February 20, 2020

Being An Asshole

Some of the stories I tell sometimes make me sound like a bit of an asshole. I know because after telling one, someone, usually a family member or a friend who really cares about me, will say, “You know, that story makes you sound like a bit of an asshole.”

My friend Allie wants to set me up with a woman she knows, and she implores me not to tell the Heather Lewis movie theatre story.

“Why would I tell the Heather Lewis movie theatre story?” I ask defensively.

“There is no reason you would tell the Heather Lewis movie theatre story,” she replies. “But we want this woman to like you, so let's just stay away from that story. In fact, maybe stay away from all stories.”

“It’s a good story,” I say.

“It is a good story.” She is now talking to me like I am an eight year old. “But it makes you sound like a bit of an asshole.”

She has a point. It does make me sound like a bit of an asshole. But it is a funny story.

“Okay. Okay. I won't tell the Heather Lewis movie theatre story.”

“Okay, good. Because I am inviting her for dinner on Friday night.”

“Heather Lewis?”

“No, my friend Candace Kirshenbaum.”

“Let me ask you this," I say. “Do you think that Heather Lewis tells the Heather Lewis movie theatre story except she calls it the Ron Zevy movie theatre story?”

“No, I think if she tells it, she calls it the Ron-Zevy-is-an-asshole story.”

I think about it.

She is probably right.

I am laughing out loud as I write this. I am writing on my cracked iPhone while sitting on the couch at the cottage. My friend Brian Green wants to know what I am laughing about. I show him the piece and he too laughs out loud. In part, I think, because he knows the Heather Lewis story. I send it to my friend Allie, and she doesn't like it as much. She is concerned I am using real names—including hers. “But it is a true story,” I argue.

“I still think you should change the names.”

“You want me to change your name?”

“Yes.”

“Heather Lewis’ name?”

“Yes.”

“Candace Kirshenbaum’s?"

“Yes.”

I think she is wrong, but I go ahead and change the names. So if you have read up to here, know that the names have been changed. The only name which is real is the guy who ends up looking like an asshole. I call Brian Green and ask if I can use his name. He says he prefers if I use his Italian alias, Bruno Verde, but I really don't want to do that.

I send the piece to my friends Harold and Gili Rosen (real names) and they too think it is funny. But Gili (real name) agrees with Allie (fake name) that I should change the names.

I show it to quite a few people in order to get their reaction. My niece Sammy, who is a therapist, says my need to share my story is a sign of insecurity.

Well, duh.

Don’t need a masters from Columbia to know that.

While I am hoping to elicit laughs from people, what I mostly elicit are memories of other times I have been an asshole. Which, to be fair, is to be expected. Everyone seems to have a story about me leaving them at a movie, concert, restaurant. Multiple people have stories of me walking out on them in the middle of a round of golf.

Multiple people have multiple stories.

I am at the Rosens’ one night and Gili urges me to read the Ron-Zevy-is-an-asshole story to our friend Billy Goldstein (fake name).

I am beginning to suspect people enjoy having the license to say Ron Zevy is an asshole.

I get a good laugh from Billy.

Harold asks Billy if he knows the... hold on, I have to scroll up to remind myself what fake name I am using... okay, Heather Lewis movie theatre story.

He says no.

So I tell him the Heather Lewis movie theatre story.

“Good story,” he agrees.

“Makes you look like a bit of an asshole,” he says, grinning.

Then he does a remarkable thing. Instead of then launching into his memory of another Ron-Zevy-is-an-asshole story, he tells a story about the time he behaved like a bit of an asshole.

He was dating a woman, and they had plans to meet at a party in Forest Hill Village. He told the woman he had something to do first. What he didn't tell her was that he was having dinner with some friends from out of town. The dinner ran long.

He didn't get to the party until 11:30. Whereupon the woman he was dating greeted him by, as only seen in the movies, throwing a drink in his face.

“Seriously?” asks Gili.

He nods his head.

“That is a good story,” I say.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Let me ask you this,” I say. “Who was the woman?”

So now here is where it gets a little interesting.

His date was Candace Kirshenbaum.

I call Allie and tell her the Billy Goldstein drink-in-the-face story. Allie admits it is a good story. “You can’t tell the Billy Goldstein drink-in-the-face story or the Heather Lewis movie theatre story when you meet Candace Kirshenbaum.”

I say, “I’m not entirely sure I want to meet Candace Kirshenbaum any more. Look at what happened to Billy Goldstein the one time he was an asshole. I am, if all the stories are to be believed, an asshole all the time. I won't make it past the soup.”

She says, “It’s a miracle you have never had a drink thrown in your face.”

I say, “Tell me about it.”

The end.