Saturday, January 30, 2016
Two - Frosty Responsibility
My mate Kev has never been the reliable sort. One time when I locked myself out of my apartment it took him the best part of three hours to merely get his date to leave his bedroom, drive up the coast to my parents house, break in and get my spare keys from the locked draw in my dad's home office then drive them an hour back down to me. Seriously? Three hours! I'd realized I'd left the back window open nearly two hours before he showed up. Then he wanted one of my last five beers! Dick.
Another time when was at his place and I asked if I could have a beer he replied 'I think there is one left in the outside fridge, help yourself'. Yep! That's right. He didn't even get it for me.
Then one other time when I was moving he only helped me for half a Sunday. Then when I realized that I didn't have room in my new place for the large fridge I owned and asked if he wanted to take it, he claimed that he 'already had a fridge', so I said 'well you have a garage, stick it in there' and then he said 'I can barely fit my car in there as it is' and then I said 'park on the street you lazy prick, and besides once when I was at your place you didn't even have any cold beers! None. Who the fuck treats a visitor like that? Take my fridge and you can have a fridge just for beer and be a good host for once'.
That shut him up. I'd obviously convinced him. But then later, when I asked for the money he owed me for buying it off me he said he'd only give me the price I paid for it $899, which turned out to be $50 less than what it cost to buy a new one in the modern market due to inflation!
Yep, Kev, he's a good mate, but he can't be relied on for shit. That means when he actually DOES get something moderately right, like spurting blood to give me cover, I know I have to get my part right too. It's hard to call someone out for being a lazy, unreliable dick if you fuck shit up yourself occasionally.
So opon my first purveyance of the cloakroom I knew that my ability to make fun of Kev for stabbing himself with a knife instead of a fork was on the line. I had to find something. And something good. Very good. Good enough to warrant being both found and claimed as being good.
And I had to find it in the cloakroom. Because that's where I both was, and where I'd claimed I'd find said good stuff.
The search was going to create a story worth detailing in every detail like a poet detailing something poetically, and when you're going to do something like that, you want to do it swiftly. Something I personally would never, ever fail to do.
To Be Continued*...
*long for Cont, you know to be clear