Damn turncoats…

Back in the day, I used to work in retail (a job, I feel, should be mandatory for everyone for at least one year in their life). There was this manager I used to work with that, while I think he was a good guy underneath, was a bit of a douche.

You know that guy that wants to have friends, and is somewhat of a nice guy, but he always goes and says something out of line, or just not funny, and it makes you keep your distance? That was Ed. But Ed was my manager, so it was worse. There were times were I was sure I was getting the shit job of the day because I didn’t laugh at one of his jokes.

One thing about Ed, though, was he opened himself up. If he said something which he thought would bust you out, it usually didn’t, and I (notorious for speaking first and thinking later) was always quick to turn it around on him — usually in the presence of other co-workers. My buddy, Jafo, used to do it to him, too. But Jafo was much, much better. Jafo would slam Ed without Ed knowing it.

So one day, quite a few of us were in the break-room, having lunch, shooting the shit. Then Ed walks in. He was saying something or the other, trying to be a smartass. It was directed towards me.

“What the fuck ever, Sloth,” was my reply. I had taken to referring to him as Sloth, that goofy guy from The Goonies, to the other employees. For some reason, Ed reminded me of him. This was the first time I said it to him. The employees exploded with laughter.

“What? What did you call me?” Ed asked. He wasn’t mad, he seemed a little hurt.

“Sloth.” More giggles.

“You know what a sloth is?”

“Yeah. He’s that dude from The Goonies. I NUV U, CHUNK!” Hahas ensued.

“It’s also a three toed mammal,” he replied. The room was dead quiet as he walked out. Damn turncoats.

Did I mention Ed was born with some sort of birth defect and only had three fingers on each hand?

That’s right kids. My powers are not just relegated to busting up funeral processions.

I rock.