There’s few things more gratifying than watching some loudmouth get put in his place. You know the guy – usually drunk and obnoxious, bullying everyone else until he gets clocked by someone half his size, or his pants fall down, showing off his Buzz Lightyear underwear…or no underwear at all!
Mortified, he runs for cover while everyone laughs at him. At least, that’s what you hope for.
There’s gotta be a million You Tube videos out there of karmic revenge on the annoying or stupid. We love the modern telling of David and Goliath. Rooting for the underdog against a jerk-faced foe is something we can all relate to.
In Hollywood movies, it’s the villain who is the most annoying, hated person and ends up with the most spectacular death scene, not only getting shot 100 times in slow motion, but falling into a pit of molten metal, while being eaten by zombies or something.
But, have you ever been that guy (or girl) who is the unwelcome star of these little vignettes? C’mon, sure you have.
I was retelling a story the other day about something that happened to me a long time ago that kind of fits this scenario.
For the record, I wasn’t drunk, and I was just doing my job. I’m sure, though, that the other characters in this little scene were just as pleased as those watching the bully run away with his pants down.
I had a job once where part of my duties included making sure that my customers followed some expected level of quality, since they represented our products to the world. This could make things a bit tricky at times, seeing as I needed these customers to buy stuff from me, but I also had to act like a Mom telling her kid to clean his room….without the folded hands and tapping of the foot….you know the look.
I used to wear a suit. Not because I had to, but because I thought it was important to look professional….what a jerk!
Anyway, I had to meet a customer who’s business was in desperate need of the ‘angry Mom’ look. The owner was very casual and would always tease me about wearing a suit all the time, ‘Geez! Even the Mayor doesn’t dress like that’.
Fully suited up, just to make a point, I parked a block away from the store, again making a point about giving the best parking to the paying customers, and walked into the rear entrance of the store. Very smug and probably abusing my power, I’m quite sure they were not happy about this visit.
As I walked the store with the owner’s wife, pointing out how bad the business was, I started to notice a foul smell.
I said, ‘Another thing. Do not smell that? It smells like dung in here.’
She acknowledged that she too smelt it, then motioned at my shiny dress shoes. I looked down at the same time, and saw where the smell was coming from. I guess somewhere on my pretentious strut to the store, I stepped in a steaming pile of doo-doo.
I glanced back to see the owner on his hands and knees, scrubbing the disgusting footsteps I had taken all through the place.
I turned as red as the goal light at a Leafs game!
Mortified, I carefully took off my shoe, and hopped out the back door to find a stick. I think I just went home after that. Any sense of superiority or authority was left on the stained carpet behind me.
Of course, I had no way of making an elegant exit from that train wreck. I think I mumbled something about why there would be horse poop on the sidewalk outside the store in the first place, then quickly got in my car, and drove home with one shoe on.
I stopped wearing a suit after that.