email Jesse

Don't Scratch It, It's a Classic

This past weekend was delightful for me. I celebrated my third anniversary with my wife. FOUR GREAT MONTHS, WOOHOO!

To celebrate The Greatest Wedding of the 21st Century, my wife and I decided to rent a cabin in the Smoky Mountains, and spend a few days being left alone. It was awesome. You know how sometimes, people will talk to you about stuff and you'll end up hating them? There was none of that on this trip. This trip confirmed my theory that it's okay to avoid the entire human race.

Our trip was a delightful haze of Maibock and champagne, of hot tubs and jacuzzis, and of cheap souvenirs at Cherokee, North Carolina. I got a wallet. It was CRAZY.

One of the pleasures of my trip was getting to see one of the finest television miniseries of all time: USA Network's 10.5 Apocalypse. (with Beau Bridges as The President!) The great thing about 10.5 Apocalypse is that it is a sequel to the original 10.5. Watching a super-Earthquake destroy America was so entertaining, the country demanded to see it again! Oh, and see it they do, with California plummeting to the sea, and a series of "earthquake storms" (guh?) destroying the entire West Coast. Kim Delaney stars as a washed-up alcoholic actress desperate to pay her bills. Oh, and in the movie, she plays a geologist.

Some Other Guy co-stars as her faithful assistant, who perishes when Hoover Dam gets all uppity. Frank Langella plays Kim Delaney's geologist dad. He's a rebel geologist that was branded a "loose cannon" by the "geological elite", an organization that probably throws very boring parties.

I didn't finish watching 10.5 Apocalypse. In fact, I like to think that the movie didn't have a proper ending, that the final scene is the director walking into the frame and saying "Screw this," then cut to credits. However, I can say that if you watch it from a hot tub while guzzling champagne, 10.5 Apocalypse is the best movie ever.

It was a great weekend, and a fantastic anniversary. I like the wife. I think I'll keep her. She planned the whole trip, right down to the caramel turtle brownies. Thanks, spouse!

As the anniversary approached, I was reminded of something that happened the night of our first anniversary. To honor the occasion, my wife and I decided to go eat at Ruth's Chris steak house, since we don't save our money. I dressed up in my finest Goodwill blazer, and we hopped into my hubcapless Kia Spectra (jealous much?) and drove out to the grubbery.

As we're driving, I realize that I'm driving a hubcapless Kia Spectra, and that pulling up to Ruth's Chris will provide a visual image that would serve as a stark reminder of our financial planning deficiencies. "Jesse, maybe you should get a new car?" "NAW, HONEY! LET'S BLOW IT ON MEAT!"

As I pulled up to the restaurant, I figured I would make a little jokey-joke to the valet regarding my car. I quickly thought of a line: "Don't scratch it, it's a classic." That way, I come across as smart and self-deprecating, and the valet would go, "Oh, Jesse," then we'd high-five and freeze in mid-air as the credits rolled, because life is just like a movie. Right?

I get out of the car, a smug "I'm about to blow your mind with my charm" half-smile on my face. As I hand the guy my keys, I say, "Don't scratch it, it's a classic." The valet glares at me as all of the color leaves his face. I look down, and the guy has a metal hook for a left hand.

Don't scratch it, it's a classic.

OH GOD. I realized that my plan had failed. I was hoping that the valet would think I'm some charming bon vivant with shitty credit, but instead I'm just a Bitter Mean Poor Guy That Makes Fun Of Cripples. The only way it could have been worse would have been if I'd hopped out of the car and went "YAR, MATEY!"

Here's what Hook-Hand Guy heard from his perspective: "Um, yes, I'm very protective of my shitty car, and as I pulled up to your establishment, I saw a glimmer that caused me to squint. As you can imagine, I was stunned and repulsed to see your metal appendage. If you could, please don't scratch my hubcapless Kia Spectra with your creepy icky hook-hand, as I don't want to lose any of the resale value on this fine automobile."

I was appalled, but thankfully, I'm also cool as a cucumber. I calmly smoothed over the situation by saying the following: "No, not your han- I mean, um, the car . . .it's . . . not . . .but . . " and then I walked inside. Good job, Professor Smooth.

During the dinner, I couldn't stop thinking about facing the guy again. I was sure that he had gotten revenge by destroying my cloth seats and scraping "REDRUM" on the side of the car. Maybe I'd walk out and he'd slash me and give me a Joker-style grin. That would have been cool, actually.

Instead, my wife and I finished our meal, went outside, got in our damage-free car, and drove home. I got out of the car, and looked at the driver's side passenger door, and embedded in the door was . . . A METAL HOOK!!!!

Okay, that last part isn't true, but really, how else can you end a good "guy with a hook" story?

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