Save Me, chapter 1
"Look, I'm not saying its not white chocolate mocha, I'm saying it doesn't taste like white chocolate mocha!" I don't know what the fucko wanted me to do. This wasn't fucking Starbucks, it was a goddamn Exxon Station.
"Sir, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do. Perhaps you could go to an actual coffee café and get, you know... actual coffee." I said with all the politeness I could muster. I knew this guy would be trouble as soon as he walked in. He strutted in as if a baseball bat was shoved up his ass, in a 3 piece suit, wearing that expression that says 'Hey, I'm better than you.'
"Don't get smart with me young man," what the fuck, I'm 27; "I demand you give me my money back." He slammed his pale fist down on the counter. I just looked at the fist for a second then looked at up at him. His lip was doing this weird pout thing, while his face got redder by the second. He reminded me of a spoiled two-year-old that didn't get the Bobba Fett action figure right when he wanted it.
"Look... we don't give refunds on half drunken cups of coffee." You won't believe what the jackass did next. I swear to God you wont fucking believe it. He puts the coffee cup on the counter and looks at me as if he can't decide if 30 years in the slammer and countless butt fucks is worth killing me. Then after a minute he slaps the cup as hard as he can, sending shitty white chocolate mocha everywhere. As the hot liquid soaked my shirt, burning the skin underneath, I fucking lost it.
"Hey, Fucko, you wanna know why it doesn't fucking taste like fucking white chocolate? Huh? I'll tell you why, because I fucking whacked off in it this morning!" His eye got as wide as two bass drums. It was a total lie, but it got the reaction I wanted.
"You... you... ."
"That's right; you just fucking drank half a cup of white chocolate mocha JIZZ!" Having made that glorious fucking statement I hopped over the counter, grabbed the guys fat ugly face and planted a wet one on his pouty fucking lips, Bugs bunny style. Like I said I lost it. It was 7:30 in the morning, I had been working since one and was supposed to of been off thirty minutes before, but fucking Carl hadn't come in yet to take over my shift. You don't fuck with a guy running that kind of schedule.
Fucko quickly shoved me off and proceeded to tackle me to the ground screaming inaudible obscenities and attacks on my sexuality. You know what I did? I laughed. The whole time he was bashing my head into the ground I was laughing my head off. "What the fuck's going on in here?" my boss Tony screamed as he waddled to us from his office in the back. "Jesus Christ!" He ripped Fucko off of me and began apologizing profusely. That's Tony for ya. Doesn't even know the goddamn situation and already he's on his knees begging for forgiveness.
"This man... he... I never... FIRE HIM! " Fucko turned on his heel and stomped out the door. I was still laughing when Tony bopped me a good one on the side of the head.
"Ow!"
"Goddamn it, Jacob! That is the fourth customer that has stormed out of here because of you this month! I'm tired of giving you another chance every time! GET OUT!" If I hadn't been so taken aback at my apparent firing I would've laughed. His gray comb over had fallen across his red, round cherry like face and the vain in his neck was pulsating at a rate I had never seen.
"Tony, c'mon he deserved it!" I said gently with a slight smirk, brushing the hair from his face and straightening his tie. Tony merely slapped my hands away.
"Jacob, I don't care how good of friends I was with your father, nothing is worth this much trouble! You need to grow-up, get a real and drop that god forsaken band. Now, get out!"
I wiped the spit that had just flown from Tony's mouth off my face. "Fine! I don't need this shit!" I grabbed my coat off the rack and walked out without another word.
The biting winter morning air sent chills up and down my spine giving me goose bumps as I walked sulkily to my truck, lighting up a cigarette. I couldn't believe it, 4 jobs in a year. Christ, what would Pop say? He died when I was 18 of emphysema brought on by his twenty plus years of smoking. As you can tell it didn't get me to kick the habit, on the contrary, his death made it worse.
I checked my reflection in the side mirror. Not too bad... just a bloody nose, maybe a black eye. I wiped away the trickle of crimson coming from my nose and got in the truck.
"C'mon... C'mon!" As I turned the ignition all that came was the sputtering mocking sound of God playing another one of his cruel jokes on me. "Damn it, come the fuck on!" The last thing I wanted was to have to drag my sorry ass back in there and ask Tony for some jumper cables or the number to the closest mechanic. Cursing, I got out again and slammed my foot into the side of the hood. The engine roared to life. Now I was off to do the one thing that put life back into balance: play my drums.
Mom's Oldsmobile was still in the drive-way when I pulled up. That's right, I'm almost thirty-fucking-years-old and I still live with my mom. Do realize how hard it is to fuck a girl with your mom sound asleep across the tiny wooden box we referred to as home? Do realize how hard it is to keep a girl once they realize you're almost thirty and living with mommy?
It hasn't always been this way, though. When I was 21 I moved in with this girl. Oh God, she was amazing. Her name was Holly and she was a bombshell! Not just physically, aside from her perfect body and silky dark hair, she was smart, witty and funny as hell. Things were going great; I mean, I thought I was going to marry this girl. Key word here: thought.
One day after band practice I walked in on her and her best friend Linda. I know guys joke about if their girlfriends went lesbian how great it would be, but it's not. It's the worst goddamn feeling in the world. Not because she went gay, but because you're obviously not fucking good enough. I didn't even get my stuff; I just turned and walked out.
Over the next few weeks she made several attempts to call me, but I never took any of the calls. I just stayed in they basement banging away at my old Tama kit Dad had given me when I was 13. Through out the whole ordeal only Mom and the guys were there for me, so afterwards I pretty much started hating everyone except them. I even hated God to an extent; first He takes away my father and now my fucking girlfriend. What the fuck did I ever do to Him?
The goddamn door on the truck wouldn't shut, so I had to revert, once again, back to my caveman instincts and bash it back in. Quickly I unlocked the front door and quickly my hopes of playing drums were dashed. In the room that was my mother's came the faint sounds of soft snoring.
"Damn it..." I muttered bitterly under my breath. Playing would have to wait until later, until then I decided to get a little bit of sleep. I attempted to turn on the light in my room (really it was more like a walk in closet) so I could find some PJs, but to no avail. Mom had said we'd have to skip a bill this month... I guess heat's more important than light.
I found some of my old Big Dog pajama pants under my bed. I slipped them on and flopped down onto my bed with a sigh. I was pissed. I was pissed at my lazy ass self, God, Dad, Tony, Fucko, Holly. I was pissed that my life was so shitty and that soon I'd have to tell Mom that I'd gotten laid off again. I was pissed that I'd have to watch her old, but still pretty face fall, not into anger but disappointment which was ten times as worse.
Immediately I reached for my head phones and popped in the soundtrack to my life. I muttered the first line before I drifted off to sleep. "I do declare I don't care no more."
"Sir, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do. Perhaps you could go to an actual coffee café and get, you know... actual coffee." I said with all the politeness I could muster. I knew this guy would be trouble as soon as he walked in. He strutted in as if a baseball bat was shoved up his ass, in a 3 piece suit, wearing that expression that says 'Hey, I'm better than you.'
"Don't get smart with me young man," what the fuck, I'm 27; "I demand you give me my money back." He slammed his pale fist down on the counter. I just looked at the fist for a second then looked at up at him. His lip was doing this weird pout thing, while his face got redder by the second. He reminded me of a spoiled two-year-old that didn't get the Bobba Fett action figure right when he wanted it.
"Look... we don't give refunds on half drunken cups of coffee." You won't believe what the jackass did next. I swear to God you wont fucking believe it. He puts the coffee cup on the counter and looks at me as if he can't decide if 30 years in the slammer and countless butt fucks is worth killing me. Then after a minute he slaps the cup as hard as he can, sending shitty white chocolate mocha everywhere. As the hot liquid soaked my shirt, burning the skin underneath, I fucking lost it.
"Hey, Fucko, you wanna know why it doesn't fucking taste like fucking white chocolate? Huh? I'll tell you why, because I fucking whacked off in it this morning!" His eye got as wide as two bass drums. It was a total lie, but it got the reaction I wanted.
"You... you... ."
"That's right; you just fucking drank half a cup of white chocolate mocha JIZZ!" Having made that glorious fucking statement I hopped over the counter, grabbed the guys fat ugly face and planted a wet one on his pouty fucking lips, Bugs bunny style. Like I said I lost it. It was 7:30 in the morning, I had been working since one and was supposed to of been off thirty minutes before, but fucking Carl hadn't come in yet to take over my shift. You don't fuck with a guy running that kind of schedule.
Fucko quickly shoved me off and proceeded to tackle me to the ground screaming inaudible obscenities and attacks on my sexuality. You know what I did? I laughed. The whole time he was bashing my head into the ground I was laughing my head off. "What the fuck's going on in here?" my boss Tony screamed as he waddled to us from his office in the back. "Jesus Christ!" He ripped Fucko off of me and began apologizing profusely. That's Tony for ya. Doesn't even know the goddamn situation and already he's on his knees begging for forgiveness.
"This man... he... I never... FIRE HIM! " Fucko turned on his heel and stomped out the door. I was still laughing when Tony bopped me a good one on the side of the head.
"Ow!"
"Goddamn it, Jacob! That is the fourth customer that has stormed out of here because of you this month! I'm tired of giving you another chance every time! GET OUT!" If I hadn't been so taken aback at my apparent firing I would've laughed. His gray comb over had fallen across his red, round cherry like face and the vain in his neck was pulsating at a rate I had never seen.
"Tony, c'mon he deserved it!" I said gently with a slight smirk, brushing the hair from his face and straightening his tie. Tony merely slapped my hands away.
"Jacob, I don't care how good of friends I was with your father, nothing is worth this much trouble! You need to grow-up, get a real and drop that god forsaken band. Now, get out!"
I wiped the spit that had just flown from Tony's mouth off my face. "Fine! I don't need this shit!" I grabbed my coat off the rack and walked out without another word.
The biting winter morning air sent chills up and down my spine giving me goose bumps as I walked sulkily to my truck, lighting up a cigarette. I couldn't believe it, 4 jobs in a year. Christ, what would Pop say? He died when I was 18 of emphysema brought on by his twenty plus years of smoking. As you can tell it didn't get me to kick the habit, on the contrary, his death made it worse.
I checked my reflection in the side mirror. Not too bad... just a bloody nose, maybe a black eye. I wiped away the trickle of crimson coming from my nose and got in the truck.
"C'mon... C'mon!" As I turned the ignition all that came was the sputtering mocking sound of God playing another one of his cruel jokes on me. "Damn it, come the fuck on!" The last thing I wanted was to have to drag my sorry ass back in there and ask Tony for some jumper cables or the number to the closest mechanic. Cursing, I got out again and slammed my foot into the side of the hood. The engine roared to life. Now I was off to do the one thing that put life back into balance: play my drums.
Mom's Oldsmobile was still in the drive-way when I pulled up. That's right, I'm almost thirty-fucking-years-old and I still live with my mom. Do realize how hard it is to fuck a girl with your mom sound asleep across the tiny wooden box we referred to as home? Do realize how hard it is to keep a girl once they realize you're almost thirty and living with mommy?
It hasn't always been this way, though. When I was 21 I moved in with this girl. Oh God, she was amazing. Her name was Holly and she was a bombshell! Not just physically, aside from her perfect body and silky dark hair, she was smart, witty and funny as hell. Things were going great; I mean, I thought I was going to marry this girl. Key word here: thought.
One day after band practice I walked in on her and her best friend Linda. I know guys joke about if their girlfriends went lesbian how great it would be, but it's not. It's the worst goddamn feeling in the world. Not because she went gay, but because you're obviously not fucking good enough. I didn't even get my stuff; I just turned and walked out.
Over the next few weeks she made several attempts to call me, but I never took any of the calls. I just stayed in they basement banging away at my old Tama kit Dad had given me when I was 13. Through out the whole ordeal only Mom and the guys were there for me, so afterwards I pretty much started hating everyone except them. I even hated God to an extent; first He takes away my father and now my fucking girlfriend. What the fuck did I ever do to Him?
The goddamn door on the truck wouldn't shut, so I had to revert, once again, back to my caveman instincts and bash it back in. Quickly I unlocked the front door and quickly my hopes of playing drums were dashed. In the room that was my mother's came the faint sounds of soft snoring.
"Damn it..." I muttered bitterly under my breath. Playing would have to wait until later, until then I decided to get a little bit of sleep. I attempted to turn on the light in my room (really it was more like a walk in closet) so I could find some PJs, but to no avail. Mom had said we'd have to skip a bill this month... I guess heat's more important than light.
I found some of my old Big Dog pajama pants under my bed. I slipped them on and flopped down onto my bed with a sigh. I was pissed. I was pissed at my lazy ass self, God, Dad, Tony, Fucko, Holly. I was pissed that my life was so shitty and that soon I'd have to tell Mom that I'd gotten laid off again. I was pissed that I'd have to watch her old, but still pretty face fall, not into anger but disappointment which was ten times as worse.
Immediately I reached for my head phones and popped in the soundtrack to my life. I muttered the first line before I drifted off to sleep. "I do declare I don't care no more."
