Girls, gummy worms, and a near fistfight

6 03 2008

So, not too long ago, a girl from my work invited me out to dinner. Then, after I refused, it became a private lunch invitation. After my second and final refusal, it became a fried chicken lunch at the picnic table outside work. I accepted, on the reasonable grounds that, hey, fried chicken.

Anyway, she bought all the food, since, as a true gentleman, I had no intention of doing that. Everything went swimmingly, until five minutes in, when I mentioned I have a girlfriend. Then she stormed off, leaving me with twelve choice pieces of dark meat, and some delicious rolls. I considered going after her to apologize but, again, fried chicken.

She never came back to the picnic table, although she did pass the doorway looking out at me in a very rude manner, like I stole her chicken, or something. And that, I assumed, was that.

A few weeks later–today, in fact–I was giving helpful hints this guy who looks just like Luis Guzman. In case you don’t know what Luis Guzman looks like, picture Tom Cruise in Top Gun, then forget about him because he looks nothing at all like the hideous sin against nature that is Luis Guzman. Anyway, the guy was impressively ugly.

I had assumed that I would be assisting young Luis with an honest mistake involving measurement. I was wrong. Apparently, all I managed to do was make him look like a shit-for-brains by explaining very calmly that math is key to solving number problems. Or some such thing…

It also turned out that Luis was heavily interested in fried chicken girl, who kept passing by and pausing near us as I went through complicated abstract theorems like the 1/16 markers on a tape measure, and why a rectangle must have two pairs of matching sides. God knows what she wanted, but it became pretty obvious that Luis wanted nothing more than to beat holy hell out of me for being… I don’t really know. Patient with him despite his smothering ineptitude?

Anyway, it so happened that he said the following:

“You wanna fucking do something about it, bitch?”

“Hell no, man. Why the fuck would I want to clean up your mess? I didn’t fuck all of this stuff up. You did.”

Apparently, I’m a little dense when it comes to people trying to start fights with me.

No, bitch: you wanna do something about it?”

Oh. I get it.

“Sure. Go ahead–do something.”

He stood there for a moment, kind of swaying back and forth and trying to look menacing despite having no chin and a top lip that wouldn’t cover his teeth. I didn’t say a word, or change my expression from that of calm wonderment.

“Pssh. I wouldn’t waste my time witcho’ punk ass.”

“Oh, okay. Why don’t you get to fixing all this material you fucked up, then? Otherwise, I’ll write you up, and then you can “do” something about it from home.”

Luis is a temporary minion from another department, and for the time being is under my authority. He didn’t like it very much, but hey, fried chicken it’s not my problem what minions do and do not like. Chicken girl was watching all of this from the sidelines, evidently impressed with the balls it takes to stand up to such an overbearing oppressor like me.

Sadly, that’s only what Luis thought. He looked at chicken girl, and she kind of just rolled her eyes and looked at me with. I did the same thing, and looked at the wall. It seemed an appropriate response.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Chicken girl hardly glanced at me, despite hovering around my area for no good goddamned reason, and didn’t say a single word. Luis, on the other hand, ended up “feeling sick” and went home early. Asswipe.

Anyway, that’s my little story. The moral? If life hands you lemons, don’t return the free chicken.

Also, gummy worms: get some. They will rock you.

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2 responses

7 03 2008
wahsatchmo

You toyed with that poor girl’s emotions for chicken. It’s like I don’t even know you, man.

9 03 2008
The Schroederist

Hey, baby, you know I’d never do that to you. Daddy loves you.

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