Saturday night. I'm sitting down to dinner with a buddy of mine, Jimmy. We're at this hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint I know. A great little place: nice ambiance, reasonable prices, and fantastic food. It's a family-owned Ma and Pop establishment. It's one of those places you really can't, nor shouldn't, tell anyone about because it's your little secret. Your own private Idaho.
Jimmy's filling me in on some shit that happened earlier.
“ So this guy is tailgating me the entire way. We're talking seven or eight blocks. I'm starting to get annoyed at this point...”
“ Uh-huh.” I casually poke at my kung-pao shrimp. As usual, it’s absolutely perfect - spicy as hell, plenty of peanuts, hardly any celery. I believe Chinese restaurants that overload their entrees with celery are cheap. Jimmy ordered the Almond Chicken. I notice that he keeps adding soy sauce to his dish.
“ So what did you do dude?"
“ This fat fuck keeps riding my ass right? I tap my brakes a couple times. His bumper is still literally inches behind mine. This fucking creep knows I'm pissed and he intentionally starts getting closer. I'm going ape-shit.”
“ No shiiiiit. What a fucker.” Outside our window we hear a junkie shouting at a Ferrari. I blow on a steaming spoonful of egg-drop soup.
“ Yeah. So check this out. At the next stoplight this piece of shit is sitting there shouting at me and flipping ME off... like I'M the one who fucked up you know?”
“ What did you do?” I take a long pull from my beer. I look up at Jimmy and again I notice he's dumping soy sauce onto his plate. I hear a woman two booths behind me giggling uncontrollably.
By this point Jimmy's pretty animated - he's waving his arms around as he tells his story, wildly striking and jabbing at the air. “ So I grab my gun out of the glove box and throw open my car door. As I approach him this dip-shit is halfway out of his ride so I kick his door in as hard as I can. He's squeezed in there like he's caught in a god damned vice!”
“ Whoa, nice.” Jimmy's grinning like a Cheshire cat. He pauses for a moment intently looking outside. I then see him reach for the soy sauce.
“Jimmy, hey would you mind?!”
“ What?”
“ You keep dumping soy sauce onto your food.”
“ So what?”
“ It's annoying. Why the hell did you even order the almond chicken? You could have just ordered a plate of steamed rice and ate that with soy sauce.”
“What's your problem? Calm dow...”
“ Do YOU think the chef intended for you to completely ruin his creation the way you have? Jesus Christ, you have no fucking class. No sense of culture at all! How about asking the waitress for a bottle of ranch next time?!”
“ Are you kidding me? This is a joke right?”
Two minute dead silence as we stare at each other across the table. The entire restaurant seems to freeze up... turning red as it holds it's breath. And I'm a race car in the red. I exhale a loud sigh and take another swallow of my beer. I turn back to Jimmy and hold up the bottle.
“ Yes... I am kidding. Just breaking your balls.... Salut....”
“ I hope so motherfucker. You insult me in a dream you'd better wake up and apologize... Salut.”
I grin and finish my Kirin.
I toss my napkin onto my empty plate. As I rise I slide the black plastic tray holding the bill over to Jimmy's side of the table. “O.K Charley Bronson, you're buying... let's go get us some of that Saturday night fever.”
4 comments:
Fucking A1 writing as ever. I'm genuinely not saying this to suck you off - I mean why would I? But, this edge of menace you stick into the everday situations we all have: driving, eating a meal - like I said - fucking A1 - and all completely real at the same time.
As the Joker says - 'you are my number one guy!'
It reminds me of times I frequent my favorite little sushi bar. So perfect, it is. Similar to something out of kill bill 2.
It's funny - I read this and find it interesting how little you actually care about what your friend is saying compared to the vandalization of his food with soy sauce. I'm sure if you thought the food was shit you wouldn't give a rats ass if he was drowning it in soy sauce, duck sauce, plum sauce or KY Jelly. But you cared more about the food and the establishment than your company. Interesting.
At least that's my take.
And I like the title of this. I have no doubt Sun Tzu would sympathetically challenge you to a duel. If you're lucky, he may even be so inclined to slap your face gently with the back hand of his glove.
You could only be so fortunate.
Ruksak. It's a testosterone fueled world we live in. A dangerous world. And I, for one, am a paranoid fucker. Constantly on the defensive and always cynical.
With friends like "Jimmy" wouldn't you be? Who needs enemies?
Colonialave. Now that's what I call a perfect reading. That is exactly what I was getting at, what you said, every bit of it.
And I doubt Sun Tzu would be gentlemanly enough to slap me across the face with a pristine white glove a la Bugs Bunny. Or then again maybe he would... with a smile, while twelve snipers simultaneously take aim at my ass.
I think the general would commend you on remembering your strategy.
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