I get it now, and I didn’t even need to see that shrink. I know why I can’t have a good guy. I understand what’s wrong with me and what I have to do.
The Lisping Barista was positively pounding her keyboard with conviction. I’ve been hanging around the Epiphany Cafe for some time now and I’ve never seen anyone write like that, so quickly, with so much assurance, and so little backspacing or need to cut and delete.
So, this Rabbi at the cafe, a big windbag, starts going off about the end of the world. It’s the standard, get yourself right before the Lord, kind of sermon; but he has a twist. He says God could’ve wasted the world years ago, but, as long as there are as few as thirty-six good people, he’ll wait. There might be just thirty-six good people now and if one of them messes up and we go down to thirty-five, then zap, we’re gone.
So, I get to thinking, do I know any of the thirty-six? I know I’m not one of them, that’s for sure. There’s a whole lot of people I’m positive aren’t either. Funny how we don’t have to worry about bad people destroying the world, only the good ones.
The rabbi says if you were one of the thirty-six, you wouldn’t know it. So, that leaves the rabbi out, I guess. He’s all right, but, if he was one of them, being a rabbi, he’d know it. Besides, he often forgets to tip.
That therapist isn’t one of the thirty-six. She ruined her chance when she wouldn’t help me. The crazy lady with all the dogs can’t be one of them. She’s pretty good with dogs, but people aren’t her forte. The woman who hates dogs isn’t one of them, either. How can you be a good person and hate dogs? The dealer that gets me weed is out. I can’t even believe I’m considering him. There’s the guy that waves at cars outside; but all he ever does is wave. It’s not like he’s curing cancer or anything.
There’s that skinny chick that comes in every day and buys coffee for the next random customer. I’ll have to think about that. That thing she does seems pretty good, but it’s too obvious. It’s almost like she’s trying too hard. I think she’d like to be one of the thirty-six, but it ain’t happening because she wants it too much.
There’s that old professor type, who’s always listening in on conversations and doing something sketchy on his computer. There’s something just not right about him. I can’t put my finger on it. Not him, no.
I looked around to see if anyone was watching me. Old? Professorial? Sketchy? I’ve got to be more careful.
I thought about the dude with the cowboy hat. He seemed pretty good when he helped me that day when everyone was freaking out about the dogs. He’s cool. But then he doesn’t show up for his shift. And the dogs were in today and he just sits there. And look at him, now. He just looks guilty. No, can’t be him. Almost, but not quite.
The only one left I know is that geeky guy that took me to hear the Fry and then bought this place so I wouldn’t lose my job. What about him? What he did was good. Kinda creepy, but good. He gives me a raise. As soon as he bought the place, he rips out those crappy hand dryers in the bathrooms and puts in paper towels that really do dry your hands. That shows consideration. He changes the menu so that the drinks are called small, medium, and large, instead of large, giant, and ginormous. That takes honesty. Yeah, it’s him. He’s one of the thirty-six. He’s got to be.
You had to give it to the Lisping Barista. She had a point. I never liked those hand dryers, either.
This means I have an awesome responsibility. I have to protect the world from being destroyed. He wants to fuck me, I know he does. I also know that, if he did, it would be the biggest mistake of his life. He wouldn’t be good any more. It’s a good thing I didn’t fuck him when I had the chance. As soon as he got it in, it would have been all over. God would’ve been pissed. Zap. Finished. There wouldn’t even be a scorch mark on the mattress, there wouldn’t even be a mattress.
Even if the rabbi has got that thirty-six thing all wrong, it’s still not a good idea. Even if there is no God, or if there is one and He doesn’t give a shit, I’m not a good idea. I’m just too messed up for the likes of a guy like that. I’d do better with a douche bag or a prick. One of those alcoholics, drug addicts, and women haters I’ve already been with. I can’t screw them up.
Let’s just say the geeky guy gets his way and we get married or something and live in a house with a white picket fence. It’ll just be a matter of time before my crazy makes him crazy. Then his crazy makes me even crazier, which makes him crazier, still. I’ve seen it happen and it ain’t pretty. I’m better off keeping my distance. We’re all better off. You can thank me for saving the world. You’re welcome.
The Lisping Barista decisively slammed her laptop shut. She was finished. The Geeky Guy was finished. But the world would go on forever.