“Why did I get into VCR repair? The chicks, man. Obviously.”
So it goes with Genji. By the mid-1980s he was king of the VCR repair universe in Toledo, Ohio. He starred in all of his own commercials, most of them featuring him doing Vinny Barbarino impressions from the 1970s sitcom, “Welcome Back, Kotter.”
The new technology of VCRs was changing the way Americans received their entertainment. People could now watch any movies that had been out at least six months after their theatrical release. The culture of young men was changing as well. Unions were going up in flames, manufacturing jobs were fleeing the country, and pride in America was at a stunning low. With nothing real to believe in, with an endless Cold War raging, escape from it all while in the comfort of home was what the VCR promised and delivered.
That’s why it was such a calamity when a VCR broke down. These were expensive machines back in the day, at a time when money was tight for a lot of Americans, the early 1980s recession. But the entrepreneurs found a way … you have to remember, there was no Internet. Becoming an entrepreneur from nothing didn’t happen much. You had to grow into money over generations, mostly, if you grew into money at all. That had been the past, but with every new technology there are as many utopian fantasies as there are dystopian. It’s the struggle between them that creates the drama that makes us, as a culture, think this is a big deal, whether this is good or bad … or neutral.
But young guys—not as many young women for reasons that are historically obvious now—venturing into the VCR repair business, well, let’s just say they had a special spark about them. They were like used car salesmen on steroids, but with all the technical skills of an engineer. They could take apart your VCR and put it back together blindfolded, all while pleasuring your wife in ways you’ve never been able.
So went the mythology of the times … as created within the VCR repairmen industry. Toledo’s VCR repair culture was surprisingly similar to those in other mid-sized cities across the country: Men were men and women were the subject of Penthouse letters. It was, after all, the fearsome foursome of pool boys, pizza delivery guys, plumbers, and VCR repairmen that dominated the divorced MILF fantasies of Penthouse readers in those times. A lonely woman in her early 30s alone in a nightgown at home while her kids were at school and husband at work, she was craving attention, any attention at all, and when Genji showed up at her door, dressed in cut-off jeans and a sweaty, clingy T-shirt she … well, you get the idea.
That’s how it went for Genji and many other VCR repair gigolos. Or so they told everyone. Considering they were VCR repairmen, it’s surprising how little video evidence there was of their exchanges. Surprising to no one in particular, but it would have been surprising if they hadn’t been washed-up machismos looking for a way to get into a game they had never previously played.
