Here’s another true story:
So I work with this guy named Ryan Little. He’s a talented musician, very smart. Mostly, he’s a really nice guy.
At least I thought he was.
Ryan has always looked down on some of my “personality flaws.” These flaws include my dislike for vegetarian ideals, my disdain for bleeding heart Americans’ negligence of our own nation in favor of starving Southeast Asians, blah, blah, blah, etc.
Aside from that, I’ve always felt like Ryan and I were pretty much equals. You know – on a human level.
I was wrong. Oh, I was so wrong.
A couple of days ago, Ryan announced that he would be interviewing a little band called Death Cab for Cutie and having the article published in our local paper. When I found out, I went and congratulated Ryan. This is how the conversation went.
“Hey Ryan, I heard you were going to interview Death Cab for Cutie. That’s really cool. I think you will do a damn good job. You are awesome.”
“…um. Thanks.”
“Well, cool, man. You have my support.”
“…”
Ryan looked like he wanted to vomit when I patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him one more time. I figured he must have eaten a bad vegetarian entrée of some sort, so I decided to leave him alone.
Over the next few days, Ryan ignored me when I spoke with him. I didn’t think much of this. I figured he had a lot on his mind, you know, with all the amazing interview questions he had for a major label Indy band. I didn’t take it to heart.
I saw Ryan in the hallway outside my office yesterday. I decided to chat it up with him.
“Hey Ryan. What’s up, champ?”
“Eye contact…”
“What? I…umm…”
“Don’t make eye contact with me. And since you are so below me, why don’t you polish my shoes – with your face. Maggot.”
So I polished Ryan’s shoes with my face. I figured he needed to look good for his interview. No problem.
Today is when I finally realized Ryan might be looking down on me. Ryan came into my office. I immediately bowed my head as to avoid eye contact. Not surprisingly, I had quickly grown fond of the taste of shoes, so I started salivating. As I gave Ryan a precision shoe job, mindful not to look at him, he let me know that I would need to leave my office tomorrow so that he could use my desk, phone and computer to do the interview.
“No problem Missah Ryan…Yo shoes lookin’ real nice Missah Ryan. Anything else I can do fo’ you Missah Ryan?” It was so weird. In Ryan’s presence I had been reduced to a 19th century shine boy.
“You missed a spot, Garcia. Now, make sure the office is nice and clean when I need it tomorrow….HEY! Eye contact!!!”
“Sorry Missah Ryan. No problem Missah Ryan…”
“Bye stupid.”
After cleaning up my office for Ryan, I sent my fiancée, Meggie, an e-mail:
From: David Garcia [mailto:dcgarcia@*********.com]
Sent: Wed 4/23/2008 3:22 PM
To: Cochran, Megan
Subject: RE: MEEEEEGGGGIE MEG!!!
Ryan is interviewing Death Cab for Cutie tomorrow.
From: Cochran, Megan [mailto:Megan.Cochran@*******.com]
Sent: Wednesday, April 23, 2008 3:34 PM
To: David Garcia
Subject: RE: MEEEEEGGGGIE MEG!!!
Holy Crap what?! I LOVE DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE!!!!! I WANT TO MEET THEM!!!!
This was followed up by another e-mail from Meggie asking for Ryan’s e-mail address.
EPILOGUE:
Meggie dumped me for Ryan. Ryan has moved into my apartment. I am homeless. Nobody likes me, and everyone loves Ryan. I shine shoes now…with my face.
- David C. Garcia
I know I’m old. I know I’m a computer idiot, but, I don’t understand this story. Please explain to mom.
love, mom
The whole thing is a joke, mom. It’s an exaggerated story.