I'm the unluckiest guy I know. Simply a pit of bad luck. When you say Marian, you mean unlucky. It's always been that way. In elementary school, I was a well-behaved, if not particularly gifted, student; never skipped school, attended every school event, was the teacher's favorite, and suffered from severe cramps after the occasional F. At the beginning of eighth grade, Marta joined us. A pretty blonde with blue eyes. All the boys wanted to date her, but that was all. Kaśka, who was sort of friends with her, once spread the lie that Marta could only date the coolest guy, meaning someone who, for example, knew how to inhale a cigarette. So we lit up, almost all the boys in the class (except Kuba and Michał, who'd gone from the Pole to pinball, and Krzysiek, who happened to be sick and staying home at the time), after a cigarette behind the school. I choked on the smoke like the shipyard workers in the newspaper during a strike. I almost couldn't spit it out, my eyes were running like a faucet in the first-floor school bathroom, I was dizzy, and my legs were like jelly. Someone called the teacher, everyone ran away, and I was always the worst in PE class. So only I, a coughing, trembling orphan, was caught. Then came the parents' call, suspension, a good beating from my dad. The guys later said I'd burst into tears over those cigarettes, and no one wanted to be my friend anymore. And Marta would go out with everyone afterward, just carefully avoiding me.
It was even worse at technical school. My name is what it is, so my friends called me Maryśka or Marycha. That was fate. The nationwide repression of the "you use, you lose" anti-drug campaign meant that teachers at the time viewed me as a pot smoker and marked me like a junkie in the class register, regularly claiming that even if I had written something, I probably wrote it back, because my brain was so fried by marijuana that I couldn't have done it myself. Bearing the stigma of a child with tobacco in my mouth, I stayed away from cigarettes until my final exams, and I never saw the whole pot thing, even though my classmates were constantly enjoying themselves with it. Whenever a major drug scandal broke, the principal always started the interrogation with me. However, nothing was ever proven. Anyway, I tried to be a polite and exemplary student, which is especially difficult when everyone is watching your back. I was the class president and the library liaison for two years. I went to the math teacher for sweet rolls and coffee during breaks. I prepared the school newspaper and participated in assemblies. I fought for my grades, damn, how I fought. It's hard to tell how much I sucked up to someone back then. I rarely left the house; my friends always looked at me with a distance. I didn't play football with them because I still wasn't good at PE; they didn't want me. They didn't take me out for a beer because once on a field trip, I puked after just my second drink. Right on my teacher's shirt. I didn't have anywhere to meet any girls either, so prom was finally coming up, and I was still a virgin. I ended up going with Ewa, a friend of Łukasz's girlfriend, the guy I'd been sitting with for the past six months because the teacher had placed us in the same desk. That we were supposed to resocialize each other. From the very first meeting at his house, we made a big impression on each other (meaning Ewa and me, of course); we both seemed to like each other. I looked at her lips, her breasts, her legs, and suddenly felt like I was falling in love instantly. So passionately and immensely. We met a few more times before the prom; I took her out for fries, to the cinema, and twice to a disco because she liked dancing. The day before the party, Paweł told me that Ewa had told his girlfriend she thought she wanted to go out with me, so he advised me to make sure she was good at the prom because I could pass before I even graduated. I totally rocked it: hair gel, a new suit, expensive leather shoes. I'd worn briefs my whole life, but for this special occasion, I wanted to wear something special, totally masculine for the first time, something my friends had been wearing for a long time. I wanted to wear boxer shorts to the prom. So I did. I was already pumped up from noon, all I could think about was Ewa and what to say to her and how awesome it would all end. At the prom, as proms do, we drank a bit, and the blood started to pump,My long-hyped hormones suddenly went haywire, and my otherwise small penis suddenly began to stick out stiffly like an icicle in the cold, unable to stop. My tight panties no longer contained its shape, and it displayed its entire length uninhibited, idiotically straining against my pants. When I danced with Ewa, I'd drill a hole in her thigh; when I wasn't dancing with her, she had to watch the grotesque sight of my strangely draped pants. I went to the bathroom and soaked it in cold water, thinking about everything but sex and Ewa's sensational curves, all to no avail. My penis was as big as in a porno. During one of my soaks, when I left Ewa alone and ran under the cold water tap, I mixed up the toilets and accidentally went into the women's room. I realized it when I heard women's voices approaching. Panicked, I ran into the first stall I came across and locked myself inside. I quickly realized that the girls who had scared me off were Ewa and Łukasz's girlfriend. Ewa told me I was horny for her, even though she didn't know. She laughed, saying it was pretty obvious. Łukasz's girlfriend told Ewa that she saw it too and that she should be careful with me, because apparently I'm a bit of a junkie, and if my dick is constantly sticking out, it could be from drugs, maybe meth, or even Viagra. And if it's from Viagra, then not only am I a junkie, but I could also be some kind of crazy pervert, and that could end badly. Ewa got scared, and Łukasz's girlfriend said they were actually leaving soon, so if Ewa was scared, they could take her with them and take her back. So the three of them drove off. Łukasz drove his girlfriend first because it was closer, and then Ewa. As soon as they left, my penis fell off like a rocket. To make matters worse, the stall door got stuck, and they had to call a locksmith to the ladies' room to get me out. Ewka wouldn't answer my calls, and of course I never passed her exams. But Łukasz passed three weeks before his final exams.She laughed that it was quite visible. Łukasz's girlfriend told Ewa that she saw it too and that she should be careful with me, because apparently I'm a bit of a junkie, and if I'm constantly erect, it could be from drugs, maybe meth, or even Viagra. And if it's from Viagra, then not only am I a junkie, but I could also be some kind of crazy pervert, and that could end badly. Ewa got scared, Łukasz's girlfriend said they were actually leaving soon, so if Ewa was scared, they could take her with them and take her back. And so the three of them drove off. Łukasz took his girlfriend first, because it was closer, and then Ewa. As soon as they left, my penis fell off like crazy. What's more, the bathroom door was stuck, and they had to call a locksmith to get me out of the women's room. Ewka didn't answer my calls; of course, I never got laid. However, three weeks before the final exam, Łukasz passed it.She laughed that it was quite visible. Łukasz's girlfriend told Ewa that she saw it too and that she should be careful with me, because apparently I'm a bit of a junkie, and if I'm constantly erect, it could be from drugs, maybe meth, or even Viagra. And if it's from Viagra, then not only am I a junkie, but I could also be some kind of crazy pervert, and that could end badly. Ewa got scared, Łukasz's girlfriend said they were actually leaving soon, so if Ewa was scared, they could take her with them and take her back. And so the three of them drove off. Łukasz took his girlfriend first, because it was closer, and then Ewa. As soon as they left, my penis fell off like crazy. What's more, the bathroom door was stuck, and they had to call a locksmith to get me out of the women's room. Ewka didn't answer my calls; of course, I never got laid. However, three weeks before the final exam, Łukasz passed it.
I don't have the best memories of my university years either. For five whole years, I pored over books like moles on a Cracovia pitch, and I didn't meet a single girl during that time. Except for the few girls in our major. The last Juwenalia was supposed to be an exception. The guys and I picked up a few cheerful university students and planned to have fun together during those crazy days. I got redheaded Zuza, a bit crazy and unpredictable, but really cool. It was great; we went wild at concerts and ate at outdoor barbecues on campus. Well wasted, we went to my university, supposedly for a walk. We sat on the hood of a parked car and started going at it hard. I made myself comfortable, and she pulled down my jeans and panties—briefs, not boxers—to my ankles. She asked where my condom was. I honestly told her I didn't have any, and if we could go without. She said we probably couldn't, but she knew where there was a vending machine nearby. She took off her panties from under her short skirt and put them on my head, covering my eyes. She kissed me and asked me to wait patiently for her. So I waited patiently. I waited for a few minutes, fifteen minutes, two hours. I don't even know when I fell asleep just sitting there. The professor woke me up in the morning. As it turned out, the owner of the car parked below me. He had had a few glasses of wine with the group for his student festival and decided to take a taxi back, so he left the car at the university. I don't know why neither I nor Zuza noticed that someone in the car in front of us had clearly smashed the side window and, excuse me, shat inside. I didn't finish my studies. But Zuza and I had been dating for almost two months.
Then I took on various jobs, with varying degrees of success. Sometimes I even met a variety of women, and somehow, I even almost got married once, but bad luck, my middle name, usually completely undressed everything before I even had time to undress a single blouse. A friend of mine, quite the sweetheart, finally got me the job. He told me so many times what a great job it was, what great girls came to the courses—serious, just-out-of-high-school-age girls or still quite young college students—and how many he'd already had, that I thought I knew everything about the job. I applied, got a company car with a big Elka on the roof and the number—what else?—thirteen. Two days later, I was supposed to drive with my first student. Excited as a teenager, I shaved particularly thoroughly, perfumed myself, dressed up, got a youthful haircut, and at ten o'clock sharp, I was waiting for her in front of the company office. Finally, she arrived. Not too pretty, not too young, but all in all, not bad. It could always be a boy, so there's no point complaining. After a few minutes, it turned out these weren't her first hours behind the wheel and she was already quite the master. I struck up a friendly conversation, offered her a few compliments, adjusted her seat belt, and helped her turn the steering wheel. It turned out she'd already graduated, had a job that required her to finally get her license. She'd actually finished her course and was just buying some extra hours before her exam to practice. She didn't want to go to the parking lot. She asked me to drive around town for a bit, as she had a few errands to run. No problem, little one, I thought, I'll go with you wherever you want, I'll go with you, hey. I didn't really have much help, as she was doing quite well. I only touched her occasionally, saying her hair might get in the way, so I'd brush it away, and then again, saying you have to push the stick in hard when you're in reverse, so you can push harder. Neither my gaze nor my touch fazed her; in fact, she reciprocated my subtle pleasures. We only drove through strange places, stopping at strange buildings and locations. She'd get out for a maximum of thirty seconds, get back in somewhere, grab her purse, and then we'd go again. And so it went several times.
Today I'm in jail. In cell number—what else?—thirteen. I'm writing a story that "is supposed to help me understand the fundamentals of my crime and the causes of my subsequent downfall, to better understand it and avoid a repeat in the future." It's part of my rehabilitation. It turned out that in the apartments we were visiting at the time, the bodies of people who had passed out after using a contaminated drug, completely new and rare on our market, were later found. Witnesses found that my car, an Elka from a certain company, parked at several of these spots. To make matters worse, the laboratory services found tiny traces of the powder in the car itself. The company supposedly knew nothing about my driving, because apparently, a guy was scheduled for that time, and he filed a complaint because when he showed up for the driving test, both I and the car were already gone. And during the investigation, as it turned out, I couldn't give her a precise description twice, so as not to give contradictory details. Well, bad luck is bad luck.
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