Dizzy Derby and Jackknife Jenny
My name is Jennifer. I was born in 1984. The tragic part about this is that in 84
there were more Jennifer’s named than any other name in the US. That’s where I’m
from by the way. More specifically from Anchorage. I was born to be average, in the
largest city of largest state. I am average in a less than average city which means that
when compared to the rest of the US I am less than average. I have a lot of thoughts
like that. I can’t help it. I did nothing special in high school. I haven’t done anything
special since then. Right out of high school I started working at a floral shop called
lollypops and roses. At first I just rang up customers that shopped gifts in the front
of the shop. It was set up like a Hallmark store. It smelled and looked like one too.
Soft pastel colors, small trinkets that blue haired crotchety old woman would swoon
over. It made me sick. I don’t know why I decided to work there, but the good part
was I started working with flowers. Over time I switched to working in the back
arranging flowers and tending to plants. I found out quickly that I liked this work
a lot. I liked flowers and learning their names. Each one almost has three or more
names. A latin name, a common name, and sometimes other local names that they
are commonly known by. It was cold in the back because of the giant walk in fridges
we kept the flowers in and it was wet and damp. I know that by liking that it sounds
like I’m sad and depressed and wear black and either have or think about using latex
paint, razors, mouth gags, and rope in the bedroom/torture chamber. But no. I wear
colors. I don’t have overly dramatic make-up. I don’t have a love life to speak of,
bizarre or not. I used to tell people my favorite color was sparkle, but if I had to pick
a color for real it would be purple. See that is my problem, I’m average. The crazy
crap you were thinking about, well, that’s not average, not even for anchorage and
it isn’t me. At least if I was a sex freak or looked like Marilyn Manson I could claim
something that set me apart, but I can’t even do that.
One day Sharron and I shut down shop at normal time about 9:30. She closed up the
back of the shop an locked the back door behind her because she had parked in back
and I closed the till and locked the front door before starting my walk home. I
normally walked because I only live a few blocks from my apartment. Its located on
H Street which is where historically the prostitutes and pimps hang out but that was
mostly back in the 70-80s. Its not like it used to be, and the area has gentrified a bit
but its still got a bad reputation and that’s why I’m able to live here in the city for
pretty low rent. 9:30 this time of year is twilight. Twilight lasted till midnight in early
fall so I had plenty of light to get home, but it wasn’t bright out. It was dim, and the
color in the sky was always a little different. Today it was yellowish but dark, almost
like the sky was brown. I was walking while looking at my feet. Not paying attention
to what was around me, I didn’t need to; I’d taken this walk a thousand times. I know
what you’re thinking, “this sounds ominous! Something amazing is about to happen!
Why else would all this story build up to such an uneventful anticlimactic walk,
when in the hell is this story going to pick up?” Well this is where it got interesting.
Some bitch walking the opposite direction down the middle of the sidewalk bumped
right into my shoulder! I was walking on my side of the sidewalk and she refused to
move out of the middle! It hurt because she was carrying a bunch of junk draped
over one shoulder. Instead of being passive I was actually peeved. I turned to yell
something but she was already there. I was face to face with this woman who was
much taller than me, skinny, but intimidating. She was hunched over to my eye level
as if looking down at a two year old with the most stuck-up stank look in her eyes. I
couldn’t move, she’d shocked me by her strong presence in my personal bubble. I’m
sure I looked pretty spineless while I stared back wide eyed like I just ran into that
Kodiak on the news that had been eating the local citizens of Anchorage. Every once
in a while a brown bear comes into the city and starts eating people. Its just part of
life here. She was dressed like a punk. She had a jean vest with patches all over. She
wore fish-net tights on her arms and had her hair up in two pig tails with red ribbon.
She was wearing zebra print tights and a pair of panties over top. She looked a little
crazy. She was holding a tattered book back over one shoulder along with a pair of
roller skates and helmet that had a sticker on it that said “I’d rather be
masturbating”. She looked amazing. She was anything or everything but average. I
was curious. I wondered how a person gets to be like this. Is it something you’re
born with or could I look like that too? Would I just be an average person looking
crazy? Maybe that’s what she was, an average person in crazies clothing. I forgot I
was frozen and before I could think it over I asked her.
“what’s your name?”
Her bitch face dropped to a smirk and said
“Tiger Killy”
Then she shoved her flat hand into my chest and as I recoiled back her hand
extended into a pointer finger to keep contact with the distance cause by pushing
me back and I looked down to see that she was pointing to a small paper like a
concert flyer pinned to my chest by her extended finger nail. I quickly grabbed it so
she could take her pointy stab out of my chest and she said
“you should check it out, we need more girls”
Then she turned and walked away in the direction she was heading like we’d never
bumped. She just kept walking with such confidence like she was going to find that
killer Kodiak and do the same intimidation to it.
After she was gone I looked down at the flyer. It had a cute cartoon of a girl wearing
skates and crazy punk spikes like she was a one-woman army about impale people
walking harmlessly down the street. It reminded me “Tiger Killy” but with spikes
and wearing the gear she was carrying. The words read:
DERBY BOUT!
Rage City Rollers
Vs.
Cherry City!
Saturday Nov 6.
Doors open at 6pm
Carnage begins at 7pm!
6$ at the door
Welcome Cherry City all the way from
Salem Oregon! And feel bad for them when
we pop their…. bubbles and send them packing!
Roller derby? I wasn’t even aware people did that anymore? For the next few days
I kept thinking about my rude encounter with the derby girl. I was oddly intrigued.
I asked friends at work about the derby league and if they had heard about it. I
was surprised again, most everyone had. Apparently the Rage city rollers were
somewhat of a local hero. We don’t have much in Anchorage but crabs and drinking
so it made sense. I decided to go to the bout.
That Saturday I took Sharron from work with me to the bout. We paid the $6 at the
door and took seats in the lower area of the arena. We sat on bleachers on the floor
that the girls were warming up on in the middle.
