Part Time

Part Time

Sal Rodriguez

In my right hand: a hatchet. In my left hand: a bloodied piece of meat. My workstation consists of a hanged man, an upside-down corpse, a guillotine, and my accomplice - I forget his name. I wear a black hooded robe. My face is painted gray. I beckon people with my bloody meat. When I drop the guillotine, I spray the crowd with liquid. Teenage girls are the most fun. With their crop-tops and shorts, I ooze meat juice on their skin. They run and cower. Sometimes stooping to get passed me. Passers-by often make like they would like to take a bite of the meat. I indulge them by letting them put it in their mouth. They don’t know that they are one of about twenty-five people who do that. I try to keep a straight face as people breeze by, in a train-like fashion, holding each other’s waist for comfort. They don’t want to get killed. I'm there to scare the hell out of them. I'm paid $8.00 per hour to do so.

This is my part time job, at least through October. I work in the dungeon, in the haunted house, at the local amusement park. By day, I'm a personal fitness trainer; by night, an executioner.

Saturday is the best night; with the wildest crowd. I especially love when large groups of college kids come through my room. They're a riot; you'd think I was a real killer by the fuss they make. I see people bringing very small children through the maze. Very often the kids are crying and the parents are laughing. If this isn't child abuse then I don’t know what is. I go through my own moral dilemma as to whether this is right or wrong. Regardless, I shove the dismembered meat in their face and make sure they get a good look at my hatchet. Memories of when my dad took me to see "Evil Dead" come to mind. I ran out of the theatre crying. My dad was a horror buff; I'm one now too. Nothing like some good zombies with their insides falling out and their heads exploding - now that’s entertainment!

We work in 45-minute shifts, then we take a fifteen-minute break. I'm on the same rotation as Evil Clown #2, who dwells in the demonic toy room, along with psycho jack-in-the-box #1. We chat about her life - her disappointing marriage. We walk over to the restroom together. We grab a snack. Uh-oh, late for our shift, time to scare people again.

There is something to be said for scaring people. It’s a rush - a power trip. I can only guess what it's like to be a real killer. I've seen interviews with serial murderers and they spoke of the surge of ectasy as they tortured, with their victims squirming and screaming in horror. Having young, attractive girls fall on the ground in terror brings with it a morbid pleasure. This is as close as I'll ever get - pure fiction.

I ask the security guard what time it is, "Nine thirty," he replies. Great! Only a half-hour more. As I beat on the hanging corpses, I say a prayer, "Please God, next year, let me be in a better place financially so I don’t have to work here, Amen."

Hello! Here come the teenage girls again!