Coming in at 6am for a year was the greatest job offer I bitterly accepted. With only 5 guys in its helm, the job put me among the top people who could get work done. The Black Bigote didn’t tell me this; his daughter did.
Let’s call her “the daughter.” She was my age, the only child of The Black Bigote and Hot Mama (his wife). The Daughter took more from her mom – warm, polite, friendly and sooper hot. Whenever she was at the office, she would always refuse my handshake in exchange of a hug. She was that warm. ahehe. She also was drunk the night she called me.
“Paolo, can I come to your place?”
I was initially startled by the call, moreso that it was her, moreso that she was drunk, moreso that she wanted to come to my place.
“It’s not like you have a girlfriend or anything right?” She mentions, egging on what she wanted to happen. When a girl this hot is this drunk and this horny and calls you at this time and wants to express herself, there is absolutely no reason to decline. Sex is, after all, an act; ergo: act. That were unless you wanted torture, suffering and death at the hands of The Black Bigote.
So I say no.
She then, having realized that I will not be her gigolo for the night, spills out on what would be the greatest ego-boost ever told by a drunk woman in the history of the shipping industry.
“This is why my father likes you so much..”
And then she start mimicking her father.
“It’s always ‘Paolo’s like this and Paolo’s like that..'”
“‘I put Paolo on the 6am shift because he does not need supervision..'”
“‘Paolo’s like a son to me..'”
My ears applauded her words. That was what I was waiting for – a peek into the heart of the darkest creature in the galaxy. All this time, I had been trying to figure out the man that had treated me like a puppet. Like a superhero who had just realized his abilities, I felt indispensable.
On a winter morning more than a year ago, as The Black Bigote entered the office, I made my first attack.
“Hi dad!” I greeted him with a sign of abnormality… a warning.
“What the fuck do you want?” He replies.
“I’m going to McDonalds. You want some breakfast?”
“No thanks.” he says.
“How about coffee?” I offer again.
“You know I dont like coffee in McDonalds.” he retorts.
“No I changed my mind, I’m going to Starbucks instead.”
The Black Bigote stops and looks. He realized that I had scripted my lines, or I could not have changed my mind that easily. As he looked at me, I could feel his psyche entering my brain churning to figure out what evil plan I had stored in it. But he wouldn’t find any for I had mastered my plan by looking at his ways.
“Ok get me a double espresso.” He says.
Then the punch line.
“Oh. You’re not coming?!” I asked him acting as if surprised. Of course, he knew by then that I had planned everything to get the best of him. It was a con, something he had done a long time ago. Finally a dose of his own medicine. I knew he wanted to beat me up after that, just enough reason to grab that coffee.
The Black Bigote stood up as if to protect his integrity and cover his blunder. I never offered to treat him… he assumed that. I satisfied myself further by poking his wound.
“What? Did you think it was free?”
On our way he tells me “You know, you have to get better at this” referring to sarcasm, manipulation, hypothetic rhetorics and explicit narrow-mindedness. He would, in time, take it upon himself to teach me the ways of the dark side.
Not so much as Darth Vader to Luke… more like Don Vito to Michael Corleone.