It's a fact of life, and it makes things more interesting.
I've had several archenemies over the past few years and they keep me on my toes.
The last couple have all been work-related. When I was interning at a local paper, there was another reporter who happened to be assigned to many stories that I was.
It was a chick. A breathtakingly attractive chick, who would always show up with this weird, Eurotrash looking guy, kind of like this:
Or maybe that's just my shaky memory. Still, I remember he was a weird looking dude.
It just so happens that this hot reporter used to work for the paper I worked for. In fact, I sat at her desk, and noticed that the user name I logged into the computer with was hers.
I could tell you that once I found that out I didn't lick the seat, but I'd be lying.
Ass-residue licking aside, she became my, albeit super foxy, archrival.
When I would see her show up, I would mutter her name under my breath menacingly. It was kind of my thing.
She had a good name for that muttering under my breath too. I won't use the real one, but it was similiar to Petruzzi.
So there I would be, working on my shit, talking the fuck out of people (not literally, unfortunately), and then she would show up. And I'd mutter to myself, "Petruzzi...."
It makes me feel like a badass. I don't know why.
Fast forward to today. I am still a reporter, though I currently get paid. One of my "beats" as it were, happens to be a local national cemetery.
When covering events there, there is a certain reporter for a local rag known as the Washington Post that happens to cover the same stories.
While he's always been more than cordial to me, I despise him. He is my new archrival.
He sits there, with his horn-rimmed glasses, using five-dollar words when normal ones will do, and he mocks me.
It's not that I have a thing against big words. Hell, I use them a lot. In writing. Where they belong. I don't want a conversation with you to be like reading the fucking dictionary.
What's that you say? Better than me? I don't think so! Just because you've never urinated in a coffee cup while driving, and then proceeded to spill it all over my fine leather upholstery, doesn't mean you're better than me. That's never even happened to me.
Fast forward to today. Wait, wait, you went too far. You're at tomorrow. Go back.
Good. Today, I was covering a separate event, with another Washington Post reporter. He had the same horn-rimmed glasses (what are they, standard issue?) except he wore a fancy suit. Fucking asshole. Just because the crotch in my jeans wears out faster than normal people's doesn't give you the right!
Worse yet, everyone was kowtowing to this fuckface like he was the cat's fucking pajamas. Just because the paper I write for has a circulation of less than 24,000, and his happens to be almost 700,000 doesn't mean shit.
Back to my original point: everyone needs an archenemy. It keeps things interesting.
If you don't have an archenemy, whose name do you scream to an uncaring sky at five o' clock in the morning?
No one's? What does that even mean?
No comments:
Post a Comment