The first way that I got served was in the bad legal sort of way. As in the "we have to trick a deadbeat into opening the door so that we can throw the papers in his face and yell 'You've been served!' at him" kind of way. In the "state mandated paternity test" kind of way. Yeah, I got served in that kind of way. Except I wasn't even cool enough to put up a decent fight. No one had to chase me through the streets of New Orleans. Dog the Bounty Hunter didn't have to hunt me down in the New Mexico desert. I didn't even get to have a sheriff's deputy do it. No, it was just some guy. What's with that? I mean, I know I made it easy on him, that he just had to walk in and ask for me and hand me the papers. But still, the least they could have done was have someone with a badge and gun and the authority to use it hand me the papers. Not some middle-aged guy in a flannel shirt. I mean, come on. I am actually a little disappointed in myself. I should have hid under the desk and popped up right after the office was closed for the day. That would have been good. But I was really nice. I even stamped the papers with a "received on" stamp. I am so lame.
That was actually pleasant compared to the way in which I was served on Thanksgiving. This time it was more in the way like the lame movie where a bunch of city folk dance around and that somehow shames their opponents. I have several problems with this by the way. First of all, that does not happen. Not even once in a while. N-E-V-E-R E-V-E-R. I have lived in the city, and I know people who have lived in other cities and they confirm to me that that never happens. And besides, is it really that big a deal if someone else dances better than you do? That is not something shameful. That is being white. People dance better than you, you drink more than them, and life moves on. And who decided which dance is better anyway? I mean, maybe you have a thing for waltzes. Then, anyone who trotted in there and did a waltz would win. It's all a matter of taste. It's subjective. So how do you really pick a winner? No no no no no. None of this adds up and I do not like it at all.
But back to the lecture at hand. I got served sort of in that way, except without all the dancing. Oh and the guy who served me was 100 years old. Yeah, I forgot to mention that. Here's how it went down. I was at Thanksgiving playing thumb wars with my cousin's 14 year-old daughter, and she was cheating. You can't use your index finger in a thumb war, it's just not right. So anyway, we were in the process of settling this dispute when my grandma and her husband (no, he's not my grandpa, he's her second husband) were brought in to eat. Fine. They were eating and I will admit that the thumb war debate was starting to escalate and get a little loud. I was absolutely culpable in this whole drama.
But instead of simply asking us to be quiet, he come out with "Do you have to scream about everything all the damn time?" Interesting choice. First of all, we were not screaming. Raising our voices certainly, but screaming? No. At least we know that he is still hearing pretty well if he thought we were screaming. So anyway, he busts out the "Do you have to scream about everything all the damn time?" and we stop. Now, I realize that we were getting a bit loud plus I figure that a 100-year old man has the right to yell at the young-uns sometimes, so I do not take offense to this. I turn and apologize. I say "I am sorry, I didn't realize that we were getting so loud. We will stop." This should have been the end of the issue. But Century Mark decides to push the issue.
He says "Well you were yelling; you are always yelling about everything." Oh no I am not. That is not a true statement. Now I am pissed. Just because you spend most of your time these days in 1932 does not mean that you can just make up generalized statements about me. And you especially should not be yelling at me when I have just apologized to you and have stated that we will stop what we were doing. But, he's old. And he's family. And my grandma is sitting right there. So I play it cool. I respond "I realize that and I apologize and we will not do it anymore." By now the girls are in the process of melting away into other rooms of the house. My grandma, who is still pretty sharp at about 94 or so, says "He's crabby today." Thank you grandma, I had not figured that out. Actually, I don't think she was saying that for my benefit. I think it was her subtle way of letting him know that he was being crabby. I told you, she's still pretty sharp. So I come back with "Well, that's okay. Everyone is allowed to be crabby. Everyone has their days." I firmly believe this. Everyone has their crabby days and everyone is entitled. So I am not going to let it get to me. But apparently that was not the right thing to say, because Century Mark responds with "You're damn right I'm crabby. I've got my reasons to be crabby."
He says this as if I am the reason that he is in a bad mood. As if I have spent all day doing things to offend and annoy him. That is not true. I actually hadn't even talked to him all that much. And I am relatively sure that he didn't even know who I was. No I am not going to get into it too deeply; I don't want to set my sights on a 100 year-old man, even if he did serve me. We will just leave it at that I very rarely walk out on someone because they are making me angry. But I got up and walked out of that room at that point. Because if I had stayed the result would have been my family black-balling me. And that's on the Internet, so it must be true.