Tarred and Feathered

Humor is a difficult thing to explain. What makes me roll on the floor overwhelmed with laughter may do nothing for the next person. They may understand the joke, they may even grasp why the joke should be funny, but it may not amuse them. Some jokes are subtle. Some jokes are so old that they may cause us to groan due to familiarity. Some jokes try to be funny but may only amuse the teller.

This story is about one of those jokes, funny only to the teller.

I don't gamble, not seriously anyway. If we like rival sports teams that are playing each other and we put paying for pizza on the line based on the outcome of the game, that's a friendly sort of thing rather than gambling. A dollar or two on a raffle for charity isn't gambling, not to me anyway. It can be a thin line between a gentlemanly wager and betting so if you disagree with my definition and consider this gambling as well, I can understand.

Eric, my friend at the time, was caught by the poker trend. The math that was involved captured the imagination of his intellect and he soon began organizing games. I went to a couple, found that Eric was taking it Very Seriously, and wanted to play for ever increasing stakes. I soon bowed out of playing. It wasn't fun for me. After I showed up to one such party stating my disinterest in playing, just wanting to hang out with the guys. I was dismissed. Taking the hint, I stopped showing up.

Rather than accept this, Eric became irritated at my lack of desire to join with them. He was of the opinion that my disinterest in playing was due to my lack of skill. I had lost money during the games I'd played in and, in his mind, I was too chicken to try to win it back. He believed my lack of enjoyment had come from losing, not from the Very Serious Way that they'd played. There may have been some truth in his opinion but it wasn't my primary motivation in stepping aside.

Had this remained a polite disagreement it would have been no big deal. Eric would not let it go. He continued to verbally harass me about my not playing, both in private and in public. Every time I saw him there would be a moment of abuse that he would attempt to play off as being humorous.

I began avoiding him. It was just easier. I'd seen his obsessions burn brightly before they burned out in the past so it was safe to believe that in a week or two he'd become bored with the whole thing and return to 'normal'. It was just a matter of waiting this out. When he no longer saw me, he'd send message through mutual friends.

Rather quickly, that was no longer enough. While I could avoid Eric with some ease, my car was left in public for long periods of time. I left work one evening to find my car coated with molasses and feathers. Did I mention that my car had been while before this? It had been.

I had no choice but to quickly drive it home, they had been 'kind' enough to not cover the windows, and began the process of cleaning the goo off. My Dad lent me a hand and we took care of the bulk of it. The car was then oddly stained, giving it a vaguely cow-like pattern. While we cleaned, my Mom gave me a speech about what friends do and do not do.

She wasn't telling me anything I wasn't already thinking. I didn't 'break up' with him then. His poke obsession faded, as I expected, and I tried to let it go but soon came the Heather freak-out and he became my enemy. His words.

Strange man.