Nine-to-Five

The morning drives through Hulwater always calmed me. It was the only reason I liked the commute. Sure, you can’t beat the sun and heat of Oakland, but fuck, this place was giving it a run for its money. I got used to the cold and just enjoyed how beautiful the untouched snow looked. It was a sunny day, leaving the rays to shine down on the snow, making it shine like diamonds, and eventually melting into the streets, letting the water run into the sewers. The odd thing was that it was very little traffic. I mean it makes sense, with the whole global pandemic and all, but I can’t help but always feel uneasy about it all.

I reached the school: Assault Wrestling School, home of the retired legendary wrestler “Venom” Jim Lanson. Jim was a wrestling star primarily in the 1980s. He was the typical redneck idiot who stumbled upon ‘wrasslin’ at an early age and left his football dreams at the door to pursue wrestling. Over the years after his retirement, however, news broke out that he was a bully, a misogynist, and all around a shit human to be around. Horror stories about his behavior on the road were enough to have him ousted from the public eye, eventually leading him here to Hulwater, where I had the dissatisfaction of working under him.

As I parked, I saw the angry Texan lean against the wall, smoking a cigar as he began yelling at his phone. He was wrinkly, with silver-slicked-back hair. His mustache was big and bold. His skin was usually pale, but when he was angry, his face was as red as a stop sign. “Well, hell, Sally! I suppose we should shut the whole world down too! Listen here, lady. You can tell Mayor Montague fuckin’ kill herself for all I care! She is tryin’ to kill the constitution! Like I care about what the internets say. Tell her she’s a cunt and a fraud too!” He hung up as I began to walk towards the door. “Oh, Kris. This world is comin’ to shit, I tell ya.”

I couldn’t care less, but I had to stop and acknowledge his claim. “Yeah. Everyone’s sick like my mom got sick in October.”

“Cryin’ shame. And don’t forget about America, son.”

I raised an eyebrow. Oh, here we go…

He began to puff his chest out. “I, for one, think this whole quarantine business is just nonsense! Now why would we stop what makes America so great? The FREEDOM to do what we please! That is why we’re the greatest in the world!”

I put my hands in my pockets, listening to him drone on about the glorious benefits of the country he lives in. I didn’t have the heart to debunk his overblown (or even false) statements, it was too early and cold for me to invest emotionally in this argument. I just nodded, breathing out cold air while hearing the insanity come from his lips.

“I thought Hulwater was perfect, but I guess new management changed that fact,” He continued.

“Mayor Montague? I thought she was pretty cool.” I hardly know of the mayor, Valere Montague. She was initially Canadian but migrated over here in her mid-twenties. She’s relatively young for a mayor, around 46 at the time. I had no real problem with her personally, she mainly cared about fixing actual problems with Hulwater, instead of made-up ones people like my boss fight for.

Jim scoffed. “Cool. Cool as an Austin summer, that’s for sure. She’s stoppin’ all of us from working! Now how would you feel if we’d shut down tomorrow? I know you need the money, son.”

I know I did, but I would’ve prioritized safety if it wasn’t for the fact that I wanted to leave Hulwater as quickly as I could, so I could finally get back home. But once again, I shrugged my shoulders, avoiding the question. “I don’t know. Well, I gotta clock in, so…”

In a stroke of luck, Jim’s phone rang. “Yeah, we got some fellas you gotta break in. I gotta take this.”

With that conversation over, I headed inside to the warm gym. It wreaked of sweat and broken dreams, but you get used to the smell after a few months. Jim had bought out the place but didn’t bother to add anything new to it, only an old ring he had back at his other wrestling school in Dallas. Shitty old vents, damp ceilings, the works. I lugged my gym bag over, walking past the few recruits who decided the pandemic wasn’t gonna stop them from their ring dreams. I got my training gear on in the locker room, which consisted of the AWS shirt that was stained with old sweat, my black wrestling tights, and boots that had seen better days. As I tied my shoes, I overheard the young punks talk about their gimmick from outside the locker room, and what finisher they wanted to use. I couldn’t help but smile, It’s cute.

I gathered the newbies and stood in the center of the ring, priming the students for what I and Jim had planned. “Listen, you’ll think you’re gonna be the guy. You think that you’re gonna be that champion—that ‘Mr. PPV’ the fans will fall over. That is not gonna happen anytime soon. So cut the shit about finishers and gimmicks. Jim will break that dream in half if he hears that. The reality is, that you’ll be taking bumps. You’ll be jobbers. You won’t be a star for a while. It’ll take hard work and skill to get those wins and be the star you dream of. Alright? Let’s take some bumps.”

Little of my coworkers made the trip over with me, one who did was Tracy Carter, known in the Indies as Captain Carter. She was the nice midwestern woman who took on the American patriot gimmick and made a few waves in Wisconsin and Illinois. Above all, she was a good…friend.

I saw her walk in as I yelled at my students while they ran the ropes. She was born and raised in Hulwater, so she is very used to the frigid temperatures. She had no hat, letting her long blonde hair flow to her shoulders. Just a coat and boots. She waved as she got dressed for the day. She usually helps with the women, because Jim thinks that women wrestle differently than men, as in they “wrestle a softer style than men.” Under Jim’s nose, we just lumped the two classes together. I was helping everyone out. I threw (worked) punches at the women and hip-tossed the men. Carter walked out with her hair tied in a ponytail, wearing black spandex, a black tank top, and nicer wrestling boots than my own shitty training ones. She was fit as hell, with a slim muscular build that didn’t get in the way of how fast and athletic she was.

I was resting on the apron, critiquing the sells and the rope running when Carter joined my side. “Hey, teach.”

I gave a little nod. “Look who decided to show up.”

Carter jokingly pushed me as she smiled. “Fuck off, I was making sure I wasn’t sick.”

“Like Jim cares.”

“Oh I know,” Carter chuckled as she looked at his office across the room. He was in there, most likely counting his cash as he got ready to do his lame speech again for the day. “He’s a dipshit.”

“A dipshit that has deeper pockets.”

“Unfortunately.” She sighs, leaning against the ropes. “Well, It’s almost time for our showcase.”

The students cleared up, allowing us to step in and give a lecture on how an actual match would go. Plenty of communication, and trust. Carter tapped my shoulder before getting to work, circling the ring, and locking up for a rough collar and elbow. The impact was so great it knocked Carter to one knee. She transitioned to a headlock, cracking at my neck. I take two steps back, launching her off the ropes, and floor her with a shoulder charge. She hit

the mat expertly as I bounced off the ropes on my own to miss an elbow drop. The students clapped as I let two people at a time imitate what we did. It’s times like this when I almost love working here.

Key word, almost.