Hello Surf Reporters! As I’ve mentioned a hundred, possibly even dozens of times, Wednesdays are difficult for me. I have a small writin’ window, even under normal circumstances, but on Wednesdays I have to be at work an hour earlier than normal. So, I often miss those days, and don’t post anything. But this week I have something special for you guys… A hilarious guest post from one of our favorite commenters: T. Farty McAppleass. Enjoy!
I’m an alcoholic. Thank you, thank you (waiting for applause to die down). Now, I’ve been a well known drunk for as long as I can remember. I’m getting a handle on it, mind you, but the drunkenness makes for some stories – true stories. Here we go:
It was a couple of years ago, 2010 as I recall. It was right around Christmas. I got a call from my best friend’s wife, we’ll call her “Carly” (because that’s her name) and she was all excited. “Farty, I need your help. I could use a hand!” To which I replied, “Okay sugartits, what’ll it be?” “I bought Dan (her husband, my friend) a stainless BBQ grill for Christmas. I just need someone to help me pick it up. Can we use your truck?” “I suppose. How long will this take? I’m most of the way drunk and I don’t have time for no bullshit.” (It was only a week before Christmas and I knew everything would be packed.) “We’re just going to Target, for a minute, and that’s all” she pleaded. I finally agreed.
We got to Target and, as predicted, the place was like a whore house on nickel night. I gulped. It was about two or three in the afternoon and my strategy was to just remain quiet and not make an ass of myself. A tall order to be sure.
We made our way to the back of the store and they promptly told Carly that things weren’t as planned. The BBQ grill wasn’t fully assembled, could we wait around a while? SHIT! I decided that I’d just go back to the front of the store and sit at the deli until they had their shit straight. That seemed safe enough. Carly agreed to text me when it was time to get the hell outta Dodge.
The deli was literally packed. And I don’t use the word “literally” like some kind of fucking hipster. I mean it was LITERALLY packed. Wall to wall weirdos and murderers as best I could tell. I purchased three things: a newspaper, a Coke, and a pack of cheese crackers. I went to the last open booth in the place and sat down.
I sipped my Coke and unfolded the newspaper to hide my red drunken face from the riff raff. I’d only been there a minute when someone slid into the seat across from me – a complete stranger. I glanced up at him to size him up. He was clearly a serial killer and had killed recently. He smelled of meat. His hair was all fucked. He hadn’t shaved in days. His clothes were a mess. This guy was chancy and rapey and murdery. He looked at me and didn’t even grunt. Not a word. And I didn’t say a word either (as was my drunken plan). I slipped back behind my newspaper and waited for Carly’s text so I could leave.
So much time passed that I was able to read everything on the page in front of me. Then I heard the crinkle of a wrapper being opened. It threw me off so I looked at stinky killer man to discover that he’d opened my crackers and was munching away on one. He left the molested package in the middle of the table. What the hell? Was he taunting me? This was too damn much! I rolled the paper up and sat it down, then ate one of my crackers. Then he ate another one. Then I ate another one. Back and forth until they were gone. Still, we never said a word to each other. He just stared like a goddamn maniac.
Finally, I got a text telling me that the grill was ready to go. I hopped up and left the trash for stinky to deal with. Once I got to the back of the store and started wheeling the grill out I noticed that it wasn’t moving very well. One of the front wheels was locked. I bent down to unlock the wheel and out of my shirt pocket fell………my package of cheese crackers. I’d eaten half HIS crackers, not the other way around. I haven’t been back to Target since because I know he’ll be there waiting to slit my throat.