skipped gym class."

"Mike," I said in my threatening, big brother voice, "they don’t suspend you for skipping a class."

Now he suddenly looked ashamed as he answered, "They do when it’s your eighth time." He took a deep breath, then sighed. "They gave me a warning last time."

"They gave you a warning for skipping class?"

"Well, they gave me a warning after they gave me swats and detention."

"That sounds a bit more like the school I remember. Did they give you swats this time?"

"No, just suspended me."

"Really? I was just wondering why you were walking your bike?"

Mike has a fairly pale complexion, and he went very red at that question. "No," he finally admitted, after a long pause, "Dad took care of that for me. It was really mean, too."

"Mike, it sounds like you’ve been needing a whipping. How was it mean?"

"Man!" he protested, "he got me after school last night, and my butt still hurts."

"What happened?"

"Well, I wasn’t gonna tell my parents I got suspended, so I waited until about the regular time to go home, but Dad was already there. He told me he’d decided to take off a little early. He had some property outside of town that he was thinking about buying and told me to come look at it with him."

"So," the boy continued, "I changed clothes and we drove outside of town. He parked and told me it belonged to a friend of his. Anyway, we walked around for a while. It really is pretty nice out there. I don’t know what he wanted it for, though. It’s too close to town to camp, and there’s no hunting or fishing there. Anyway, we were just talking, when he asked me how school’d been."

"Well, I should have known something was up, but I told him about the first part of the day. I never do much at school anyway. So then he asks me, ‘What about your suspension?’ Man, I was about to crap my pants. That’s when it got really bad."

"How’s that?" I asked, since he seemed to want it.

"You know what a switch is?"

"Yeah," I assured him, letting my voice tell him I had more than just intellectual knowledge of it.

"Well, Dad told me to get my clothes off. He made me take off everything but my shoes and we were outside…."

"If you were outside of town, walking around in some trees, do you really think someone could see you?"

"No," he finally admitted after a pause, "but it was still really embarrassing."

"I’ll bet. So, did he make you pick a switch after your clothes were off?"

"No. Then he took a piece of rope out of his back pocket, put a loop around one wrist, then made me put my hands above my head around this branch, and put the other loop around my hand, so I couldn’t get down. Then he picked the switch. He wore me out."

For a minute, I thought he was about to cry, or maybe sob a bit anyway. He’d been moving a bit stiffly, so it wouldn’t have surprised me, and I did believe he was still sore.

After a minute, he took a deep breath. "I’ve got stripes from here to here," he said, gesturing from just below his waist, nearly down to his knees.

"How’d you doctor them?"

"Doctor them?"

"Didn’t you put anything on them?"

He shook his head.

"No wonder they still hurt. Do you have any Bactine at home?"

"I dunno."

"I’ve got some in the first aid kit. Want me to put it on for you?"

"On my bare butt!?!" he asked, incredulously.

"I don’t think the medicine’s going to do too much good on your pants."

He ended up buying a bottle to take home with him, though I’m sure it would have been easier if he’d let me do it. Actually, he was too skinny to have much of a butt, but I would sure like to have seen how that tall, skinny kid was hung.





Return to Story List

Return to Table of Contents