Every so often, you meet some horrible person who doesn’t fully understand what a social contract is. We all know someone that when you ask: “How are you doing?” you end up stuck in some long-winded sob story about their dying parent. Like, hello? Just say “fine” and move on!
Well, I really stepped in it this time.
I put up a post on Facebook about looking for a new dentist. Then this guy named Adam sends me a message and recommends his dentist.
Adam’s a guy I bump into occasionally at our mutual friend’s parties and once, we had a long conversation where he argued that Collective Soul’s “Hints, Allegations, And Things Left Unsaid” is an underrated album of the 90s.
Anyway, I message to thank him about the dentist recommendation and ask him what he’s been up to. He answers back with a “not much, you?” Great. We’re moving swimmingly into concluding a very non-committal conversation. I say: “Not much either. I gotta run, but we should hang sometime.”
Then this guy – this motherfucker – comes at me with: “When?”
What?! What is this? Who fucking does this? Is this guy French Stewart from 3rd Rock From The Sun or something? Some alien trying to figure out how people work?
Now I know how the victims in the Saw movies feel. At least those poor bastards had an out!
I consider killing Adam. Or myself. Murder-suicide?
Then he writes: “How about Saturday?”
Oh, fuck you, Adam. Fuck you, you complete turd of a human. It’s like my head’s in a vice and this sonofabitch adds another rotation.
No word of a lie, my ears are fucking ringing right now. Like a mortar shell just exploded beside me.
My hands are shaking wildly now as they land on the keyboard and start typing: “SsoUndds goo0d,” is what comes out.
He comes back at me with: “There’s a bar where you can spin your own vinyl! And guess who just bought a copy of Collective Soul’s first album??!”
I give him a thumbs up and burst into tears.
