“Thanks!” I said after playing a song written by The Beatles. “I wrote that.”
It’s funny how some things are funny every time. I like to say “I wrote that” after a song everybody is already familiar with, and a song that I obviously didn’t write. Some things are funny every time.
Back in college, back in my single days, my brothers and I used to host what we called “Acoustic Night.” When our little band split up because Clark moved away for dental school, I continued to host it by myself. My friend’s and I would do it once a month or so, inviting other musicians to play some songs and I’d finish off the night with some tunes of my own. It was always a good time and it gave me a chance to ham it up in front of a microphone.
We held Acoustic Night at different places, but on this particular day, we held it at my house.
“What song did you like the best?” I asked a pretty face who I had hoped to impress with my golden voice.
“Probably that one by Dream Theater,” she said. “You know the one that goes da da daaaa da daaa?”
Just then, even though I thought everyone else had left my house, I could hear some guys talking in my kitchen. I walk in to find three guys that I don’t recognize, making themselves sandwiches on my kitchen counter.
“Who are you?” I wondered.
The three of them laughed as if this confrontation was their ultimate goal with their idiocy.
“Get out of my fridge,” I demanded. “Who are you?”
“So anyway,” one guy said, turning back to his friends, “as I was saying. We were walking to class and…”
“Get out or I’ll throw you out,” I insisted, eyebrows starting to raise so that they could see that I was serious.
I could tell that the three guys thought they were cute, so I walked up to the ring leader and snatched the sandwich right out of his mouth.
“Go,” I said. And when I saw that he giggled like a 10 year old girl with his friends, and that he wasn’t going to leave, I turned him and pushed him toward the back door.
“Come on guys,” he giggled again. “Let’s go.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Some people you have to meet to believe they’re real. One guy thought he was heaven’s gift to humanity, purposefully looking for cute ways to show off to his cronies. And even more amazing were the two lemmings who giggled along with him, hanging on to his every word and every move.
“Can you believe that guy?” I said after telling my roommates, Dusten and Mark, about what had just happened.
“Wait,” Mark said. “What did he look like?”
I described his height, build, and clothes, along with details about the two puppy dogs following him around.
Mark slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead, “That’s my cousin,” and told me his name.
Karma has a way of balancing out the universe. It does. It’s funny how a jerk will leave a trail of stink behind him that follows him everywhere he goes.
A month or so after the Acoustic Night incident I was talking over the new applications for a position at work. The new staff would be working right next to me and it was a good opportunity for the new worker to have something for his resume as well as a few more dollars in his pocket.
“I’ve narrowed it down to these two people,” Shawnee, my boss, said.
I glanced down at the two resumes that had risen to the top of the pile and smiled.
“Let me make this decision easy for you,” I said as I recognized one of the two names.