The Short List. Part One

November 15, 2008 at 2:23 PM | Posted in Personal | Leave a comment
  I have other shit going on right now.  I’m busy with the houses and so forth, plus I had some ideas about a story I was working on.  But then this happened, and I figured it was time.
  Detroit and I went to the grocery store today, to get something for lunch.  One of our semi-regular stores; it’s about third or fourth on the list.  We get almost all of the few things we needed, but then had to back track for the bread.  And that’s when I saw him.
  Maybe he recognized me, maybe he didn’t.  I don’t know, and I really don’t care.  But this person is on the very short list of no more than half a dozen People I Hate.
  But Bryan, you say, you are so kind and thoughtful and gentle and caring and tender (in a manly way), how is that you, of all people, can possibly hate?
  Back off before I slap you in the eyeballs.  While it is true that I like most people (I even like people that other people hate, like GW, Carrot Top, and your mom), nonetheless there is an elite group of people who fall into the category of people I hate.  Today’s program is devoted to the one loathsome fucker I saw today, Dave. 

  Back in the late 80s when I worked for Domino’s, the rigid structuring of the MIT program meant we were evaluated on a 4-week basis for advancement and promotion.  The trick was, once you were ready for advancement or promotion but the bosses didn’t want to give it to you yet, you got moved to another store.
  I got moved alot.  But, probably no more than anyone else.  One move placed me in Bridgeton.  Bill was the manager, and Dave was the "lead" assistant, and I was low-man.  Bill was a good buy, but Dave rode me mercilessly.  He found a funny way of changing my well-known nickname into something completely inconsiderate, and from then on, that was how he addressed me.  And no, I’m not telling you what it was.  Of course, he spread it around, and got others to call me that also.  Let me tell you, being called names when you’re an adult…
  Hurts as much as when you are a child, and I was reliving it.
  In addition to that, he heaped other mental abuse on me daily.  He is a sadistic mother fucker.  I choose not to relive this all for you, so that I don’t break my keyboard.  I don’t know how long I was there, maybe a month or two.  I got transfered around again, and it was good to be in a different shithole.
  As luck would have it, after a being in a few different stores, I would up back in Bridgeton.  This time, Dave was the manager.  He scheduled me for six days, which was unnecessary.  Also, on Friday I got to work a "split."  That’s where you come in for lunch, about 1030 to 1230, then you get to leave, then you get to come back in at four and close.  He made sure he scheduled me for the shitiest of shifts, too.
  I closed Monday, and ran a perfect shift.  No lates, good numbers.  I came in Tuesday, and he was there to nitpick the little things I had not done.  And I mean little.  Things like, I didn’t wipe down the towel dispenser in the bathroom.  What kind of shit is that?  If it needs to be done every night, you wouldn’t notice one night missed.  If it hadn’t been done in a while (it hadn’t) then why did I suddenly get dinged for it?  The rest of his list was like that.  Oh, yeah, the fucker had a list.  I closed again that night.  Wednesday, when I came in, he had a similar list.
  But Tuesday night, I talked to my dad.  Wednesday during the day, I went to see his boss, who happened to be my old boss, Bill Henry.  Sure, he’d hire me–pending a drug test, of course.  I told this part before–I was clean, and I knew it.  I took the drug test Friday, and the results would be back on Tuesday, and I could start Tuesday on second shift.
  So when he threw his list in my face Wednesday, I was non-chalant about it.  "Okay, whatever."  Then of course I closed Thursday, then the split on Friday.  I had to close Saturday, and then my one day off was Sunday.  I saw the new schedule posted and smiled.  It was the exact same thing.
  Since I was loaned to another store on Saturday, I worked it–otherwise I would have not gone in.  But I knew Monday–Monday I was not working.  I just waited for them to call me, because everyone likes surprises.
  I was happy to be rid of him.
 
  Fast forward maybe ten years later, and my good friend Bunny is managing Bridgeton, and the fucker Dave is still around, as a driver.  He is helpful to her, and friendly, so they are friends.  For her sake I try to get along with him, and he is civil–she may have had a word with him about it.
  Later I find that all Dave wants to do is get in her pants.  He’s an older guy, and married, and so is she.  And she feels betrayed by the facade that was there friendship.  Meanwhile he keeps pushing, practically stalking her, before she has to get really angry and up in his face about it.
  Finally, I was free to hate him again.  Hate him extra, too, for hurting my friend.
  I didn’t go into an extensive psychological profile on the asshole, because at this point, I don’t care.  He can live or die or grow mushrooms out of his ass.  Bunny did tell me about some of the trauma and problems in his life that she became privy, things to which I thought, "Good."  He is a bully, plain and simple.
  And when I write about the other people on the short list of People I Hate, that’s what they have in common:  they are all bullies.  
  Maybe you were expecting more of a rant here…well, to tell you the truth, so was I.  Time does heal a bit, I suppose.  It has been 20 years since I first had to deal with him.  I’ve wished so many things upon him:  death, dismemberment, AIDS, a plague of locusts.  Today what I wanted to do was knock the old fucker down in the grocery store, and step on his face.  Now, I just wish for him to be unhappy.  Knowing what I know about the psychology of bullies…
  I think I’ve gotten my wish for a long time.
 

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