Day 138

Day 138

Jan has roughly 30 stories. Only about two of them are interesting. He tells an average of five stories a day. This means that he was into re-runs only a week after I’d moved in. Within a month, I’ve heard everything worth mentioning in his life five times over. After two months, the only way to tolerate his mobius-strip storytelling is to ask random, probing questions. Jan has no sense of humor, and does not realize I am in it for my own amusement. Rose can see what’s going down, but lets it go on. I believe she is secretly amused.

Some of Jan’s stories stem from his days at Lane Tech High School in Chicago. Lane Tech is a sprawling, massive high school on the north side, about five miles west of Lake Michigan. Jan’s life peaked there. He was young, handsom(er), more intelligent, and an athlete. Jan often regaled us with his exploits as a prep wrestler, where his greatest accomplishment was making it to regional finals. According to Jan, he was “undefeatable,” but was cheated of glory when he was unexpectedly pinned after being set up by a jealous referee who started the match before Jan was ready.

Under intense questioning, Jan would not rule out his chances of making it to the Olympics had he won that match. He also spoke mysteriously of a multi-party conspiracy to hold him back.

The third or fourth time he told the story, I called his bluff.

“It’s not too late Jan,” I said, staring at him gravely.

“It probably is,” he said. Jan then awkwardly attempted to segue into a 30-year-old story about designing a computer keyboard for Apple.

I cut him off. “No, Jan, it’s not too late. That’s a quitter’s attitude. I see it in you. The desire, the fire to compete.”

“Well, I don’t know about tha-“ Jan began, before I cut him off again.

“You’ve got the time to train. Look at you: You’re as sexy and powerful as ever. All you need is a little more cardio, and you’ll be ready to dominate.”

Jan had an out: “Older guys don’t fight anyway.”

“Don’t you have what it takes? Aren’t you a man?”

“Yes,” Jan admitted reluctantly.

“Then standing and throwing down with another man is what you need. Forget age. Age is just a number. And forget wrestling, that’s too soft. What you need is MMA.”

“MMA?”

“Mixed martial arts. Ultimate Fighting Championships. Anything goes. Fish-hooking, hair-pulling, double cock punches, all of it.” I pantomimed the last act of assault and let the message sink in.

Jan cleared his throat and wipe his hands on his sweatpants. “I don’t-“

“Jan, it’s OK, you don’t have to ask. I’ll do it. I’ll manage you.”

Jan was flustered now. “I-“

“You need to get out of that chair and start giving 110% to getting back into MMA competition.”

A pregnant pause as Jan sought for a reason to fail. “A man can’t give more than 100%,” said Jan. “So I can’t do it, then.” Jan smirked as though he’s won the argument.

“There’s the quitter I married,” Rose added bitterly.

Next Time: Jason runs afoul of a mafia enforcer, ballet tips from Rose and Jan negotiates a deal.