Asshole of the Year

I encountered the biggest asshole of all time last night at work. This guy was such an asshole, that when he yawns, you don't see tonsils, you see a giant sphincter hanging there. He's such an asshole that when he burps, it sounds like a fart. He's such an asshole that he had toilet paper stuck in his teeth. He's such an asshole that even a proctologist would be frightened of him. He's been to the club before, but I have never fully witnessed the assholery that I had only heard about. One of the hosts calls him Kangaroo because he has an annoying habit of holding his short stubby arms in front of his body with limp hands that bounce around when he talks. Can you picture that? What a fucking Kanga-asshole.

I was stocking some glasses at the bar when I heard him speaking to the hostess in a way that only assholes speak. He wanted to go to his seat right that minute despite the performer still doing a sound check. The hostess politely explained that the room was not yet open for the audience. Now this hostess is the nicest of the nice. I have never seen her be anything but sweet to every single person she deals with. "Sir, you might like to sit in the front lobby. We have some seats up there," she explained to him. He didn't want to sit there. He wanted to sit where he was standing which was right in the middle of a walkway. And there is no chair there.
"I don't want to sit up there, it's hot. I want to sit here."
"We also have a seating area downstairs you might like."
"I'm an old man, I can't use stairs. I want to sit here."
"Well, we have fire codes that don't allow us to put chairs right here. Are you sure you don't want to sit in the lobby area?" Now keep in mind that the lobby is about 15 feet from where he was. It's not like he had to take a bus to get there.
"I told you, I don't want to sit there. I need a place to sit right this minute or I am going to pass out. Why can't you help me?"
"Sir, I am trying to help you, it's just that I don't have a place to put a chair here."
"Well, you're an idiot," he said.
I stopped in my tracks. My blood pressure shot up. My skin was crawling. I wanted to punch him in his pouch. Did he just call her an idiot right to her face? I glared at him. With a saccharinely sweet voice I yelled at him, "Sir, would you like me to get you a chair?" Now I said this in a way that only a complete idiot would miss the sarcasm. It wasn't just sweet. It was dripping in simple syrup, Splenda, agave nectar and brown sugar. Of course, he didn't get it.
"Yes, thank you for your help. This one doesn't have a brain. She's an idiot."
I grabbed a chair and threw it as his feet. "There you are so sir. Is there anything else you need? Is there anything else I can do for you?" The sarcasm was heavier than a brick, but he still didn't get it. "Would you like some water, sir?"
"Yes, that would be lovely," he said. He looked at the hostess as if to say "You see? This is how I should be treated."
"And would you like for me to put a lemon in it for you, sir?" Again, I said it it sweeter than a caramel apple dipped in powdered sugar and sprinkled with the fairy dust of a basket of kittens.
"Actually, make it a Pelligrino!" I told him that I would have to charge him for that and some of his asshole-ness made an appearance. "Well, you're going to charge me anyway, once I sit down for the show aren't you? Oh, never mind, just the water."
I handed him his water and told him, "If there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to ask me." I rolled my eyes at the hostess amazed that he didn't get that I was poring sarcasm directly onto his his bloated face.
Of course he eventually ended up in my station. "I just want to thank you for helping me with that chair," he told me. "It was nice to see someone with a brain. That one out there is an idiot."
"No, she isn't," I countered.
"Yes she is."
No, she isn't. I know her very well. She's a very good friend of mine and she is not an idiot."
"Well, I'm going to call the owners and tell them she's an idiot."
What an asshole. "Sir, if you call and tell the owners that you think she is an idiot they are going to disagree with you because they know her better than you do and they know she is not an idiot, but go ahead and call."
"Well, she certainly doesn't know how to treat people."
"Yes, she does."
"No, she doesn't."
"Sir. We are going to agree to disagree. I will go get your Pelligrino." I was done with him. Not one more word did I utter in his direction the rest of the night. However, I know his phone number. (Thanks, reservation book!) Very soon, there will be flyers posted all over the borough of Queens selling a brand new iPad at a very affordable price. On that flyer will be very explicit directions to only call after 10:00 PM. And the phone number on that flyer will be that of the biggest asshole I have ever met.


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