Outside the Law: The Roller Roo Girl

“Outside the Law” is a new column profiling Chapman Law students outside of school. Though they all share a common degree and career path, they each come from different walks of life, enriching the Chapman community with their individual experiences. Take away the legalese, casebooks, and briefs, and you’ll find people making the most of life, just like everyone else. These are their stories when they’re not wearing the business suits.

Student blogger:

Minhquan Nguyen (’14)
PILF Co-President


Gabrielle Ortiz’s parents made her a deal: they would buy the car; and she would take care of the rest—gas, insurance, fuzzy dice for the rearview mirror, etc.  For a fifteen-year-old suburban gal from West Chester, Ohio, it doesn’t get much sweeter than that.  But to pay for all the accoutrements that go with a car, one needs money, and getting money at that stage of life means a part-time job.

Gabi found hers in SkateTown USA, a roller-skating facility on a lonely edge of town.  From the outside, it looked nothing more than a large, gray warehouse surrounded by a parched parking lot.  It did not look like an “entertainment destination!”  It looked like a place that housed experimental military aircrafts.

Inside, SkateTown was divided into two wings, with the concession stand (the Berlin Wall) separating the raucous and decadent patrons of the public roller-skating rink from the rigidly controlled and occasionally violent inline-hockey rink.  The stand became Gabi’s home at SkateTown, where she thawed frozen pretzels, injected syrup into the soda fountains, and made—from scratch—pizzas that were actually fit for consumption. But SkateTown liked its employees well-rounded.  Consequently, at various points of her time there, Gabi would sell tickets, man the skate shop, and, if she was
really
lucky, deodorize skates that had minutes earlier contained someone’s sweaty feet.

There were short weekday shifts and long weekend ones, but no time off.  There was a minimum wage, but no raises.  There were free (read: stolen) handfuls of popcorn, but no lunch breaks—or breaks of any kind, except for fleeting moments when Gabbi and a fellow employee would sneak into the back freezer for a chat.  Music-wise, SkateTown had a lively soundtrack of the pop music of the day (e.g. Justin Timberlake), interspersed regularly with the Chicken Dance and the Electric Slide.  Friday nights, when the urban swingers would come in for an evening of jam-skating, featured tunes of the
Roll Bounce
variety.  For Gabi, who was then in her emo, punk rock phase (e.g. Alkaline Trio), complete with skinny jeans and seatbelt-belt, this was not easy listening.

Friday afternoons, before the
Roll Bounce
crowd arrived, SkateTown hosted birthday parties on its public rink.  It was customary on these occasions for someone to entertain the revelers by stuffing themselves into one of SkateTown’s mascot costumes and skate around to the melody of—what else?—the Chicken Dance.  For months, Gabi didn’t have the privilege of experiencing mascot duty.  That all changed one Friday about a year into her SkateTown tenure, a day that, for her, would live in infamy

The problem: a birthday party needed a dancing mascot and SkateTown was short-staffed.  Usually, one of the guys would resignedly get into costume, but Derek was already filling in for the no-show DJ, leaving only Gabi and Heather to do the deed.  Gabi was chosen.  Why her, and not Heather?  Who can say, really?  Who can say why Ken, proud, middle-aged owner of SkateTown and shirts that never covered his belly-button, did the things he did?  It didn’t seem to matter that Gabi barely knew how to skate.  He called it, then slunk back to his office, from which he rarely emerged.

Gabi had the luxury of choosing between two outfits: an unnamed bluebird and Roller Roo, the more “official” SkateTown mascot.  The bluebird was lighter and less goofy, but it had also been worn repeatedly by several male co-workers, and although deodorizing skates was part of the job, deodorizing mascot costumes was not.  Gabi chose Roller Roo.

He was a cartoonish kangaroo, with light brown fur, oversized head and hands, a big grin, and netted eyes which allowed no peripheral vision whatsoever.  He was made even cooler by a floppy Mohawk hairdo and several interchangeable vests, the most popular being one with “U.S.A.” on the back.  Feeling less than patriotic, Gabi took off her shoes, rolled up her pants, and stepped into the costume, allowing the relieved Heather to zip her up the back.  She put on the head, gathered her remaining dignity, then shakily made her way to the rink.

The first few minutes went…okay.  After the kids sang happy birthday, DJ Derek told everyone to step behind the circular red line within the rink, leaving its center clear.  This was Roller Roo’s cue.  Gabi jerkily skated out onto the center of the rink with all the torpor of someone struggling to stay afloat in a sea of molasses.

She managed to keep things under control for the first few bars of the Chicken Dance, then came the inevitable: she tripped, and fell sprawling on the floor.  One child believed this was a signal to leap on top of the helpless, but facially smiling ‘roo.  That was all it took for the rest of the kids to start a massive dog-pile which quickly transitioned into a fullblown mob, with Gabi their unthinking victim.

Ordinarily, the DJ would have used his amplified voice to call the horde off, but Derek was then occupied by a rather dishy older girl visiting his booth.  Ken, of course, was locked in his office and would have been useless in a crisis anyway.  One of the fathers attempted to help Gabi get to her feet, but when you’ve got a
Lord of the Flies
situation, no single adult, not even a burly, truck-driver of an adult, can do much to assert order.  Once his aid proved unavailing, Gabi simply let it happen, lying numbly on the floor as the children continued to rain down enthusiastic punches and kicks.

At some point Derek must have turned his attention from his new fan and saw what happened because Gabi heard him exclaim something unrepeatable before ordering everyone to step back behind the red line.  Only then was she able to crawl off the rink to the safety of the carpet, aching all over and sweaty from a cocktail of adrenaline, pain, and fear.  Once she managed to struggle out of Roller Roo, she spent a good ten to fifteen minutes recovering (read: crying quietly in a huddled heap), then got back to work.  She had a job to do.

Nearly ten years later, Gabi doesn’t like to think of this incident very often.  When she relates it to others, she manages only a rueful smile while they laugh.  She has no photos of this inauspicious period of her life, and neither does anyone who works with her.  She supposes they want to wipe that time from their memory as much as she does.

Sometimes, however, when her work at the public defender’s office gets to be too much or when she feels like she can take only one more second of studying for finals before she gives up, she’ll remember that she’s already experienced the lowest moment of her life.  All the humiliating pain comes back and she finds the will to keep plugging away.  She tries to keep in mind that while a legal career isn’t easy, it beats ending up in small-town Ohio, getting mauled by ten-year-olds while dressed as a kangaroo on roller skates.

Gabrielle Ortiz is currently a third-year at Chapman University School of Law and the president of the Minority Law Student Association.  She externs with the Orange County Alternate Public Defender.

Gabi at 15 (left) and Gabi now (right)

Minhquan Nguyen