Often times, I sit at my desk, staring at my screen, with a blank space in front of me, wondering if I should write about something, someone, some event from my past. And many, many times, I have nothing to say. No inspiration that can entertain, enlighten or enthrall. When those times come, I close the tab, look at Twitter, and have yet another drink.
This is not one of those times.
At work, I heard a man, a grown up, real adult sized man, use the word "Bitchin'." What? Why? What could possibly lead a human adult to use that word, unless...unless they are Ned Flanders in the Upside Down. Do I work with the Bizarro Ned Flanders?
No. I don't. That's not a real thing. But, fortunately for us, I have met an actual Real Life Ned Flanders. For those who don't know, Ned Flanders is a character on The Simpsons that is Bible beating left handed neighbor with the most intensely friendly language ever created by humans. Look up clips on YouTube, you won't be disappointed.
For the rest of us, here is a real thing that happened:
For a long time in my early 20's, I worked at a record shop. It was a chain store, but those of us who worked there tried to reinforce our indie cred as much as possible. We had "particular" tastes, looked down on Korn fans, mocked people to their faces without them knowing it. It was a good time. The day to day of our work was pretty boring, with pockets of absurdity tossed in for flavor, but there was one day a week that would always get us excited.
Ticket day.
You see, we would sell tickets to shows in the area through Ticketmaster, and whenever something went on sale, especially if it was noteworthy, there would be a line outside before we opened so some fanboy/girl could get the best possible seat for whatever nonsense they wanted to drop $90 on. And yes, we would totally rig the system if we could for bribes of coffee and donuts. My love of donuts has never been debated, and I have used it to my advantage in these circumstances (you're welcome, girl who was first in line for Dave Matthews, I still appreciate the dozen assorted and black coffee).
Many times, the shows we would sell tickets to would be pretty lame. Bands from the 70's and 80's who would tour for no other reason than to remind us all that none of the original members had died yet. Yet. There was one guy, one probably divorced guy, with a VERY appropriate mustache, who would show up as we opened, to buy tickets to every single one of these shows. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Without fail, if Kansas were in town in 3 months, this guy would be there. He had metal framed glasses, wore the sweater of a high school Vice Principal, and had a nasally voice. He was a living embodiment of Ned Flanders. A human cartoon.
We got to the point where we, as a staff, would take prop bets as to where Flanders Guy (as we called him) would be in line for whatever bullshit show was coming around. Fleetwood Mac? 4th in line. Poison? 10th (there was kitch value to Poison, so hipsters like me would get tickets for the mocking and parking lot drinking of it all). Nitty Gritty Dirt Band? 1st. Goddamn 1st overall draft pick. Numero Uno in line for that shit is Flanders Guy and there is nothing that can stop him. Because nobody else cared.
Nobody.
We started to expect him. If he didn't show up, we were concerned about his safety. Something must have been wrong. And when he did finally show up, we breathed a strange sigh of relief. Finally, Flanders Guy got his tickets to that Warrant show in Warwick. And all was right with the world. It was a simpler time.
One ticket day, shortly before I got fired from that fun-as-hell job for being...well...me, Flanders Guy showed up. He was the only one who did. For the life of me, I can't remember what the show was, probably Kansas or some shit. But he was there. And he got his ticket. Being the only one who cared enough to get in line before a record store opened for a ticket to some ridiculous concert, he got good seats. Like, really good seats. He asked to see the seating chart for the venue, and as we had literally nothing else to do at the moment, we obliged him. His seats were right in the front. Dead damn center.
He got really excited. Like, we could hear his Arena Rock boner growing by the nanosecond. He looked at the chart. Looked back at his ticket. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Oh, these are bitchin' seats!" HOLY SHIT FLANDERS GUY SWEARS!!
"Oh, yeah, bitchin'. Thanks, guys, these seats are bitchin'."
Never had I head that word, "Bitchin'" used in real life. It was a truly magical moment. Wide eyed and dumbfounded, we were at a loss of things to say. The most I could muster was a simple "Yeah, man, first come first serve."
Flanders Guy changed my ability to swear. Never can I use that word, unless in a particular circumstance. I have never been in such a situation, and I don't imagine I ever will. However, if that time comes, and the word "Bitchin'" is appropriate, I know I have it in my cussing quiver. And I will use it in honor of Flanders Guy, wherever he may be rocking right now.
SD
