The Morning Offering - April 7, 2005

Written by El Amin on April 07, 2005

I had a bad weekend.

Granted I’ve been pulling shifts at the Pizza shop on Friday and Saturday (so I rarely have a great weekend), but this one was just bad. Here are the key miseries from Friday after work to Sunday night:

1. Friday Night – While making a pizza delivery (pre pie hand off) I lock my keys in the car with the car running. Damn auto locks. Cost to me, $150 in locksmith fees/ lost wage, shame, the realization that I just basically worked Thursday night, Friday night and half of Saturday for free. Talk about a kick in the balls.

2. Saturday Morning – Landlord’s dog takes a dump in my apartment and I had to clean it. Sure, I could have gotten them to do it, but if I had that turd would have been unloading essence of shit into my apartment for hours. So I cleaned it.

3. Saturday Night – After a slow day the Pizza shop got slammed at dinner time. Furthermore the numb nuts counter help kept telling delivery customers that their pies would show up in 45 minutes despite our extremely large territory (one entire suburban town), and only one driver (me). Net results several orders are late, two are completely fucked up, and I end up completely out of gas stuck on the side of the road losing tip money again (this is a common theme). Furthermore I had to explain all the fuck ups to the owner. Nice!

4. Sunday – My day off, thank goodness, and after the time I had at the Pizza shop I was mainly thankful that it’s pretty hard to mess up a day of sitting on one’s ass playing video games and drinking beer. Still I managed to get a letter telling me I an unalterable can’t miss appointment right in the middle of the vacation I had planned and had already purchased unalterable $230 plane tickets for. Cost to me – Full weekend’s worth of loot from the Pizza Shop plus loss of awesome Florida beach house vacation with friends. Oh, and yes, there is a 5.

5. Sunday Night – Girlfriend comes home from work (she works at the Pizza shop too, which is a joy) clearly pissed with me, but won’t say why. She acts consistently antisocial through Monday, and into Tuesday. For anyone with a live in spouse, I think you know that this is patently annoying as hell, especially if you’ve already had the aforementioned shitty weekend, and can’t for the life of you figure out what you did wrong. Me, I kept asking and got “I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t want to get into a fight.”

Is there a better way to guarantee a fight than to say shit like that? I haven’t found it. Anyway it turns out that she was furious at me because I didn’t make enough pizza boxes at the pizza shop on Saturday, and that is the one thing that just can’t happen on my watch as the pizza driver (shrugs shoulders), who knew.

In any case, these past events have inspired me to share with all of you a very special offering about one of the most miserable things that goes on in a roto community. Just to let you all know I’m really hoping that the Doc can throw down an especially sunny Friday piece, but even if he doesn’t the following definition from the El A-Lexicon should make him look particularly beatific by comparison:

Fanboy, n

A Fanboy is a fat, detestable piece of putrescence. This is the character (and there are often more than one in any given league) who can hear no evil about his team of interest, to the point that s/he will often enrage fellow fans by admonishing them for venting their frustration about a game or player that just isn’t cutting the mustard. He’ll call you an alarmist. He’ll certainly get sensitive if you tell him off. He’s also a vengeful prick and will enjoy pissing in your figurative cereal at a later date when the squad is doing well, implying that somehow his bucolic “Me and the Red Sox go together like peas and carrots” routine makes him a more staunch and sincere supporter of his baseball team than you are.

Why, Fanboy? Why can’t I say Edgar Renteria is playing bad if he hits into 1.5 double plays a game to start the season? Seriously, Fan Boy, why can’t I be pissed that 17.5 million dollar a year Pedro Martinez always got blown up in the early innings of games? Why do I have to be balls to the wall psyched for my team before I’ve even decided if they’re any good or not?

How 'bout this instead? How ‘bout you go swallow your tongue? How about you break yourself of the notion that my message board declaration regarding the several Red Sox who happen to be overpaid has any correlation to how "good a fan" I am. If you want to enjoy your sports on white bread with the crusts cut off, well it's okay I guess. But when you hop into grown up conversations on the subject, use your big boy words, ‘kay? Fanboy needs his sports soaked in milk so he can manage to bite through it with his feeble teeth.

Fanboy is a bland assjockey capable of stealing the flavor out of vanilla yogurt. Fanboy would throw you under the bus for getting up to piss and re-beer during a Cesar Crespo at bat. Fanboy always walks around with a glazed over happy moon pie look on his face like he’s dreaming about cheese. Damn I hate this fuckin’ guy.

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-- Written by El Amin on April 07, 2005