SHORT STORY - I DIDN'T MEAN FOR IT TO HAPPEN BUT I DON'T MIND THAT IT DID

by JACK TOM

I’d scheduled a job interview with this total fuckin’ asshole. I knew he was a total fuckin’ asshole because he was an old friend of mine. Around the time he turned eleven is when he started to go bad, and from that point on our encounters were unpleasant but luckily infrequent.

He ran this fancy dress shoe company. He was sleazy and uptight and he was the kind of person that made you nauseas to be around, like you had to take a shit. But, as we had a few mutual acquaintances and I desperately needed work, I thought I’d give it a try.

When I went into his office he reached out and shook my hand and said, “Jack, after all these years, you’re finally crawling to my door on your hands and knees…”

I wanted to sock him in the face but I reminded myself of my empty fridge in my empty apartment and my mailbox full of bills.

“Rick,” I replied, “how’ve you been?”

He winked at me and said, “Jack, I’ve been wonderful.”

We bullshitted for a while, what we’d been up to over the years, the women we’d slept with, that sort of thing.

But after enough time enduring his presence, I got this overwhelming urge to put my feet up on his desk. I had these dress shoes I’d gotten at a thrift store for $2.50. On the sole, in black magic marker was written, ‘$5.00,’ but on the day I’d bought them they were half off.

It became very obvious to me that I’d never be able to work for that jerkoff. His whole being just turned me off. That grin, his shiny white teeth, and the ever present knowledge that he had been and always would be a total fuckin’ asshole.

It didn’t take him too long to notice the writing on the soul of my shoe and he said, “Jack, those are nice shoes. What kind are they?”

I raised my hands in the air because I didn’t have a clue.

“Rick, I really don’t know. I’m not very interested in brands of dress shoes. In all truth, Rick, I really couldn’t give a damn.”

It was then that he got the impression I wasn’t too serious about the job.

“well, Jack, that’s no good. A man should really know what brand of shoes he’s got on his feet.”

I set my feet back on the floor and stood up, leaning over his desk.

“you know what, Rick? You know what a man should also know? A man should also know if he’s a TOTAL FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE!”

Rick frowned, utterly confused. I burst out laughing, right in his face, and kept hollering things like, “a total fuckin’ asshole!” and “that’s what you are, Ricky boy! A total fuckin’ asshole!”

I kept laughing and screaming all the way out to the street. When I’d had enough I removed one of my shoes and hucked it at one of his office windows. It shattered the lower pane. After a few moments I saw Rick’s face looking out at me through the broken glass. His sleazy grin was gone.

“so, Rick,” I shouted. “are you gonna give me the job, or are you gonna be a TOTAL FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE!?”