There are a few things you need to know about Crystal upfront: she outweighs
me by a good 150 pounds, she’s clingy enough to be
classified as a stalker, and she hasn’t seen any of the Star Wars
films. Ever.
She’s not really my problem. I’ve tormented her to the point where she
usually leaves me alone, but she’s still a nuisance by association. My good
friend, Jenn, is haunted by this hall-roamer, and being a far nicer person than
I, Jenn tolerates her, even when she waits outside Jenn’s room after knocking to
no avail, or follows her to class just to tell her she has a crush on her RA and
masturbated to him five times the night before. I’ve told Jenn over and over
that all she has to do is act like an asshole and voila, problem solved. Sadly,
Jenn has a heart that makes Mother Theresa look like a poser, so I took it upon
myself to relieve Jenn of her thinking, speaking burden.
One day, Jenn and I were at the front desk, waiting to get off our shift so
we could go to Wal-Mart for some essentials (deodorant, mouthwash, condoms
etc.). About five minutes before our shift was over, Crystal showed up to the
desk to talk to Jenn and noticed that we were making a shopping list—something
completely foreign to her apparently.
“Why are you making a list?”
“Go away, Crystal.”
“You know what, Joe? Just shut up.”
“Have you
seen Star Wars yet?”
“Shut up.”
Ever since I’ve known Crystal I’ve been pestering her for not having seen the
series, claiming it makes her sub-human and an uncultured dead-weight in
society. The goal of course is for her to eventually spend 4+ agonizing hours
watching the series and then demand that I start being civil to her, at which
point I’ll just go to my handy dandy list of “things you haven’t done that make
you a sub-human, uncultured dead-weight in society,” now up to three pages.
Sadly, she hasn’t taken the bait yet.
Crystal huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore me. “So
what are you doing, Jenn?”
Jenn sighed, still unable to bring her soft heart to make a firm stand.
“We’re going to Wal-Mart in a few minutes.”
“Oh, I wanna go! I’m bored.
I need something to do.”
I smiled. “You could watch Star Wars, Crystal.”
She glared at me and then turned back to Jenn. “Are we going anywhere else?
Because I kinda wanted to go to Subway or something.” I swear if Jared turned up
on the menu one day she’d order him.
A fellow desk clerk came in to take our shift, and Jenn and I started walking
toward Jenn’s SUV in the parking lot. I could tell her mood was rapidly
deteriorating thanks to Crystal’s short leash. Once more, I informed Crystal she
couldn’t come, that this was a Star Wars-viewer only trip and she’d just
have to wait until we have some space reserved for people who haven’t seen the
films, or at least those who manage to take up less than two seats in the car.
“God damnit, Joe. Leave me alone. It isn’t even your car, so just shut up.”
I turned to Jenn. “Mind if I drive?” Jenn’s face seemed to lighten as she
tossed me the keys to her car. I turned back to Crystal. “Looks like I’m
driving, hoss.”
She glared at me like
a hungrier version of herself. “I’m coming Joe. Deal with it.”
“You’re just wasting your time walking all the way out here.”
Again, she just glared at me and sped up. I realized words alone weren’t
going to convince this fat puppy. Fortunately, the key remote to Jenn’s car
allows you to unlock only the driver’s door, a feature which comes in handy if
you’re a woman petrified of being raped in the middle of the night by a redneck
truck driver. Or if you’re a man looking to ditch a blue whale in the middle of
a parking lot.
I clicked the button once and got in, then unlocked the passenger side for
Jenn manually. We backed out of the parking space, careful not to hit Crystal;
after all, I didn’t want to dent Jenn’s car. Crystal clung to the door handle
like a helpless gorilla, telling me to stop playing around. I rolled down the
window and reminded her that she’d have to pay her respects to George Lucas or
face the consequences her whole life. Then I drove off laughing.
To Jenn, I was both the asshole and the savior—that person we all look to
eventually for help taking out the trash. Because every time we endure the
company of people we’d
rather not spend time with—people we’d rather donate to science—it’s just
another way of piling and balancing more shit on top of the can. And that’s
Wookiee mistake number one.
Check out Joe Ouldhouse's new book, All We See or Seem »
