Tuesday, March 4, 2014

One of my neighbors went out of town over the weekend, and he asked me to check in on his cat two or three times a day. I said sure. When he got back, he sent me this email:

Hey Roman --

Thanks for watching Iggy. I really appreciate it. If I can pay you off in whiskey let me know.


This confused me. I mean, I live in Brooklyn. EVERYBODY drinks whiskey here. Has he never been outside? It's like asking your cellmate if he wants a pack of cigarettes and soap shaped like a knife. Even if I didn't drink whiskey, I know roughly eight hundred people who drink whiskey, and they're nice when I'm nice.

I was actually kind of offended by this. I'm puzzled by his hesitance. Like, "I'm busy, and I'm not going to do anything nice for you unless you specifically ask for it." Maybe gifts of alcohol can be a problem in Amish senior communities, but nowhere else. It's not like buying a paisley scarf for Jeff Foxworthy.

My friend Steve wants me to call his bluff with the following reply:

Hi Frank --

I'm honestly a bit confused. You take me for a drinker? What was it that gave you that impression: the bulbous red nose? The urine-soaked pants? Did you catch me having sex with Liza Minnelli?

Cordially yours,

I'm tempted to give it a try, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't apologize with an even larger gift of alcohol. Anyway, that's not my style. I'm not confrontational. If a bottle of something doesn't turn up before the next time I watch his cat, I teach it to poop in his shoes.

No comments: