The Douchebag Story

Ok folks, here it is.

The other week, I had a seriously, seriously good day. A magical twist of karma and come-uppance. It was fucking fantastic. Why? Because I am terribly vengeful.

It’s a fault, I know. Excuse me for having issues I don’t work on.

This is really part two of an earlier story, but here it is: Before Talea, my best friend was Ami. I didn’t know her for very long and she kind of sucked, and she drank too much. Through an odd series of events involving mutual poverty and her two-year seniority advantage in the shitty telemarketing industry, Ami ended up as my manager at an appropriately shitty energy company.

I was a phone monkey. Ami was our manager, or coordinator, or whatever the hell. Turns out she spent most of her days looking at kittens and reapplying her lipstick. Talea was the office manager/receptionist, who later became my best friend and had me bumped up to reception when she became overworked. Scott was the recruiting manager. And by recruiting manager I mean sole, overpaid recruiter. By the very nature of the job at hand, you kind of have to be a soulless fucker to be a recruiter.

But I liked Scott (this was about two years ago, well before Josh, please recall.) And he was friends with Ami. We all hung out together, and eventually Scott and I had, well, a fling I guess. Then Ami’s boyfriend of two years dumped her, and she didn’t take it very well. Not the kind to ever handle being single, you know? Within a few weeks, her crazy (literally, and this is coming from another crazy) ex boyfriend moved to Toronto from Montreal to move back in with her. That lasted about a week, during which Scott and I spent most nights together mulling over what the hell our friend was doing.

Yeah, seriously. It’s a hell of a story.

We’re all hanging out one evening after Ami’s second breakup in as many months. I’m tipsy, Scott is drunk, Ami is near passed out in the next room. Scott turns to me and says “Yeah, so I’m probably going to end up with Ami now, but we can be friends, right? You’re a really cool chick.”

Douchebag.

Crazy ends up living with me for six months, because I do completely stupid spontaneous things like that. Kind of like how I spontaneously decided to drop out of university in favour of private makeup school that put me ten grand in debt because I couldn’t figure out the UofT course schedules one afternoon. Needless to say, I needed what little rent money Crazy contributed. It kind of sucked.

Oh, but my predicament was a sunny, sunny day compared to Scott and Ami. Oh yes, they moved in together. Within a few weeks of holding hands, they were signing a lease on a nifty little townhouse in the far north regions of not-quite-Toronto. Within a few months, our company went under. Scott quit in a huff, and Ami in all her ineptitude, had a no-hire written on her interdepartment resume. Everyone else was given a new job within the parent company. Talea and I, best pals by now, quickly regained employment together elsewhere.

Scott and Ami? Fucked.

I take this as a pretty decent ending in and of itself. I move on, get a fantastic job, meet my wonderfully incredible totally ridiculously amazing boyfriend, and get many aspects of my life so very on track. I run into Ami with not-Scott and hurry away snickering at her obvious unemploy.

It’s mean, I know. But I would do anything and everything for my friends, I really am an overall very nice person. Once on my bad side, however, I will laugh at your misfortune. I donate to charity, leave me alone.

So imagine my surprise then, when I get a message from Ami asking what I’m up to, and that Scott wants to get a hold of me. I ignore it. Imagine my further surprise when Scott calls me.

“I’m so sorry” was mentioned a few times. There was the standard “I just wanted to tell you” followed by “I made a huge mistake,” then a series of expletives essentially translating into “Ami was a psycho hose beast” and other similar niceties.

But since I am trying to be a nicer person and get over things like, oh, revenge and all that jazz, I think ‘Shouldn’t I be able to forgive and forget? If I’ve really moved on, shouldn’t I be able to hang out with someone whose company I once enjoyed?’ Okay, sure, why not? Josh is fine with it, he knows he has nothing to worry about, so I call up Scott and say “okay, sure, lets hang out – you can tell me all the details.” Of course I mention right away that I am in a serious relationship so as not to give any wrong impressions – the proper thing to do. We make plans to touch base later that week.

Two days later, he asks me to come over to hang out. Odd. Not so much, says I. Let’s go out somewhere, grab a beer, coffee, wherever. I really don’t feel like trekking all the way up to your new not-quite-downtown location. Nah, he says, just come over. I got a buddy coming by, I’ll make margueritas.

Are you serious? Did you not hear me mention the boyfriend? My slight sense of propriety? The fact that I haven’t seen you in over a year and have no idea what kind of loonie you might possibly be? A buddy coming by? I don’t think so, no. I’m not going to be ‘hanging out’ at your place. You want to catch up, but you won’t leave your apartment?

“Okay, well call me if you change your mind.”

“Whuu – *snicker* Uh, okay.” Click.

What the hell just happened? Change my mind? What mind? You called me!!!

Dear Scott: Thank you for calling me to validate my feelings of superiority over your drunkard ex. It had been kind of a shitty day, and the ego boost was much appreciated. I’m going to go back to having a conversation with my non-delusional boyfriend now, thanks for playing. I’m sorry you feel you made the wrong decision in choosing Ami over me.

Actually, you know what? I’m not sorry. Not one little bit.

Douchebag.