I started out a solid 4.2 which was almost enough to qualify for a table at Trois Mec. “Sorry,” the doorman said, you’ll need to be a minimum of a 4.32 to dine here. Well whatever then, and it was all good till I headed to the gas station and some old geezer barked at me and said I cut him off on 7th Street right by Party Town Balloons. Then two dumpy old grandmas, Fake Jesus Chasers, marked me down for reminding them that Jesus wasn’t a Republican. Finally, inside the Pit Stop, I headed for a spigot of caffeine and spilled my Giant Chug, it slipped right through my grimy hands like wasted time. Why the hell did I take off today?
“What are you TRYin’ to do?” The counter girl yelled at me.
“What are you looking at?” I yelled back at her.
She might have been able to do her job if she had more meth. Undaunted, the counter girl grabbed her phone along with five customers waiting in line and they all marked me down. My score plummeted into free-fall mode.
I called my friend Stacy Marie.
“What? Don’t scream. What’s your score?”
“2.8, no, 2.5, no…”
“Geez! You’re pathetic. I can’t be caught with a looser like you now!” I could hear stars falling all around me.
“You won’t help me? You gold digger slut!” CLICK!
I called my boss, Ray.
“I’ve already seen the alerts about you. You are no longer employable at 2.3. 2.8 was the lowest I could go on employees, and those are bottom-feeders.”
“No, Ray, listen!” CLICK!
I walked out into the broad light of clear day, the heat of the asphalt rushing up to greet me. For sure now I would be dissolved. No longer eligible to be human. No longer privy to freedom even as mediocre as it was. All around me the falling stars plotted my doom, my ultimate downfall reverberated in one terrible thud.