July 18, 2007 (updated November 16, 2007)
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As I walked into Sluggerz that night, I saw Mitch was already sitting with a beer in our usual booth under the Joe Garagiola picture, the first time Mitch had arrived early for one of our meetings. Maybe he really needed to see me. Or maybe he really needed a beer. Or both.
We met once or twice a month at that bar, just to have a few beers and catch up on things on an interpersonal level. Even when I was busier than usual, I�d still manage to meet him, even for just a few minutes, because I wanted to maintain a close father-son relationship with him.
My father and I, on the other hand, didn�t have a close relationship. He spent almost all his time on the road for the vending-machine company, so by the time I reached adulthood, we were pretty much strangers. We hadn�t spoken for years when he dropped dead from a heart attack at age 60 while walking toward the clubhouse after playing his weekly 18 holes of golf. Maybe he should have used a golf cart. (He�d scored a 79 in his last game, by the way, slightly better than my usual score.)
Anyway, Mitch was born a few years later. I essentially never knew my father, but I vowed that my son would know his. So whenever I could, I�d talk with Mitch�friendly, man-to-man talk about school, sports, politics, his mother�s killjoy attitude toward life, et cetera. Whenever I could, I�d take him to ball games and amusement parks and the video arcade and fast-food restaurants. I�d even take him to those Bush Senior campaign rallies I helped organize. Mitch liked spending time with me; I never heard him complain, at least. I liked spending time with him, too, especially now that I had outlived my father by one day and counting. You could say I had father issues, but it felt good beating him in parental performance and in longevity.
Anyway, as I walked up to Mitch that night in Sluggerz, I could tell he was drunk; his polo shirt collar was completely unbuttoned. �Hi,� I said.
�Yo, whassup dude,� he said.
Before I could explain, well, what was up, he said �Sheri dumped me at work today.�
�I�m sorry to hear that,� I said as I sat down next to him. So that�s why he was drunk.
�Yeah.� He took a quick gulp from his mug of beer. �I was with her last night, and everything seemed fine. But today�today, she walked into my office and said we were through. And as if that weren�t bad enough, she said she�d started seeing Emil.�
�Who?�
�Emil Stanescu? That pasty-faced guy from content appraisal?�
�Him? She was joking, right?�
��Fraid not, Dad.�
�What does she even see in him?�
�You know, I wondered that myself. So I asked her, and she said he was smart and considerate and funny�generic reasons. Every chick says her guy�s smart and considerate and funny. Though, come to think of it, Sheri never said I was any of those things.�
�Maybe she didn�t think you were generic,� I said as sincerely as possible.
Mitch snorted. He paused for several seconds, then he said �Maybe Emil has a twelve-and-a-half-inch�nah, I doubt it. It�s obvious she hooked up with that lower form of life just to piss me off, and it worked. I got so pissed off that I fired both of them, right on the spot.�
�You did?�
�I did.�
�But�what if they decide to sue us?�
Mitch thought for a moment. �Let �em. I�ll just tell the government I actually fired them cuz I thought they were security risks. Can�t be too careful nowadays. I�ll say I heard they had a threeway with Michael Moore.�
�Get serious, Mitch.�
�Or maybe a fourway, considering he counts as two people.�
�Good evening,� said Neve, our usual waitress, who had walked up to our booth. �Glad to see you�ve arrived, Mr. Graham.�
�Well, I�m glad you�re glad,� I said with a smile.
�Thanks.� About time you noticed I�d arrived, whore. She always wore thick, whorish makeup, including cheek powder embedded with silver sparkles. �Would you like to look at a menu, sir?�
�No, not tonight. But I would like�what beer you drinking, Mitch?�
�Uh, Rocko Malt Classic?� he said.
�I haven�t had that for a while. Okay, gimme a Rocko Malt.�
�And I�ll have another one, cuz I�m still conscious.�
�All righty then,� she said. �I�ll bring your beers out in a jiff.� Sure you will, you lazy whore. She smiled and walked away.
�So anyway, I doubt they�ll sue us,� Mitch said, resuming our conversation. �We didn�t pay �em enough to afford good lawyers, heh heh.�
�Yeah. Now that I think about it, you�re right. They probably won�t sue us. If they did get good lawyers, we could just put Sheri�s, uh, personal history on trial.�
�You mean her sexual history, right? That would make it the longest trial ever.� Another pause. �God, I still can�t believe she dumped me. I was in love with her, did you know that?�
�Yeah, you mentioned that before, but you never mentioned why you loved her. Why did you love her, Mitch?�
�Why did I love her?�
�Mm-hmm.�
�Besides the two big reasons?� He cupped his nonexistent breasts during the �two big reasons� part. �Well�she was smarter than the average chick. Or maybe not smarter, maybe just better-informed. She didn�t waste her time talking about fashion or celebrities, at least around me. Instead, right from the moment we met, she�d talk about, like, how the latest troop surge in Baghdad would work if the Democrat party would let it, or how this or that government handout program attracts illegal immigrants from Meh-hee-co. I knew she was just regurgitating what my favorite websites said, but who cares. Anyone who looked like her could get away with murder. And maybe she�d learn something from the sites, at least�
�But how�d she know what your favorite sites were, from the moment you two met?�
�Beats me. Anyway, you wanna know when I knew I was in love with her? It was during our first date, right here at Sluggerz, a few days after we�d met. We hadn�t had sex yet or even made out. I knew she wanted me, she�d been flirting with me like hell since we�d met. Anyway, I don�t know how the subject came up, I was too distracted by what she had on display in her tight blouse, but she said she listened to Stephanie Rivers.�
�Stephanie Rivers?!�
�Yeah, I know. I said something like �Rivers sucks, she�s a sucky Ann Coulter wannabe, and I prefer the real thing,� and Sheri said �I know, I think Rivers sucks too, but I might as well support local talent, and not too many women my age get their own radio shows. Plus at least she�s not a Hillary Clinton wannabe. And anyway,� Sheri said, �and anyway, sometimes she, Rivers, says something intelligent.��
Neve walked up to our table, carrying two mugs of beer on a tray. She wasn�t that slow tonight. �Here you go, gentlemen. Two Rocko Malt Classics.� She gave them to us. �You need anything else, just give me a holler.�
�Yup, we�ll holler all right,� I said with a smile. She walked away.
�So Sheri said that Rivers says something intelligent sometimes,� Mitch continued. ��Like what,� I said. �Well,� Sheri said, �just recently she said that one good thing to come out of the Kassie Brogden beating is that it might discourage the mannish-looking women from venturing outside.� Sheri said �The world�s ugly enough as it is. Why make it look uglier by making yourself look ugly on purpose? If you�re a woman, you should enhance your womanly virtues, whatever virtues you have, whether you�re straight or lesbian or a fake lesbian.� And right then, I knew I was in love with her cuz she wanted to spread beauty throughout the world, like a humanitarian. And we did finally have sex that night, and for me, it was emotionally fulfilling cuz I knew I loved her�.I guess I still love her a little, even though she did break my heart.�
�Mr. Sensitive.�
�That�s me, I guess. I love puppy dogs and rainbows.�
We sipped our beers.
�Oh,� I said, �when I came down here tonight, I had planned to talk with you about another employee�Bret Jenssen?�
�Really? He was here earlier.�
�Uh-huh. Anyway, it seems he�s still sending pornographic e-mails from work.�
Mitch didn�t say anything.
�You did tell him we monitor all e-mail usage at work, right?�
�Sure, but come on, Dad. He�s just sending his dirty e-mails to spammers.�
�Not anymore. Today, Pete Dankowski somehow received a copy of Bret�s latest e-mail.�
�Really?...Was it intentional?�
�I don�t know, but it doesn�t matter. Bret�s not supposed to be sending e-mails like that from work in the first place.�
�Yeah. So did you see this e-mail?�
�Yes. Pete forwarded it to me, and I read it. And I wish I hadn�t. In it, Bret [redacted due to legal reasons].�
�Huh. That sounds G-rated by Bret�s standards. Have you ever read his e-mail about the midget and the fat chick?�
�No!� I took another drink of my beer. �Pete told me he�d complained to you about Bret several times and gotten nowhere.�
�I wouldn�t say several. More like once or twice. And I have talked with Bret about his job performance.�
�Mm-hmm.�
�Plus you have to remember, Pete�s had a vendetta against me since the Fifties car cruise.�
�And the twenty other employees who have told me they�ve complained to you about Bret and gotten nowhere? Do they have vendettas too?� Mitch didn�t say anything. �Admit it, his job performance has deteriorated.�
�All right, I�ll have another talk with him.�
�Talking won�t do. You need to let him go.�
�Me? You want to get rid of him. Why should I let him go?�
�Because he�s your friend, and you insisted I hire him�.If he weren�t your friend, would you still let him work here?...Would you still let him work here if you didn�t feel sorry for him because of his uncle?�
His uncle was Troy Labutto, the assailant in the Kassie Brogden beating.
Mitch looked down at the tabletop for a few seconds. He lifted his head. �All right, Bret has to go. I�ll fire his ass first thing Monday.�
�You really shouldn�t put it that way, Mitch. Euphemisms are a boss�s best friend.�
I hired Mitch as my content development supervisor a year ago. I would have hired him for that position even if he hadn�t been my son. He was only 21, but age doesn�t matter to me as long as you�re qualified for the job, and Mitch was more than qualified. He�d majored in public relations in college and had a straight-A average, and he�d scored in the top one-percentile on the Wendleton-Symms Collegiate Aptitude Survey.
He probably would have graduated top of his class, if he hadn�t left college last year, his junior year, to avoid what promised to be a rather nasty student disciplinary board hearing. Taylor McKenzie, his girlfriend at the time, had filed a complaint against him for sending her an e-mail filled with what she called �hate speech,� as in what she called �misogynistic ravings.� It�s interesting how much trouble e-mails and females have caused him.
Anyway, Mitch showed me the e-mail in question. He shouldn�t have sent it to her. Sure, she deserved it for cheating on him with almost all the hippie anti-war traitors on campus, but people are so touchy nowadays, you don�t know what they�ll do. Not that I found the e-mail offensive myself�well, not too offensive. I didn�t mind the cursing; I used to curse a lot at his age. I did mind the part about the battery-acid colonic, but I could understand that Mitch was trying to make a humorous point about how liberals like her go easy on the terrorists who want to destroy our American way of life. Too bad the disciplinary board consisted of nothing but liberals like her. They probably would have expelled him or at least ordered him to attend brainwashing classes about the joys of diversity, but he didn�t feel like sticking around to find out. He�d been thinking of quitting college anyway, at least for a while, due to the unrelenting Marxist thought control. He�s considered resuming his education at a real school, but in the meantime, he�s working for me.
And he�s performed even better than I expected. He�s really applied himself, really improving his already formidable creative skills. He writes very effective content and has attracted several new clients. He�s even convinced the CIA to let us work on their Iran destabilization campaign, earning us a glowing mention on PR-blitz.com. (Yes, even the intelligence community now outsources its assignments, much to our company�s benefit.)
Not everything has worked out for him at work, however, as his involvement with Sheri Hulsing proves. I could have warned him against having an intimate relationship with an employee, just as I could have warned him against having an intimate relationship with Taylor the loony liberal. But I would have gotten nowhere each time. When I was his age, I thought with my dick too�sorry, there�s no other way to put it.
At least the upbringing I gave him has paid off in one respect: he doesn�t cheat on women. He has monogamous relationships. Well, I guess he actually practices serial monogamy, but that�s still better than just sleeping around, which I did at his age, and which caused quite a few problems I won�t go into now, unless you want this to be the longest piece of writing ever. He wants to have close relationships with women, but he seems to think that close relationships mostly involve sex, disguised as something nonsexual. Obviously he loved Sheri only for her body, if you could call such a reaction love. He probably wanted to justify his lust for her, justify it in a so-called respectable way, so he came up with that current-events reason.
Oh, well. I only hope that disastrous relationship has finally helped him start learning what real love is.
Feh. Just feh....Fiction, Home.
� 2007 David V. Matthews