Friday Night With Biff and Mikey
This weekend I decided that I was going to have a good chill session and ditch the freak out/stress out if even just for a few days. I decided that Friday night I would take myself out for some dinner and a drink and then head home to watch some TV. Nothing high energy/effort. I started by calling Kid Brother and wishing him well in the Pats-Colts game and, begrudgingly, offering him my congrats on his beloved Sox winning the Series. I started this call at just about 6 at McPhearson Square (where I had an end of the week meeting) and ended it in front of the Chipotle on M St.
“A burrito and my book for an hour or so”, I thought. I’ll chill out and watch all of these people start their happy hours and end of the week celebrations while I eat a burrito bowl and read The Lost by Daniel Mendelsohn. (It’s unreal, trust me)
This plan looked like a real winner, too. At least, it was for about 4 pages worth of reading time.
After about 4 pages, two guys who I have affectionately dubbed Biff and Mikey sat down right next to me. And, I do mean right next to me. Technically we were at two different tables, but getting Biff and Mikey to realize this was asking a lot. Honestly, asking Biff and Mikey to do any number of things was probably asking a lot. Things like, oh, keeping your belongings with you, not shoving them down the booth to where they are pushed up against me. Or keeping your truly vulgar conversation about all of the things you are going to do ‘that bitch Rebecca from marketing’ to a dull roar.
Being as I was in a foul enough mood as it was, I was resigned to keeping my mouth shut. Getting in to any sort of back and forth with this lot was a one way ticket to trouble town, and I was in no mood for that ride.
I suffered through their conversation which, in and of itself, was truly a feat. It was like being stuck in an elevator with two terrible comedians. Two juvenile, terrible comedians. And all the while as this back and forth lame fest is going on I am trying, ever so slightly, to slide Biff’s (or was it Mikey’s?) bag and jacket back towards him and away from me. Of course, I was also trying not to laugh at (not with) these two pathetic fuckers.
A bit of scene setting?
Biff and Mikey are the two guys who had a solid 2.0 GPA in college. They weren’t the smartest or the best looking guys at wherever they went to school. They didn’t have a cool dorm room or apartment and they rarely if ever did something really hip. They were average to the point of absurdity. They wore what they were supposed to wear. Drank what they were supposed to drink. Laughed at who they were supposed to laugh at and sadly, got laughed at quite a bit, too.
Now, though, Biff and Mikey are in the working world and have realized that they can, with an audience of just each other, be cool. They’ve been in this world for maybe, maybe five years now. They are solidly past their mid 20’s but rather than, you know, mature they’ve chosen to regress.
Biff and Mikey are now going to relive their college days the way that they should have done it back then. It’s just a few years later, right? And we, the lucky fuckers of the M St Chipotle get to witness this absurdity up close and personal. Oh happy, happy day.
Now, there are lots of people in this city that piss me off. The Metro alone is good for 4 or 5 types of self centered, self absorbed ass hats for me to deal with before I even get to work. Every line that I wait in, street that I cross, or store that I shop in has someone in it that believes that they are more important or better or more deserving and they by fucking god are going to make sure it’s known…
And for the most part? Eh, whatever. So long as you don’t come too close to me, I could care less.
But these two fucking ass clowns? I couldn’t take it. It was the language and the coarseness of their conversation topics being practically shouted in a Chipotle before 7 pm. That blatant disregard for anyone around them was making my teeth hurt, I swear. And yes, OK, the matching haircuts didn’t really help either. Nor did the way Mikey (or was it Biff?) seemed to giggle like a little god damn girl and say “right right, man!!!” every time Biff (or was it Mikey?) said something dumb.
But most importantly, it was that I was totally aware of the fact that they needed everyone to see how “cool” they were. They were just desperate for it, and every disapproving look from someone else just trying to eat their burritos in peace was like a standing ovation from an adoring crowd.
That was the part that really pissed me off. And I could feel my resolve to just stay out of it slipping away by the second.
I want to tell you that I did just that; stayed out of it completely. That I just left. That I didn’t give in to my exponentially increasing desire to turn and say “are you fucking morons for real? SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. and get this fucking cheap ass bag and your fucking sports coat away from me before I light them on FUCKING FIRE!!!”
I really, really want to tell you that I didn’t do anything, but that’s not entirely true. What I did do was pack up my book and the trash from my unfinished meal and stand up, turning to leave…
…and promptly spilled my large Sprite on Biff’s…or was it Mikey’s?…jacket and bag which were a good three feet away from him but for the 10th fucking time in 20 minutes or so was yet again, right next to me.
“what the fuck, man?! You just fucking SOAKED my shit!”
Right, right, man. Sorry about that.
Was that cool of me? No, it was not. I know that on any other Friday night I might have completely ignored Biff and Mikey and maybe not even noticed them, honestly. But you know what? Sometimes that asshole…the one that everyone knows is an asshole? Sometimes that guy just needs to be made to feel like an asshole. Call it a moral imperative and a stress reliever all wrapped up in one.
So, be careful assholes, because you never know when you’re going to be putting on one of your little shows for someone who has had a rotten, stressful week and who really doesn’t care if he “soaks your shit” (metaphorically speaking) or worse.
I walked out of that Chipotle and shared a slight smirk with several people as I headed for the door. I almost feel bad now that I’m a few days removed from it. Can I see that it was juvenile? Sure. But you know what? I love knowing that for the rest of the night Biff or Mikey or which ever one it was had been completely thrown off his game because “I soaked his shit” and GOD KNOWS you can’t go out and put forth 100% of your (lameabsurdfuckingridiculous) game with a Sprite soaked jacket and bag.
And really, I gotta tell ya; I loved it. Because even though I don’t like to be passive aggressive…sometimes, it really does feel pretty fucking good. Oh, and if your name is Rebecca and you work in Marketing? Do NOT go drinking with the two guys you think this might be about.
Right right, man?
Right fucking right.