May the odds be never in your favor

I don’t think the odds are in his “favor.”

May the odds be ever in your favor. Yes, with added emphasis on the “favor.” As in someone level-jumping your relationship and asking for one.

Fast-forward to me at The Reaping: “I volunteer! I volunteer! Pick me! Pick me! Anything is better than this bullshit.”

Unbeknownst to everyone I had previously and surreptitiously taped my winning ticket to the bottom of the fishbowl. They knew how to handle it from there. They’re smooth that way…

But then I woke up and it was too late. I had already foolishly replied, “Yeah, I’ll do you that favor.”

This is where the fun begins.

During the act of accepting the favor request I added, “I’ll do ya the solid. All I ask is that you call before stopping by and never call or stop by before seven in the morning. That’s all I ask of you.” (I sang the last part, again, for added emphasis.)

“No problem, no problem!” I was assured.

Surprise twist, though. Despite being such an exceedingly simple request it turned out to be a big problem.

I enjoy fairly distinct boundaries.

You see, as the person asking for a favor, they couldn’t be bothered to take any of my wishes into account. That’s a real shocker, I know.

Somehow, there they were, on my doorstep, first knocking, then ringing the doorbell and, finally, escalating to the tried and true pound-the-door-into-splinters technique. It was six o’clock. In the morning.

One thing is certain. He doesn’t like to be ignored or keep waiting. Duh.

I answered. “Welcome to Downtown Flabby, my Lord. We had not expected to see you so … early.” I made sure to inject some haughty inflection in my voice as I said this. After all, I am the valet. (Pronounced like wallet only with a V. With emphasis on the “et.”)

“No problem,” he replied, as if he was doing me a big favor by not being very put out. Carry on!

“It’s just that I’d asked you to call before stopping by, and not to come over before seven in the morning.”

He breezed in, brushing me aside. “Shant be helped, my good man. I have to be somewhere early this morning. I’m here to get the goods. Chop chop, now! I have a schedule to keep.”

No apologies. No recognition of any kind that my humble wishes were being stomped out of existence. Just an expectant and petulant attitude because, after all, it was his needs that hung in the balance.

Now, I ask, what would you do? Would you tell him to get the hell out? Explain the concepts of boundaries and appreciation and simple respect? Would you withhold the riches of the favor itself? Or would you still hand it over?

Would you lay on the floor, on your back, lift up your chin to expose your neck and politely ask, “Be a good chap and rip out my throat with your teeth, if it pleases you?”

Personally I don’t like being placed in that position. We’re all friendly here. Why is it only your needs and wants that matter? Why do you have absolutely no respect for mine? Especially in light that this entire situation only exists because you had the temerity to ask and I agreed to do a favor? Which, I must say, was all very awkward in the first place. Was there to be any kind of recognition for that?

Nope.

I realized, of course, this person was too narcissistic, damaged, and socially desensitized to be aware of his multiple violations against nature and good form. Somehow, that made it that much more sad. I knew it wasn’t intentional, it’s just the way shit works between humans these days.

In self defense, I handed over the favor. By the way, he was a day early, too. I had been intending to do more stuff like print a little card to advertise my wares and put on a few more finishing touches, but there was no time for that now. All I wanted was the asshole out of my life.

“Come back real soon, now, ya hear?” Thoughtfully I paused, stroked my chin and looked up and to the right. Now where did I put that bow and arrow?

Next time I was going to be more prepared. Thunk! Thunk!

I quivered in anticipation at the thought.