What do you do when you’re in that moment that you’ve fantasized about over and over? You’ve seen it in your dreams. You’ve planned out every single second of the encounter. You know exactly what you would say to them, and exactly how you would say it, and exactly how you would storm off while they stood there looking like a fool. You know every detail, how their mouth is dropped open while they stare at you with a shocked expression, and what you are wearing and how you’re having like a really good hair day.
And then it happens.
It actually happens.
The moment you’ve spent so much time thinking about, but never actually thinking it’s going to happen.
It’s a moment that I’ve had nightmares about. It’s a moment that I’ve worried about.
And it happened to me on Saturday.
Saturday morning after taking the Chiquita egg-hunting at Dominick’s Food Store at 7:30 am the fam and I decided to head to Starbuck’s for coffee. It was me, Hubs and Chiquita, of course, and then my mom, aunt, uncle and cousin. Yes, we were that family that all went to watch Chiquita Easter egg hunt and took pics the whole time.
Not to mention I had Chiquita all dolled up in her Juicy Couture (of course!) and my mom later told me, “We looked like high society at the egg hunt” like she was embarrassed or something, which is hilarious because she totes loves the Juicy bag I bought her for Christmas and uses it every day, so like, whatevs Mom, whatevs. And can I help it that the Chiquita is a well-dressed tot?
So we’re sitting in Starbuck’s when IT happens.
He walks in.
King Douche Bag. He’s not even a Douche Lord, he’s the mother-fucking King.
He walks in wearing designer jeans, a black hoodie with a skeleton on the back and construction work boots. His hair is short and brown. He’s tan and has a scowl on his face as he walks through the door.
He looks exactly the same as I remember him but maybe a little thinner than the last time I had seen him. He walks the same way though, like the arrogant narcissist that he is, with his chest puffed up and his muscles tight. He’s a 40-year-old who walks like a 20-year-old frat guy ready to start a fight over the last Mad Dog in the refrigerator.
The last time I saw the King was my last day of employment as his office manager personal slave in 2007. I walked out of his office with my head held high. I knew that my decision was saving my life.
Needless to say, the King was not happy about my departure. Yet as he handed back to me my letter of resignation he spit into the mud we stood on and said, “Well, that’s OK, I was going to fire you anyways.”
Unbelievable, I thought, as I had prayed that he would tear up my resignation letter and terminate me immediately. Anything to get away from that man, that stress, that nightmare….
Two weeks later I remember putting my key and my pink hard hat on the table and turning to look at the office I was leaving for the very last time. That office was full of so many memories….full of fear and hatred, full of laughs and cries…
I walked away from a life that benefited me financially but was killing me inside.
For months following my twisted and psychotic employment I had nightmares and anxiety. I imagined the moment of running into the King soooo many times.
Sometimes I would punch him in the face. I would knock him out cold and his 6 foot 200 pound body would crash to the floor. Like a cartoon he would have stars circling the top of his head.
Sometimes I would yell at him. My screams would come out in fluent Italian, and he’d stare at me with a bewildered look of shock and hurt. The words they escaped my lips would come out like harsh but riddled poetry with hatred spilling from the depths of my soul.
Sometimes I would stop dead in my tracks at stare at him. Too afraid to speak. Too afraid to move for fear that I might actually kill him. I’d envision cops being called and spending a night or a lifetime in prison.
But when I saw him in actual reality on Saturday morning at my suburban Starbuck’s I did none of the above.
In reality I panicked. I froze.
What do I do? Do I say something? Do I say nothing?
I simply sat there in awe over the King who stole so much from me and yet I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
And here he is right in front of me. I just sat there. I was shaking.
Minutes later he walked by with his coffee in hand and a smug expression on his face as he walked out the door. It was like we were two strangers.
Have I changed that much? Have I become a complete wimp? Or is it that I realize he’s not worth the air from my lungs? Is it that I’m trying to provide my daughter with a good example? Is it that I’m actually afraid to confront the evil King?
Maybe it’s that for the first time in my adult life I know what I have. I’m surrounded by people that I love and people that love me. Yeah, he stole money from me and that sucks but I realize he actually gave me the greatest gifts of all.
#1 – King Douche Bag taught me about the kind of person that I don’t want to be.
And #2 – King Douche Bag is the perfect antagonist for my nearly finished book, Concrete Boots.
Come on now, you didn’t think I was going to let him off scot free now, did you? :)
So maybe I sat there and didn’t speak a word, yet sometimes silence speaks volumes. There he was bitter and alone while I sat there with my family surrounded by happiness and love.
It was also the fire that I needed burning inside me to get me to finish editing this book that has been sitting on my desk finished for over a year.
Thank you, King Douche Bag, for giving me so much material. Thank you for giving me a best seller.
And my promise to you Readers is that I will give you an excerpt by the end of the month! :D