Originally from Cattaraugus County, as a teen, Buttonbottom started messing around with ephedrine, toluene, salt, kerosene, and a bunch of other components to make methamphetamine. Eventually, he came up with a sweet mix that rocked the entire Southern tier. Taking his pay from Dollar General and a little backing from his daddy, he invested in supplies and equipment and built a respectable lab in the family trailer—the one Uncle John spent summers in when he was up from Florida.

Things were going great—brain cells and teeth were disappearing in Cat County faster than Patron at a Bills tailgate. But one night, Buttonbottom was a little careless and blew up the trailer. After that incident, Buttonbottom’s daddy thought his talents would be better served with proper schoolin’. So he went to the big city, got a degree from the University of Buffalo, and a job at Van DeMark.  

Things were going well at his job until Buttonbottom’s redneck past started to surface. When a spectrophotometer, which measures light intensity, went down, he pulled a roll of trusty duct tape from his briefcase and attempted a temporary fix. As he got to work, he surprised co-workers with the way he talked through the repairs—in a high-pitched yokel voice: “Well, hell, there it is. That cuvette gizmo’s the troublemaker. Hang on—I’m gonna back this door out a turn, mash this little arm down, and snake some duct tape through there so it quits floppin’ around. Yep… there we go. That’ll hold her together for now. She ain’t pretty, but she’ll run till the parts show up and we can do it the right way.”

Then there was the incident when he was dropping off some reports at the front office. A radio tuned to WYRK was playing “Achy Breaky Heart” at a low volume, and Buttonbottom couldn’t help himself. He grabbed Mrs. Trout, the office secretary, by the hand and proceeded to two-step with her. He went through the Pivot Turn, the Kick-Ball-Change, and only realized what he was doing once he was crossing his feet in Jazz Box. He apologized profusely to Mrs. Trout and exited the office, red-faced.

If he already wasn’t having enough trouble hiding his redneck past, his cousin Bobby was waiting for him outside the plant this past Friday in her 1987 F150. He and Bobby had a thing all through their teens. Buttonbotom once said, when they were together, they were explosive—like a frog with a lit M-80 jammed in its mouth. And on several occasions, Bobby pleaded to have his seven-toed baby. 

Yet, like a mullet is drawn to cheap beer at the county fair, he went straight for her.

Buttonbottom doesn’t know how long he can keep up this charade, but he’ll keep showing up at VanDeMark until they send him back home to a simpler life in Cat County of fishin’, Walmart, and bangin’ his cousin.

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First, his mom asked how work was going and he responded with the monosyllabic—”Fine.”  His dad followed up by asking if he was working on any interesting projects, if he might be getting a promotion or if he was making friends with co-workers? Again, Loafer’s replies were terse, “No. Probably not. Not really” He also said, “I went to the bar a couple of times with the guys from work, but all they want to talk about is this project, that program or this business, that CEO. It’s all so boring. The two days I go into the office everybody stresses about systems going down and how it cost the company money and all this other BS. Like I said—boring. They all stay late fixing things, but I’m out of there right at 5. They call me, ‘QQ,’ the quiet quitter, whatever that means.”

Loafer went on to tell his family there was great news on the “World of Warcraft,” front. That his character in the multiplayer online game, Endu—The Macedonian Life Stopper, has reached a level 52. And, on a routine basis he takes out the entire seventh grade class at the Roman Gabriel Middle School in Pasadena, California. The only down side according to Loafer is many times after he’s pounded a “Red Bull,” or two and is totally jacked, most of the kids have to go to bed because they have school in the morning. Except for this kid named Rocco, who goes by the handle Messer Dooom. His dad left recently and his mom is overcompensating by letting Rocco game late into the night. 

Loafer’s grandfather, Archie, asked about the Dollar General, cashier, wondering if she was working her way through school or something. The younger Loafer said he wasn’t sure but didn’t think so because she’s like forty. His sisters giggled and both his parents and grandparents had shocked looks on their faces when he announced her age. He innocently explained, “I go into that store a lot and Bonnie, the cashier, and I got to talking a bit and she asked if had any idea how to reset the password on her Hulu account. I took care of that and a couple of other things, like removing some viruses from her laptop and setting up her online banking account. And, you know, we chat about the price of Cheerios, have some microwave pizza rolls, and one thing leads to another. She says I’m not only her first college boy, but the first dude she’s been with that didn’t smoke—and that fresh breath is so weird.”

After her second Mogen David wine, Loafer’s grandma Marian, told grandson in not the gentlest of terms to . . . “get his shit together and sleep with women his own goddamn age.” Judging from the confused look on his face, Loafer didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

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