Wednesday, September 18, 2013

You've Got Balls

Keith Tronic: “You need to grow up Brock, seriously. Why are you going out and tossing money around left and right buying things like new snowboards? When in all reality you need to go buy something that an adult would purchase, like, a couch. Then you’ll be respected.”

Said one of my best friends three years ago…

For full effect, download “Hero” by Regina Spektor and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

I don’t buy couches because, well, I just don’t buy couches.  But remember that one time when Life Insurance policies and HOA fees grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and said that I needed to finally grow a pair and start being a big kid? Well, that was last Tuesday and so far I haven’t had the best track record at making big kid decisions.  Especially when it comes to leather-bound pieces of Espresso-colored furniture that come with a matching Ottoman.

For the record, I would like to state that for the majority of my post-pubescent life I have been living with the reputation of someone who has no soul, someone who is cruel and harsh. People presume that I am a man that shows no pity for a three-legged puppy that hasn’t been fed since February. Well let me tell you something.

You’re wrong. 

I’m a six-foot stuffed teddy bear with a big red ribbon from Costco smothered in sugar, spice, and everything else nice. That is of course when you compare me to Keith.

Ladies and gentlemen, Keith has no soul. And I mean that in the highest of regards. In comparison to the Grinch, or Genghis Khan, or any other fictional character out there, Keith would put them to shame. I mean this in all sincerity and absolute respect for the man when I say that Keith Tronic, the businessman who is my polar opposite, is pure blackness. 

Take for instance the infamous couch-purchasing incident of ’13.  And yes, my life is a historical account that kids will read about in years to come therefore I refer to the events in the same tone as though they were natural disasters that killed hundreds on a washed up beach. Since living in my new townhome I decided to put on a pair of big boy undies and begin purchasing furniture to decorate the manscape that will be seen as the inside of my home. 

And yes, I just referred to my interior decorating attempts as my manscape.  Shut your face and keep reading.

I’ll cut to the chase to save you from an abundantly long list of pointless details that don’t add anything to the moral behind this entire story. I bought a couch, I got screwed. Plain and simple. That seems to be the perfect way to describe what happens when you purchase a sectional from a furniture store back in mid-July, and Tracie, the interior decorator decides to tell you your piece is being put on backorder again, this time until November and that you’re not actually going to be getting the matching checkered Ottoman like she said you would be getting originally.

Tracie: “I’m sorry sir, now would you please bend over at a 45-degree angle, this curtain rod is only going to hurt just a little bit.”

This is the part where as I began to shamefully move to my submissive stance, awaiting the violent curtain rod’s insertion, when Keith Tronic took over and let the black plague be unleashed with his cold-hearted businessman tactics of negotiation. 

Keith: “NO! That’s not what’s going to happen! Here’s the deal Missy, either you give my client a bigger, softer, and more expensive couch for the exact same price as he paid for the piece of crap you sold him back in July that STILL hasn’t been delivered, or I’m calling Child Protective Services and the DEA on your butt and taking down your entire business right here on the spot! YOU HEAR ME?!”

For a little bit of clarification, yes Keith suddenly did endorse himself as my agent, i.e. I was his client despite the fact that I was sobbing in the corner trying to hide my suddenly soaking wet panties underneath a plastic end table, and yes he did use both an adoption and drug agency as threats to get a furniture store to budge from the unheard of price they were asking me to pay. True story.  

I thought I was screwed.  I thought I was dead.  I thought I would have to live the remainder of my life watching college football laying on dirty carpet every Saturday morning and I would never be held in the arms of a modern-day leather sectional with an extended chaise lounge. #firstworldproblems

Tracie: “You’re absolutely right sir, we owe your client that much. And would you like our storeowner’s testicles giftwrapped in paper or plastic?”

Yes kids, Keith’s no-nonsense, cut the bull crap, my-way-or-no-way attitude got me what I wanted, what I needed. Never mind the fact that the word compassion has yet to enter his bloodstream since his inception, and that Tracie has a trail of DEA hounds sniffing out the possibility of an underground drug trafficking operation in her basement, in the world of business Keith gets what he wants. And he doesn’t care who, or what gets in his way.

The world we live in is a sad, cruel, overly dangerous place, with deceptive furniture salesman littering the streets left and right looking to take advantage of big tall oafs such as myself who show a scarred monster on the surface but are giant teddy bears of fluff underneath. If there is one thing I can take from this though, one moral lesson I learned in my week and a half long adventure of being a man, it’s this:

Don’t screw with Keith.

What do you think?
5:53 PM