As most people who know me have heard, I lived in Florida for a few years. Specifically, I lived in the Winter Park section of Orlando. If I chose to, I could write a book on the horrors of living there, but that’s not for this book. I will simply write of a few instances that occurred while I lived there. The first of which is one of the very few times I have lost my temper. I was living in a two bedroom apartment with four other guys, one of whom had graduated the school we were all attending. One would expect this guy, hitherto referred to as “The Slacker”, to find a job and, perhaps, contribute to the apartment so the rest of us did not have to carry him. This was not the case however, he simply would mooch off our money, our food, and us. One day, his actions came to a head and I had to move out for my own sanity.
It started out simply enough, I was cooking dinner. I asked if anyone else wanted any: one said he wasn’t hungry, the slacker wasn’t paying attention, but one DID ask for food. So I cooked enough food for myself and the hungry one. When the slacker comes to me and asks where HIS food is. I reply that I made none for him because he said he wasn’t hungry but the stuff is out if you want to cook it yourself. He then replied to this very kind and VERY reasonable offer as follows: “Whatever bitch just cook my fucking dinner.” Bear in mind, the slacker (approximately 5’5” and weighing about 180 pounds) is telling ME (6’3” and 285 pounds) to make him his “fucking dinner.” This is point in the story where I become quite upset with him. You will be able to tell how mad I am by the next course of action I followed. I grabbed this little man and threw him against the far wall, about 15’ away, and into the sliding glass door. The door didn’t break however so I had to slide it open in order to kick him out onto the balcony. I grabbed him by the belt and dangled him off the edge of the balcony. I have neglected to mention up to this point that our apartment was on the third floor of the building where we lived. The normal crying and screaming happened as when someone believes their life to be in the hands of a madman. It was at this point that I informed him that if he ever so much as talked to me without my permission again I would make him a grease stain in the sidewalk. He was coherent enough to nod as I threw him back into the apartment’s living room.
Normally, I’m a very calm person. It takes a lot for me to get past “Upset” on my scale of things. There are only a few people in this world who have ever actually seen me “Angry.” I don’t like doing it, but if it is necessary. Moral of THAT story: Think about what you are going to say before you piss off the giant Viking with which you live.
No comments:
Post a Comment