Eric's Empty Proclamation

Another friend who worked with me at the fantabulous liquor store was Eric. Eric was a highly intelligent guy with a razor sharp wit, but when you hung out with Eric, who was getting his master's degree in music at Southern Cal and living with his family in Louisville during the summer, you had to endure his constant complaining about how the 'ville didn't measure up to L.A. Okay, I accepted that, although he lived in such a bad neighborhood in Los Angeles he was afraid to leave his apartment at night. I guess during the day it was spectacular.

One night Eric and I went to the usual Wednesday night haunt, accompanied by a female co-worker who shall remain nameless for this post. We drank a pitcher or two of Sierra Nevada, ate a couple platters of the tastiest cheese fries ever, and talked incessantly. After a few hours, our female co-worker said her goodbyes and left.

As soon as her ass was out the door, Eric proclaimed our co-worker to be the perfect woman. He then began a rousing soliloquy. It's been over three years but it went a lot like this:

"(Name withheld) is the perfect woman. I know she's unavailable, I realize this. However, I hereby decree that I will hold her as the standard with which to judge all potential girlfriends. I will not, as God is my witness, settle for anyone who doesn't meet these criteria."

I had to ask: "What about sex?"

He didn't even hesitate. "I will not have sex with anyone who isn't as cool as (name withheld). I refuse to waste my time in such a fashion."

I was actually moved by his sentiments. It would be a wise move, I reasoned, for him to adopt such noble principles regarding his dating life.

Too bad when we all hung out a mere three days later Eric got drunk and went home with the skankiest, cheesiest ho ever to funkdify a bar stool!

Oh, Christ, I never laughed so hard in my life. Mister High Standards didn't last the week. Oh, how priceless. I never laugh while I'm typing this garbage but my keyboard is stained with the tears of hilarity. If you had sat there and listened to his impassioned speech and then had to endure the groan-inducing game of the velveeta wedge he ended up fucking, you'd be crying, too. Fuck, my ribs hurt.

The following Monday I worked day shift and was getting ready to leave when who else strolls in but Eric, breaker of his own covenant.

"Well, if it isn't Sir Galahad the Chaste," I said to him.

"Shut up!"

"So that girl was as cool as (name withheld), huh?," I tortured him. "Funny, she didn't seem as cool as (name withheld)."

"Shut. Up."

I couldn't help myself. "You do realize the whole situation was akin to announcing your intentions of feasting on a steak and instead eating a Spam sandwich, don't you?"

He had no reply. He lowered his head in shame and walked toward the back office.