I guess this is propf that at the age of twenty, one's Asshole Gland is functioning at its peak.You're still at the age where being a cruel, vicious bastard comes quite naturally, and without a second thought. Would I behave in such a manner these days? Well.... Probably not. I've gotten it out of my system, I think.
I was at the Denny's near La Jolla Shores sometime in early 1989. It was about one in the morning, and the only people in the place were me, Bekka, and a jive-ass white-bread couple --- you could tell just by looking they drove either a SAAB or a Volvo --- and the couple's infant. A very unhappy infant. One that did not stop screaming.
Naturally, the server seated us directly across from each other. Don't look surprised at the 7% tip, dearie...
The infant did not stop screaming; I'm not sure how it was getting air, since it seemed one long sustained note. Our presence made the Whitebread Family nervous for some reason. I looked punk rock but in a low-key way (no spikes, no leather, just engineers, black denims, a Charged GBH t-shirt, and bleached hair) and Bekka looked like the off-duty adult video performer she was: blatantly sexy, but in a restrained way: white blouse, mini, fishnets, and spike-heel boots.
Neither Bekka or I were in the mood for screaming infants. We wanted what they call food at Denny's, and plenty of it. We hadn't really slept for two or three days, just a couple naps.... We weren't tweaked out, since it was mostly MDMA we'd been taking (plus some meth for the rush) and simply wanted a nice relaxing meal before we crashed.
"Tell me, does that.... Object.... Ever cease making noise?" asked Bekka, her chin in her hands.
"Of course he does, he's just a widdle cwanky, aren't you?" Mom replied, totally unaware of Bekka's hostility. The sprog redoubled its efforts to shatter the glass in the windows.
"So how do you get it to shut the fu--- be quiet?" I queried, gritting my teeth.
"Put him in his car seat, and he goes right out, " said Dad, with a cheeriness I usually associate with Valium addicts and paint huffers.
"So why," growled Bekka, "did you NOT bring it in with the car seat?"
"Oh, it's such a pain to unstrap. Besides, we only came in for a quick bite."
"I see," said Bekka. "I suppose a pillow over its face for a few minutes is out of the question?"
"You'd smother the baby!"
"Your point being?"
The speed at which the Whitebreads were eating their food increased greatly. We were finally graced with the presence of our waitress, with whom we only had to repeat every other sentence due to the noise.
The Whitebreads kept their heads down, studiously ignoring both us and the sound emitting from their offspring, which resembled that of an angry cat being dragged back and forth against a harpsichord. Their check arrived and Mom scooped up the infant.... Which immediately shut up. Well, not quite, it still was making sounds like a kid goat with a sinus infection, but it stopped screaming.
"I have to kill them. I have the .38 in the Falcon, please visit me in prison, but it has to be done. I've gotta kill them both," said Bekka, looking wild-eyed.
"Hold on," I said, "I've got an idea. They made us miserable in public, I'll make them miserable in private." I got up from our booth and followed the Whitebreads outside.
I watched the spawn being placed in its car seat, then trotted up to their car. "Excuse me? If I may? Excuse me?" I said, shouldering the two Whitebreads away from the rear door of their Volvo. I looked down at the spawn, whose eyes were starting to droop.... And let out the loudest, painful, head-crushing scream I could muster.
The child's eyes sprang open and he began his own hell-noise again, giving no indication that this was a brief outburst. Good.
I turned to the two and said, "There, much better now. Enjoy your drive home!"
"He won't sleep for another hour now!" wailed Mom. "Why?"
"You know, I had the same question on my mind inside the restaurant. 'Why?' I wondered. And the answer is, 'because.' Nighty-night."
Dad finally piped up with, "You're sick!"
"No, just on about four kinds of drugs. Want some?" My offer was refused. I went back inside.
Bekka said, "Your omelette's getting cold. Get everything sorted out?"
"Oh yeah. And this omelette is gonna taste great. After all, vengeance is a dish best served cold with bacon and hash browns."
"What did you do?"
"I'll tell you later."
And I did. She was pissed she hadn't thought of it first.