Monday night I found myself in the most irritable place I had been in mentally for quite some time. [let's ignore the Holiday Blues I just went through and pretend that I've been chipper for a long time now]. Maybe it was the long day I had, working my normal job from 9-5 and then driving out to St. Charles to give massage for 3 hours and driving back home. Or maybe it’s just that I’m allergic to Ukrainians. Okay, One Ukrainian in particular… The One with the Voice that Carries Across Chicago, The One Who Yells at His Girlfriend and Slaps Her Sometimes at 2AM in the Room Directly Below My Bedroom, The One Who, If I Ever See Again Face to Face, Will Have A Sore Pair of Balls Because I Will Kick Them… Hard.
I awoke Tuesday morning at 2am to the painful screeching that is This Asshole yelling, yet again at his girlfriend. I was not too happy. So, I knocked on the floor, you know, in case they were unaware of how obnoxious they were. But, it didn’t work. So, I knocked again in case they didn’t hear it the first time. Then, in what must have been the point in which they crossed the line, The Ukrainian Asshole yelled back up at ME. The Nerve of this Man…. The way I think of it… he doesn’t deserve his balls.
I found the largest, bluntest object within my reach from the bed which happened to be a very thick candle. Then the pounding commenced. It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t soft. It was hard, annoying and tellingly performed with anger. It was hurting my own ears. But they wouldn’t stop. And I wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t until my candle was maimed and my roommate woke up thinking that I was locked out and banging on the back door that I decided I would have to concede to This Bastard. So, I gave up, tried to think of something in which to plug my ears, and wondered… is it better or worse that he doesn’t speak English?
