Friday, March 15, 2013

Crossing the Fault Line

When it happened, I didn't even notice. I mean if you were in a group of guys and you overheard someone say "Fat lazy bastard" you wouldn't automatically assume he meant you would you? But then as I rhetorically asked "I wonder who..." to no one in particular, a couple of my coworkers made it clear.

At first, I laughed it off. Twice in fact, as the phrase passed through my memory multiple times. On the third round though I became slightly miffed. I can't swear to it, but I think once we'd crossed the 30 time threshold, I was what you could call angry, and shortly thereafter at 40 times or so, definitely angry.

Sure I tried to think about something else, but it just kept coming. "Fat lazy bastard", over and over, like my brain was on autopilot and the toggle had been snapped off.

It took me until the eightieth time before I was fully enraged, ninetieth I guess before I thought to confront the perpetrator. Then, I'm positive, when I'd mentally replayed that remark for the hundredth time, I slammed my accelerator foot to floor, and steered the truck I'd apparently climbed behind the wheel of somewhere between the 60s and 70s directly for mister fat lazy bastard.

So your honor, as you can see, it wasn't murder at all. It was simply the unfortunate progression of a badly placed insult...

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