Most times I honestly do not try to.
Just a natural gift I guess.
“What’s up?” I say to someone fully knowing what’s up. The only time he calls is when he needs jokes.
“I need jokes.”
“Tonight. I gotta. . .”
“. . .sorry. Can’t do it. . . ”
“. . .thing so want. . .wha?”
“Sorry, no time today.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means you should have called a day or so sooner or, here’s a novel approach, when you scheduled it, let me know then you’ll need jokes.” (I know why he, and others, don’t. They don’t want to spend any money. They think they can write them and when it turns out they couldn’t or didn’t they turn to someone else at the last moment)
“Well, I didn’t. So what are you going to do for me?”
“Nothing. I told you. I haven’t got time for this conversation much less to write jokes for you.”
“Oh, busy man. What’s more important? This or what you’re doing?”
Do you see how easily and swiftly my life spirals out of control? I’ve already told him, maybe not gently but at least quickly, that I’m stacked like a plastic surgeons waiting room so it’s best he goes another route.
But, he fails to go gently into that good night.
“You should have pulled a ticket earlier.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You too busy for me now? Too big for me now?”
Neither of those things were offered. I just know I won’t have time. I have work, two deadlines, a previously scheduled appointment this evening and, honestly, I think I need sleep.
Let’s play a game. Pick a person. A person you want to say nasty things to. ALL the nasty things to. You ready? Unload!
It was that level of vitriol. Yeah, I know I’m letting him down. Yeah, I know he’s painted himself into a corner. If I thought I could toss a few barbs his way I would, but, can’t.
I let him wind down. He’s hyperventilating over the speaker phone.
“You done?” I take his breath catching as a yes.
“Got it all out of your system?” I take his guttural nuance as a yes.
“Good. Now, remember this, you’d better hope I don’t see you for a long, I’m talking VERY long time because, if I remember the shit you just pulled, and I might just write it down, next time I see you I’m going to punch you in the balls so hard your wife will be spitting blood for the next five years of blow jobs.”
Hey! He could use that!
I’ve got to remember to send him a bill.