Fuck Me, I’m an Asshole
Fuck me, I’m an Asshole
By Cam Reese
Yeah, I’m an asshole, fuck me. I wake up to the beep-bop alarm, it’s six o’clock in the morning, my eyes are electric in the dark of dawn, the first faint glimmer checkers in through the blinds, I hear the bantering birds, and it’s time to get to work. I put on my horn-rimmed glasses, my collared shirt, mustard yellow, I grab my keys, and I slap my CHRIST EQUALS LOVE bumper sticker onto the rear of my car. I put on my special plates, it reads, Life is Good, and the final touch is my family sticker with my three children and wife all in silhouette and handsized, it goes against the trunk window, and it is a lie, I have no family, I am an asshole. I hop into my white Honda Civic, and I am a great asshole, and then I start up my car and drive out of my garage, on to do asshole things.
I drive into town and when I get onto the main road, I make sure to drive ten miles under the speed limit. I look at my rearview and see the guy behind me looking around and checking the adjacent lane to pass me, but as he tries to pass, I merge over and block him. I see him slap the steering wheel, mad, and it brings me great joy. I am an asshole.
When I drive down the two-lane street, I parallel myself with another car who moves like molasses when all others are commuting. I have nothing better to do and I am a great asshole. We ride side-by-side and keep it under the limit. The car behind me honks and swerves trying to get around, but he cannot, and I smile, and he sees me smile, and his rage rises even higher. Ah-ha, sucks to be you.
We stop at a red light, and the aggressive car behind me, most likely late or very well off pace, he pulls up next to me and peers at me with bent brows of ire, and I look over at him and smile. He mouths Fuck you, asshole. Oh, God if he only knew how much I loved that fucking shit. I make the Awww, sweetheart face, and I blow him a wet kiss. He shakes his head, balls up his fist, but when the light turns green, he speeds off and never sees me again. I am an asshole, ah-ha, I know.
I drive around all morning, for I have no place to be. No one who needs me, no one who misses me elsewhere, no duties at all, and I am a great asshole. I drive all morning slower than everyone else just to make people late. I make sure to stop off at the business park where there’s this beautiful one lane road in the backstreets of town where many warehouses and factories reside. Best time to go is around seven and then again around 8; them who punch a clock cannot afford a single minute, and I punish those who are in a race against the turning hour.
It’s two minutes till seven and I lead the line down the street which is long and winding. Everyone behind me is just minutes from being late, and late they shall be. The light turns green and I turn onto the street and drive fifteen below the posted speed limit which itself was fifteen below the flow. The car behind me honked and went red-mad in the face. I kept my pace and gave a little Miss America wave. He tried to cut around me, but I swerved over, and he jutted back into the lane. He tried again, but I denied his pass and we traded paint. The clock read seven sharp and I could read his lips, I’m fucking late now you asshole! He shook his fist becoming redder and redder, and I smiled all the better. Ah-ha, sucks to be you! We winded down the road at a snail’s pace and I kept them all in line, the factories on the left and the warehouses on the right saw cars behind my tail speeding in and racing to their timecards. More honks came from far beyond the line, and everyone rode bumper to bumper, mine saying JESUS EQUALS LOVE! Fuck you! I heard someone yell from their window. Fuck me, I’m an asshole, yes it is true. The car behind me turned into the lot with sharpened brows and gritted teeth wanting nothing more than the spilling of my blood.
When we hit the end of the road, the line behind me had dissolved and then I sped back down in double time, no in triple time, and passed all who had once been behind my bumper. I rolled down the window and shouted at the hardhats as they trundled into their jobsites, and I yelled, Ha-ha! I’m an asshole! Speeding as I go.
An hour later, I returned, back at it again. It was three to eight and I reached the light to turn. I looked behind me at all the unsuspecting commuters who should have left their houses earlier than custom, and I smiled impishly knowing exactly their fates, because I am a great asshole.
I saw the guy behind me, his name was Cam Rhys, and I’ll tell you how I know after this paragraph. I turned when the light flashed green and drove slow like a turtle down the winding road of factories and warehouses. The guy behind me, Cam Rhys, shook his head, his jaw slack, his eyes tired. He honked and I smiled at him, and he saw. He shook his head and then tried to get around but I blocked him and then he realized what I was doing, I was driving slow on purpose to make everyone late because I am a great asshole with nothing fucking better to do with my life except make others miserable. I drove almost at a crawl and the clock struck eight and all behind me honked because they were late. But Cam Rhys remained calm and breathed through his nose. When we hit the end, he was still following me, he had not turned. It was just the two of us at the end of the road, and he was not going to work anymore, he had made other plans. He blocked me in when I tried to turn around at the dead end. I tried to go left, his car met me left, I tried turning right, but he was right there, too. He smiled at me like a devil and I was smiling no more. I panicked when he pinned me with the nose of his vehicle. Then he got out his car, dragged me from mine, and kicked my ass. He punched me, he kicked me in the stomach as I crawled, and he shouted, You made me late for work again you asshole, now it’s time to die! I told him, as I bled from the lip, and crawled on all fours, No, please don’t, I’m an asshole, I’m not worth it. He spared my life within an inch and left me there to rot, and as he drove by, all the hardhats clapped and applauded him for beating me up. All the people who I had made late was now an audience to my getting the shit beat out of me. Oh, how did I catch his name? before he left, he held me by the collar of my shirt, my feet dangled off the ground, and he said with gritted teeth and he said, I’m Cam Fucking Rhys and if you make me late for work again, it’s curtains for you, you asshole. And then he threw me on the ground and walked away like a big tough cool guy.
I drove back down the worksome street in shame passing by the laymen who flicked me off and yelled Fuck You, Asshole, and hailed Cam as some great hero worthy of all adoration. As I left the scene, my resolve did not falter, I may have been bested, but I was far from defeated, for I am a great asshole, and a great asshole never gives up!
I rejoined the main road and drove slower than a toad, and the cars behind me they honked and cursed, but could do little but be bothered. Their curses fell on deaf ears, their anger made me laugh, nothing they could do could hurt me half as much as I hurt them. Like a roach I cannot die, and I cannot be gotten rid of, and I will make you late for work someday.
One day it will be safer to ride in self-driving cars and economic for all enough to afford. Future generations shall one day look back upon the statistics of car crashes with furrowed, confused brows and ask, How stupid could they have been? Can you believe how bad society was at driving? Can you believe how unsafe that whole era of transportation was (1900s-2100s)? Driving will not be gone, but it will go the way of stickshifts, where small contingents see the appeal in its antiquity and gleam meaning from its austerity. One day this self-driving technology shall bring an end to my reign, and no one shall be late for anyone’s fault but their own. But it is not that day. Right now, I drive a white Honda Civic, white, and I wear awful glasses. I hide my perniciousness behind the thin veil of my CHRIST EQUALS LOVE and LIFE IS GOOD and FAMILY MATTERS bumperstickers, but it’s all a facade, I am a great asshole.
I returned home at ten o’clock when the road was devoid of commuters and I could not bother as many people to be worth my efforts. I slid into bed and went back to sleep. But before I shut my eyes, I set my alarm again, this time for four-thirty sharp. Can’t be late for rush hour traffic! To sit there, just another car, bumper to bumper, moving slowly, for me is nothing but pure bliss. If I only add an iota of frustration, it will have been worth it by measure, for I am a great insufferable asshole, and I have nothing better to do in life other than to take up space, and drive slow, and make other people late.
