The hero we all deserve
I may not be the hero you expected, but I am the hero we all deserve.
And I show up when you least expect me…
Like at the movie theater when the moron in front of you is talking on his phone when the previews begin.
Hey pal, it’s time for previews. It’s what we paid to see.
“Would you please turn off your phone. We’re trying to enjoy the previews,” I say, nicely, patiently, respectfully.
“Make me,” he says.
Look, I paid $75.50 for a large buttered popcorn and a watered-down cola drink. But superheroes have to make tough, split-second decisions.
I dump the cola drink into his lap.
He shoots up, howling like a crazed lunatic, then runs out of the theater.
A chorus of “Shhhhhh!” wells up around the darkened theater. “We’re trying to watch the previews.”
Being a hero is a thankless job. But I have my popcorn and at least ten more minutes of previews.
***
I’m sitting next to you in the meeting at work. The one that was supposed to end at 2 pm. It’s now 2:25.
Becky is asking yet another question, the same one Bob asked thirty-five minutes ago. The same one Brenda asked twenty-five minutes before that.
Enough already.
“No Becky, no more stupid questions,” I say, grabbing my notepad filled with delightful stick figure pen doodles.
As we walk out of the room, you say, “That wasn’t very nice of you.”
Inside, I know you were begging me to do something and I did. The meeting is over. It occurs to me that there could still be a donut half left in the break room.
“Thank me later,” I say as I make a dash for the donut. It will be thanks enough.
***
It’s a beautiful day. I’m going for a walk in the park.
It’s quickly ruined by the sounds of a sugar-stimulated brat yelling at his mother.
“No, no, I don’t want to get off the swing. You can’t make me.”
The brat sticks his tongue out at the defeated parent.
“Honey? Sweetheart? Please get off the swing, it’s time to go home,” Mommy says.
“No.”
“Please? You’re Mommy’s special little boy.”
“No!” he screams again.
“I’ll buy you an ice cream.”
“No.”
“A new toy.”
“No.”
“A pony.”
“Noooooo!” he shrieks.
It only takes me a second to grab the swing from behind.
The kid goes flying forward, head first into the sissified plushy padded ground.
I lean over him.
“Do what your mother says,” I growl.
The kid nods his head up and down vigorously.
“And just so you know,” I say, nostrils flaring, “you’re not special.”
The kid breaks out in tears as Mommy comes rushing over.
“My poor baby,” she sobs. “My poor, poor baby.”
She looks at me.
“How dare you? I’m going to sue you. I’m going to see you get locked up forever.”
I shrug.
“What is your name?” she asks.
“Chuck.”
“Chuck what?”
“Arthur Worthington.”
“You said it was Chuck.”
“I did indeed.”
I walk off at a brisk pace, left with the consolation that maybe the kid will grow up to be a man of character.
Yeah, when pigs fly…
As I come upon a line of people at Walmart who’ve been waiting hours to get their hands on more cheap Chinese-made crap on yet another Black Friday eve, I get my rapid-fire machine gun taser locked and loaded.
I’m definitely the hero we all deserve.
