Apeshit

When was the last time you went absolutely apeshit?

It’s more of a weekly thing for me

I haven’t gone apshit in years, but this week, I have been completely apeshit since Monday. 3 seconds from hulking out at all times. For serious.

Super cereal?

No, I caught another attorney in several large lies. I am super pissed. He is going to sleep beneath a mountain of discovery demands and contempt motions tonight.

That is, if wondering what I am going to do with the letter where he told his client to lie to the IRS and she tried to get my client to go along with it doesn’t keep him up.

Is it best to get him now, or polish off the case at hand first?

I thought there were going to be pics of poop. How dissapointing.

A few months ago I’m at the zoo, right? And there’s these three kids, two guys and a girl, all about 20 or so. The zoo has a single gorilla in a large habitat with a big viewing window in one corner where people can press up against it and hope the gorilla licks the window or something. The guys are yelling and banging on the window, generally acting like assholes for the girl’s benefit. The gorilla sulkily walks out of sight into a corner beside the window. The assholes exclaim in disappointment and start to turn away.

BOOM! The gorilla runs around the corner and delivers a flying side kick to the window. The assholes nearly piss their pants.

Next week on Zoo Stories: “I LOVE YOU MONKEY!”

Lies.

I flipped out a few months into my old job of delivering body parts, maybe 2 years ago. I had hilariously bad luck with that job. It was some fruity start-up job and the Executive Director/Owner was a putz. He was one of those freaks who worked 20 hours a day and had 4 houses and laughed at your pathetic attempts at having a life that was like his. That nobody in their right mind would want his life was immaterial. Raises? Bonuses? Support staff? Vacations? We have a business to run here, partner; man up.

I think anyone who deals with the public, or is in a sales-related job that has flighty, fickle clients with poor memories of past service and so forth can dig it. It seems whenever a mistake was made, and it was rarely mine (dealing in human flesh makes one, shall I say, meticulous? Mishandling human tissue is a felony), I was of course the convenient target to blame. OR Scheduling forget to order the graft? Blame the rep! He’s an idiot!

Such it was that day. Now, to further my ill-deserved portion of wrath, the assistant who called the OR had my boss’ cell phone, so when they told her the rep forgot she called him up and well, you know where this story’s headed. It’s not my fault! Whatever, I don’t care, apologize and fix it! Now! It was my first errant dressing-down, and I took it like a little bitch.

I got off the phone and started blithering like an idiot. I was rooming with some dudes SIGH NOT THAT DUDE and I had the master bedroom. I was in the master bathroom and kicked the sinks. The black smudge of my New Balance is still there for all I know. I then kicked some collapsible plastic file thing with a bunch of my papers in it. It exploded magnificently with no residual damage. God that thing was a life-saver. It was very satisfying to kick it. It also got my gf, who was lying in bed, to jump up and be all Ooooohhh my gosh, are you ok? And then I got phat sympathy for acting like a complete prat.

I do not think I have, but I really love the word “apeshit.”

I use that and, “Batshit insane,” far too often. “Batshit kablooie!” is cool too.

“Running like a raped ape,” is up there as well.

Just remember it is an ethical violation to use threat of a criminal prosecution to gain advantage in a civil matter.

DUN DUN DUNNNN!

Doesn’t quite have the ring of sleep with the fishes, unfortunately.

Does he work for you? I’m going to go for “no”, since you don’t seem the kind of person who would hire a lawyer that didn’t know better than to commit illegal advice to paper. But I’m tempted to imagine that he does work for you, because that’s even more funny.

A couple of months ago a guy driving some kids around in a van (volunteers? camp? who knows?) backs into my car as he’s leaving a parking stall. Nothing serious, just a bit of a paint scratch on an already scratched rear bumper. I’m not spazzing, I don’t feel like dealing with insurance (much less having a new-looking rear bumper on a part of the car that hasn’t seen fresh paint in a decade). He’s sweating pretty hard, too. His job apparently depends on him having a clean driving record. I’m generous, I tell him I’ll settle for $60 on the spot, since that’s about 1/5th of what it would cost to get the bumper done.

And then, apparently mistaking my act of generosity for a sign of weakness, he starts saying how he doesn’t have the money and how he’ll agree to meet me later, blah blah. I point out that three separate banks/banking machines are within eyeshot. He says he doesn’t have his wallet, and I’m starting to get pissed off here, he’s insulting my intelligence. How can he not have his wallet and be driving? We get into it and he keeps insisting he doesn’t have his wallet. We bump chests (comical, since though I’m only 5’11, I’m a fat-over-muscle stocky 5’11 with a good 50lbs over his scrawny ass), arms out, start yelling. He makes like he’s gonna drive off and I snap a picture of his license plate with my cell phone (first and only use of my cell phone camera, ever), then I grab a woman with groceries who was foolish enough to watch the spectacle, tell her she’s a witness, snap the license plate of her car just in case (which incidentally had backed over the cripple parking sign), and begin to walk all of 50 yards to the police station behind the Rent-To-Own place.

Meanwhile buddy in the van realizes I’ve got a witness and his license plate, he starts running up to me and then spots the police station. Money comes so fast out of his forgotten wallet, I say I don’t want it, that we’re doing this through the cops and insurance. He grabs my shoulder to stop me, tries to spin me around and gets an upper arm in the jaw for his effort (accidental, sorta - I was trying for the elbow and missed).

I ended up settling with his insurance company for $200. He got a lecture from the cops about his contemplated escape from the scene of an accident, and the asshole kids in the van spit on my car.

I have a similar story, although I didn’t go apeshit.

I was driving in New York City with my gf in the car, on my way to pick up my brother and his gf. I was changing lanes to the left in front of a taxi. The taxi did not want me to be in front of him, so he floored the gas and roared around me to my left. Unfortunately he didn’t quite make it and our side view mirrors hit. He didn’t stop, though, so I followed him for two blocks honking. He finally stopped, and came over and said he talked to his boss and the boss was willing to let me off the hook with $200 to fix his mirror. I told him the accident was his fault, and so I would not be giving him any money, he should pay for my mirror. He says I am in the wrong and he’s being generous, since taxis have right-of-way in NYC. I tell him he needs to pay for my mirror. He says “If you don’t pay up I’m calling the cops.” I say “No need, I’m calling the cops right now. Get back in your cab and wait for them.” He says “You don’t have to do that, we can work this out” “You’re going to pay for my mirror?” “No.” So my gf calls the cops for me. “Why did you have to do that? I’m a working man, trying to support my family” he says. I don’t feel that bad, though. Never bluff if you’re not willing to be called. The cops came, and I told them the story, and they said the cab driver’s story was very different. I told them I had to chase him to get him to stop, and they’d find the mirror bits two blocks back.

I did feel bad for the fare, though, stuck in the back seat of a cab for 45 minutes because his driver was an idiot.

Since this has apparently become the traffic altercation thread…

Maybe 7-8 years ago, when I was still living in Atasca-fucking-dero, I was making my daily commute to Community College along a two lane country road. And because Atascadero is, like, Bakersfield West, I was trying to make a left turn with a jacked up F350 (maybe embellishing the truck model) completely blocking my view. So I creep out and by the time I can finally see the lane, there’s this shitty Mazda or Dodge or whatever mini-truck coming down the road at sixty or so. He panics, slams on the brakes and and swerves all over the place (for the record, I’m pretty sure I stopped before I actually got into his lane), eventually comes to a halt on the shoulder about forty feet down the road.

So I drive by, and I get the finger plus a stream of muffled swears from one of the most stereotypical crackers I’ve ever seen. Skinny twenty-something guy in a wife-beater (stained, if I recall correctly) with that faux-jarhead haircut, as well as some girl and a big ol’ mutt squeezed into the two and a half seat cab.

So, whatever, that sucks, I continue on my way. About a half mile down the road, I come to an actual intersection, and as I’m preparing to turn right, somebody taps my bumper. Completely oblivious, I stop my car and get out, and of course, it’s the guy. I go ahead and check my bumper, because I’m fucking dumb like that. From behind me, I hear his door slam, followed by (paraphrasing here) “MOTHERFUCKER YOUR BUMPER IS FINE DRIVIN LIKE SHIT MY DOG HITS HIS FUCKIN HEAD ON THE FUCKIN DASH CAUSE YOUR BITCHASS…” and the realization hits me (finally) that this guy is coming to kick my ass. So I spun around and threw almost a completely wild punch. Which hit him. Square in the face.

First punch knock out. Only time I’ve ever KO’d anyone, actually. And it was pretty obvious from the way he caught the punch that he was not expecting it at all, because he DROPPED in the most comical manner you can ever imagine. Followed by my dorky teenaged ass doing a little victory dance over his unconscious body. “HA HA HA. THAT’S WHAT YOU FUCKING GET.”

Then I look around and have the realization that, um, he didn’t actually attack me at all. And there are a bunch of people stopped in their cars, all of whom just witnessed me totally committing assault. I threw his girlfriend a guilty look (she looked surprised) before I jumped back into my car and took off from the scene of the crime, limited somewhat by the total lack of acceleration on my four cylinder (also ridiculously heavy) '86 Volvo.

This morning when the coffee machine wasn’t working.

Hah! Great knock out story, Glenn. And yeah those old Volvo’s suck ass. My mom had an 84 Volvo GL or some crap like that and god damn that thing was the biggest, HEAVIEST, piece of shit ever.

Although I admit to have smacked my lips a little, I still think this thread is lacking a certain something…

Ah. Of course. Paging: ElGuapo.

About once a week. Work is stressful.