Mar 9, 2025

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  literature

  Hanging on Your First Job

  

  

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  Corey had just graduated high school, like most of his friends, and was stuck in a limbo of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure what to do next with his life, especially with the pressure of adulthood looming on the horizon. He wasn’t lazy, but he wasn’t in a rush either. That’s when his mom put her foot down.

  “I don’t know what the fuck I want to do with my life, Mom. I’m like 18,” Corey whined, leaning against the kitchen counter.

  “Well, one thing you’re GONNA do is get a goddamn job and help me pay the rent!” she barked back, cutting through his excuse with the sharpness of a knife.

  Corey let out a sigh, the weight of the world settling on his shoulders. It wasn’t long before he and his friends ended up with a seasonal gig as park aides, which didn’t sound too bad. Sure, the work wasn’t glamorous, but the pay was decent, and they had access to the pool and rec centers. There were worse ways to spend the summer. Plus, the tan was a bonus.

  For the first few weeks, everything was smooth. Corey and his friends would go around the parks, cleaning the pools, chatting with the lifeguards and counselors, even goofing off between shifts. But then, for reasons that Corey would never quite understand, they decided to move him to the night shift.

  "You're gonna be with Chris," his supervisor had said, as though that should have been reassuring.

  Corey had no idea who Chris was, but he figured it didn’t really matter. What did matter was that he now had to work nights, alone with some guy he didn’t know. He didn’t even have a reason to complain—he was just… pissed. Pissed that he got shuffled around for some unknown reason, pissed that it felt like his life was being dictated by someone else’s whims.

  The first night on shift, Corey showed up with a chip on his shoulder. He wasn’t thrilled about working with this weird guy, but he had no choice.

  "Don't worry, man," Chris said, smiling through his scruffy beard. "This gig is so fucking easy. We walk around, pick up trash, lock the parks at 9 p.m. That's it."

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  Corey wasn’t convinced, but he nodded anyway. They cruised through the first couple of parks, picking up litter, chatting about nothing. It wasn’t terrible, just mind-numbing.

  Then they hit Waverly Park.

  Corey groaned as he looked at the park’s overgrown trees and rundown facilities. “God, I hate this park,” he muttered.

  Chris chuckled. “Don’t be an asshole, Corey. Look, help me sweep the ground, and I’ll smoke a blunt with you.”

  Corey froze. Smoking weed on the job? That was new. But it was his first real job, and it had been a while since he'd smoked. So, why not?

  "Fine," Corey said, not really caring, as they made their way up a makeshift trail behind the trees.

  The night was quiet, and the world felt far removed from reality as they passed the blunt back and forth, exchanging thoughts on life and the tedium of the job. Corey could feel his nerves relax with each hit, the monotony of the night fading.

  That was when something caught his eye. A dark shape. A figure.

  “Holy shit, what the fuck is that?” Corey gasped, his voice trembling.

  He pointed toward a tree, and there, hanging from a noose, was the body of a man. His pants were bunched behind his ankles, the stark, gruesome sight searing into Corey’s mind.

  Chris stopped mid-puff, looking over his shoulder. His expression faltered, then... he laughed.

  Corey was too stunned to move. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Chris?” he demanded, eyes wide with disbelief.

  Chris wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "I’m sorry, man. But his fucking pants fell down. I mean, c’mon, it’s kind of funny, right?”

  Corey stood there, frozen in disgust. “Man, why are you laughing? This guy's dead! I’ve heard about this. It’s called autoerotic asphyxiation—he probably couldn’t do it at home and—”

  Chris cut him off, his laughter fading into a more serious tone. “Nope, this dude definitely tried to kill himself,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Corey felt his stomach twist. “How the hell can you possibly know that?” he spat.

  Chris reached into his trash bag, pulling out a balled-up piece of paper. “Because I found his fucking note,” he said, tossing it toward Corey.

  Corey recoiled, his face contorting with a mix of horror and anger. “You can't just throw something like this away!” he shouted, his voice thick with emotion.

  Chris shrugged. “My job is to keep the parks clean. The guy's gone, man. We can’t change that.”

  Corey stared at him for a moment before his eyes flicked back to the body. The image was burned into his mind, too vivid to forget. He couldn't just pretend it didn’t matter.

  “Okay, okay,” Chris said, his voice turning more serious. “We need to call the cops. And throw that blunt way the fuck outta here.” He yanked the blunt from Corey’s hand and tossed it deep into the woods, as though that was the real emergency.

  The two of them called the authorities, and when the police arrived, Corey’s stomach turned further. “This is far from the worst thing I’ve seen in the parks at night,” Chris remarked, as though it were a casual observation.

  Corey felt the world slip further away from him as he stared at Chris. This job wasn’t worth it.

  “Shit, one time this dude had a fork right—” Chris started.

  “I really don’t want to hear it, Chris,” Corey snapped, cutting him off. His mind was racing, the image of that hanging body never leaving his thoughts.

  He quit that night. He couldn’t do it anymore. The sight of that body haunted him.

  The next day, Chris was on the news. "Then fucking Corey quit because he saw a body? What the fuck!?” he said, laughing with the crew.

  Corey wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. It wasn’t just about the job; it was the sense of purpose, or lack thereof, that gnawed at him.

  “I think next summer I might try working at Six Flags, or maybe McDonald's,” Corey said, sitting at the kitchen table. His mom raised an eyebrow but didn’t say much.

  "Okay, honey, just don’t go working yourself too hard,” she replied, half-heartedly.

  Corey’s shoulders relaxed. He was done trying to figure it out. For now, he just needed some peace.

  “I don’t want to hear about you hanging yourself in some desolate park,” his mother added, a subtle concern in her voice.

  Corey gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah, me neither, Mom."