And Again

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
Animator, B. Brown, Bull Shit, Drama, Russian, Shew Leave a Comment

Text MessageIt’s been a while since Shew was mentioned in any of my posts. Honestly, the story is so familiar and played out that others can repeat the words to me before I even share. But this time the story is worth sharing because it’s going to spread like wildfire and this will prevent me needing to answer a multitude of questions.

Let me begin by saying: I’m not angry. Irritated, so very irritated, but not angry. This is worth stating because when the alternate version of this story is shared from mouth to ear by others it will, as it always does, get twisted into me being an angry psychotic “asshole.” It truth, I’m all of these things, but none of them apply to this particular instance. This may be the one time that I was none of these things and actually a calm, irritated and tired person.

On Thursday, I was nearly through the work week and seeking asylum from myself in the comfort of a bar. Lately I’ve been so tired, that left to my own devices I am asleep on the sofa by nine o’clock. I invited Shew out for a happy hour adventure. It is so easy to forget that I cannot for the life of me contain happy hour to the predetermined hours. Of course, things ran late, which wasn’t bad, I was having a great time. We even were able to get the Animator to join us for a drink. And that’s where the trouble began.

Shew was oddly drunk, so drunk he was barely able to stay on his chair. After only one drink with the Animator it was time to go home; it was late and clearly we weren’t all holding our booze well. Hailing a cab, I placed Shew inside and told the driver where to take him. The driver began to protest, Shew so visibly drunk that he was at risk for passing out or vomiting in the cab. Assuring the driver he was fine, he began to pull away. As I was hailing my own cab, I turn to see Shew exiting his cab. Going ahead with my own plans, I hopped in the cab and made my way home.

Thirty minutes later, or about that, I hear keys rattling in my door. I’ve wondered for some time if Shew has a copy of the keys to my building. He has this magical way of always getting in when in three years of living here only once have I been at the front door when another person was entering. Though this question remains unanswered. Opening the door, I ask what he wants and why he’s here.

Here’s a quick summary of the questioning/complaints I received: Why’d you leave me? Do you have someone in there? Let me in. You’re an asshole. You’re being mean. Let me in.

This concluded with me telling Shew to go home and shutting the door; chaining it for good measure. He did in fact leave, and began calling…calling…texting…calling. I turned the phone to silent and went to bed. Waking the next morning to many missed calls and twenty-four text messages, a majority of which were incomprehensible gibberish. Reading through them I was annoyed, sending Shew a message that I was due an apology. I followed this up with a familiar conversation that I had in 2010 with B. Brown.

Preface: Somehow, I am constantly saddled with the burden of babysitting friends who are incapable of caring for themselves and acting as responsible adults. Rather than ensure their own safety, fun, etc. they pass the torch to me, which for the most part I’ll take and deal with because I can’t help myself. It’s the controlling a-type personality in full swing. To my friend’s who actually do deal with themselves – thank you!

Not this time. This was the metaphorical line, and it had been crossed. Crossed when I was not only an asshole but being blamed for Shew feeling unsafe in the neighborhood while on his own. I live on the Upper East Side, you pretty much have to act a fool and seek out danger. Everyone is on Social Security here, they can’t do you much harm. At least I know I can outrun a lady using a walker.

Solution: I gave Shew a quick lecture, grow up and take care of your business, you’re not my problem. This was concluded with my decision that we need to take an indefinite friend break. I believe the Russian, who has lived a similar experience, may be correct in his line of thinking: An ex may not ever make a good friend, no matter how much time has passed. it’s been three years and it’s the same old bull shit. And I’m tapping out.

Now you can take a side and accurately decide who is an asshole.