The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz by Ron Jeremy Read Free Book Online

it wasn’t an unspoken arrangement. Once our manager sat us down and said, “You’re dating this girl.”
    That was exactly what happened with Connie. Poor, innocent, homely Connie. The hotel was the Paramount, in Parksville.
    When we arrived in the morning for our daily chore assignments, we all noticed that a new job had been added to the list. As the manager explained it to us, one of the more affluent guests was visiting the Paramount for the summer. He was staying at the most exclusive, deluxe, superexpensive condo, and he wanted to get his money’s worth. He had a daughter named Connie whom he wanted to, as he put it, “have a good time.” And who better to show her a good time than a nice Jewish waiter who would be closely supervised?
    Her name was listed on the bulletin board under chores like vacuuming the carpet and burnishing the silverware. “Date Connie.” We couldn’t believe what we were reading. This was a chore ? What was wrong with this girl, anyway?
    As it turned out, quite a lot.
    Connie was not easy on the eyes. I’m not saying I’m God’s gift to women. I’m not saying I’m in great shape right now. I hate to say bad things about anybody, but she was everything unattractive you could imagine in a girl. She had braces and buckteeth and pimples and acne and a high-pitched nasally voice that sounded like fingernails being scratched down a blackboard.
    My brother (also a waiter) said, “Great. This hotel has our mind, heart, and soul, and now it wants our balls .”
    In some ways, dating Connie was worse than polishing the silverware or cleaning the bread trays. But when the time came, we accepted our chore assignment gracefully and took Connie out on the town. My friend Randy, however, was not quite so willing to be a date for hire. He called it “taking out the garbage.”
    “Aw fuck, guys,” he moaned. “I don’t want to do this. She’s a fucking cow. God damn it, it’s too fucking nasty to think about. I’ll trade you vacuuming the dining room.”
    The next morning, Connie walked into the dining room for breakfast, and I asked about her date with Randy.
    She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh my God ,” she said in her most nasally voice. “He was an animal .”
    “ What ?”
    From every corner of the restaurant, waitstaff and busboys came running. We gathered around the table, pleading with her for more details.
    “He kept trying to force his lips into my lap,” she said, delighted with the attention. “And then he pulled out his schmeckel and asked me to touch it.”
    “Did you do it?” we asked, a bit too eagerly.
    “Oh God no,” she shrieked. “It was disgusting.”
    We couldn’t take it anymore. We rolled on the ground in laughter. Here was the only guy on the entire staff who complained about dating Connie, and he was the only one who actually made a move on her.
    Needless to say, we teased Randy mercilessly. And he denied it all, of course. He howled about the injustice for weeks, but it was hard to miss the excitement in his eyes when he checked the chore assignments every morning, scanning for Connie’s name.
    The list of summer chores got a little shorter that day. We still had to empty the trash and vacuum the carpets. But when it came to Connie duty, we knew just the guy who would always be happy to trade.

    W ill you stop laughing?”
    “I’m not laughing!”
    “Move your leg over a little bit. You’re squishing your balls together.”
    “Like this?”
    “That’s great. Now hold that position.”
    “Wait, wait, give me a minute to suck in my gut.”
    “You don’t have a gut.”
    “Are you sure? They say the camera adds twenty pounds.”
    “Relax. You look amazing. Now shut up and smile for me.”
    The year was 1977, and Alison and I were enjoying a private weekend together to celebrate the end of the summer. Alison was my girlfriend at the time, my first serious relationship since Mandy. She was a Taino, a Spanish Indian from Puerto Rico, and a