Sounds Good, Big Guy!

It’s time to put an end to the bullshit. It’s gone on far too long, and I’ve had enough. I realize I may not be the most memorable person, not one to make a lasting impression, devoid of major disfigurements or a unique stench to help you recall my name (“Hmmm, club foot – shrunken ear – smells like burnt hair and marmalade – this must be Tim. 'Hi Tim!'”), but did you really need to call me “Big Guy”? Let's dispense with this charade and admit you can’t remember my name although we’ve met twice, I had dinner at your house, and I’m pretty sure you were lying when you told me your favorite baseball team was the Kansas City Seahawks.

Let’s recount, shall we? I was leaving the supermarket on a Sunday morning, and yes, you clearly were on your way home from church. I could see the smug self-satisfaction on your face along with a smidge of communion wine on your chin, and as I waved hello, you looked at me, hesitated and said, “There’s the big guy!” and kept right on walking into the store. I might've been OK with “Hey guy!” or “What’s up, buddy?,” the two standard dammit-I-should-know-your-name-you-short-bastard salutations, but you had to add insult to ignorance by calling me “Big Guy.” I guess if I were a big guy, such a comment would be mildly reassuring, but I’m as tall as Danny Devito and buy my clothes in the Husky Boys section of Lord and Taylor, so you should've said something along the lines of, "Hello little person - I recognize your face and small yet stout physique, as if Billy Barty's been dabbling with Human Growth Hormone, but I can't remember your name, my wee friend." But no, you had to go for “Big Guy.”

I bet you’re the kind of person who likes to say, “God love ya!” too. I’m sure you're always prefacing nasty, pointed references with that greeting. Things like, “Pal, God love ya, but you’re as dumb as a box of hammers.” Let’s stop pretending your semi-religious disclaimer in front of phrases like, “But I wouldn’t hire you to baby-sit my hamster,” or “But I could make a cable-knit sweater from your back hair,” really makes a difference. Telling me God does love me just before explaining how my bad breath could cause renal failure does me nor you any good.

You just can’t wait to say things like, “Don’t get me wrong,” can you? “Don’t get me wrong –I love crystal meth and porn just as much as the next guy, but I’ve got to get back to choir practice,” may sound rational, but please, stop this insanity and get some help.

And your emails? I wouldn’t be surprised if your co-workers get dozens of responses from you with just two words – “Sounds good!” Sounds good? What sounds good about the four-page email I just spent an hour writing to you about why my career is falling apart and how I think I’ve stolen enough Post-Its and staplers to open my own office supply kiosk at the flea market? You didn't even read it, did you? Were you so busy playing with your pencil fort that you figured “Sounds Good” would be enough to let me continue my downward spiral into career-ending turpitude while you whistled your day away? Be a man and send a response that cuts to the chase. Give me a simpler two-word response - “Up Yours.” “Up Yours” accomplishes the same sentiment, letting everyone know exactly where we stand with you, guy.

So, to summarize, next time we see each other, look me dead in the eye, take a deep, cleansing breath, and say, “Hey Tubby! I should remember who you are but don’t, so Up Yours!” Give me a huge, genuine smile and never break stride. After that, I think we could be friends.