Chapter 7: The Fight

I unlocked the door into his apartment one day and cringed. This was becoming a daily ritual. Every time I entered I would take a whiff of whatever product Rosalia used to clean his apartment. It smelled awful. It smelled like a pediatrician’s office. It was just that standard clean smell that makes you feel like no one cares about you but they’re going to pretend to.

He wasn’t there that day. Good. I hoped he wasn’t coming back. He recently hurt his back and he was hanging around the office a lot more. He couldn’t drive because he was constantly on Vicodin. It sucked. He couldn’t wear shoes because it hurt his back too much and he didn’t bother to brush his hair. He’s already unattractive to begin with, but this was just getting out of hand.

Luckily, today, he was not in. Thank God. I needed a day of work without doing work.

I sat down at the desk and began my usual morning routine of making the coffee, answering the trivia on IMDB, taking a nap, etc.

The phone rang. I answered it. It was boss-man. He curtly asked me to email some air-conditioning guy about some conference boss-man was holding next month.

We hung up. I emailed the guy then fell back asleep.

Two hours later, the phone rings again. It’s boss-man.

“Becky? I’m sorry if I sounded so short with you before. I got in a fight.”

“What?”

“I got in a fight.”

What the fuck?

Call me afraid of confrontation, but when I see a real-live fight that doesn’t involve Tolkien, Keanu Reeves, or being able to do martial arts in heels, I get disgusted. Real-live fights are the biggest turn-offs for me. I lose respect for anyone who cannot control their anger to the point where they need to touch another human being. That other human being did not ask to be touched. That other human being was not hired to be touched. What the fuck is your problem?

Here’s what happened:

Boss-man enjoys talking loudly on his cell-phone. He likes it when other people think he’s important. Fine. We all have small dicks every once in a while.

He’s talking on the phone in a Noah’s Bagels and doesn’t see that it is his turn in line to order. The man behind him taps him on the shoulder. However, this shoulder tap ignites that pain in his back.

Boss-man hangs up the phone, asks the shoulder-tapper “What the fuck is your problem?” and proceeds to push him. The other guy pushes back. A fight ensues. An employee ceases his shmearing to kick the two men out. Now, boss-man becomes another name in the long-list of angry Orthodox Jews who can no longer enter a Noah’s bagels.

And you thought the Bloods had it tough…

It’s at this point, I decide, I’m going to quit soon.