THE ORIGIN OF EVIL


“This is a cool song, huh?”

I look up and it’s the Waiter I Hate talking to me. Until today he was the Waiter Who Annoys Me but was promoted this morning to WIH after a 25 minute bagel he “forgot to put in”.

Grrrr... very very ebil. I hate you. You smell like food.

When I thought about how much I hated him, he’d magically appear and find my face pulling a Dick Cheney, like I’m passing kidney stones the size of Esplanades. Betty pipes in : Get a grip, it’s only a fucking bagel! So I relax until I get hungry again and recall my Righteous Hate and make The Mad Face and *poof* he shows up.

“Maybe you’re being too harsh” Good Hugh suggests. “Are you kidding?”, Evil Hugh responds. “Look at him!” Evil Hugh then kicks Good Hugh in the leg.

I finally resort to practising “Happy Face” so when he returns, I’m more than just a starving bitter seething he-demon my bagel and I’ve maturely put things in perspective. Perhaps my tense Mona Lisa smile has led to his Confidence. I can just Fake Like him.

“What’s was that band called again?” he adds.

Until now. See the song was “My Best Friend’s Girlfriend” by The Cars. I also know the WIH’s “career goal” is to be a Rock Star. Honest. You ask him and he seriously answers “Rock Star”, like it’s a course at DeVry. He looks nothing like a Rock Star. Correction : I can not imagine him playing to a stadium full of fans yet gladly picture him ODing on the floor of a hotel room. You “play the guitar” but DON’T KNOW THE FUCKING CARS? At this point, perhaps sensing my animosity, Polly has jumped to my lap where I begin stroking her like Evil Villains do with their pets. I now know how EVs soothe their Homicidal Impulses.

“The band is The Cars” I purr, my hand gliding over Polly’s sleek fur.

“What happened to them?”

I hate you. I bought this record. I remember playing The Cars and Joe Jackson over and over. You are such a loser. You are the loseiest loser ever. If I drew a big Loser Chart, you would be all over it. Is my Evil Hate showing on my face?Can you hear the lambs, Clarice?

“Ric Ocasek’s around.” I reply tersely.

Now Annie Lennox is singing “Whiter Shade of Pale”. I try maintaining interest in the WIH but keep one eye on the crossword and occasionally add a letter or two.

“Remember Annie Lennox?” he continues.

Ok. That’s it. I am turning the Stun Gun to Eviscerate. There will be a slight burning behind your ears until the ball of hair product on your shoulders erupts in flames. Your ass is grass.

“Yes, I liked The Eurythmics too.”

“My brother has a tape of SNL’s twenty-fifth anniversary and I saw her. Well, it was The Eurythmics which was basically just her anyway. The other guy just, you know, wrote and stuff. They were wearing sunglasses.”

Ok, I’m not moving. Freeze like a statue and let each and every one of those horribly wrong sentences slide around your Force Field. If you Play Dead, he will amble away. Or maybe it’s act bigger. Either way, action must be taken.

“Yes, I remember” I offer in my most monotone Zombie-like voice in order to dampen any response. Finally he leaves when his cell phone rings.

These moments are the cornerstone of 12 step programs. It’s make or break, the moment you either stay strong or suddenly remember why you drank/snorted/fucked yourself and snap. Opposable thumbs and the ability to handle obnoxious Waiters are what separate us from Beasts. As he leaves, Polly closes her eyes dismissively. I pick up my pen and solve the last crossword clue : SOCKEDINTHENOSE.

9:19:47 PM    sro home /