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corporate America, dope, fun with stereotypes, grass, hemp, marijuana, pot, reefer, sweet sweet cheeba, Tardsie's True-Ass Tales, weed
By Tardsie

Yeah, Well Sometimes It Involves Keeping Your Fucking Mouth Shut.
I taught for a few years after college before making a career change to sales. The two fields are not so dissimilar as you might at first believe; the best teachers are salesmen at heart, I think, labelling their product ‘knowledge.’ As my life began to ebb toward one of responsibility and potential maturity, I viewed the career switch–erroneously, it seems to me now–as an almost necessary rite of passage into adulthood. The first thing you should understand is that I believed I needed this job, and made every effort to convince my new employers that I was Joe Corporate.
The other thing you should understand is about my friend Dave Chen–he’s not at all stupid. If this weren’t already apparent from his ethnic heritage (Asians don’t come in ‘dumb’; folks, you can call me a racist if you like, but only if you have ever personally encountered an unintelligent Asian–and no, Filipinos don’t count), it would be after talking to Dave uninterrupted for a few minutes–at his core, he’s an intelligent, thoughtful guy.

An Actual Scene From ‘Ramon’s Wedding!” (Posted 05.11.12)
But despite his intelligence, Dave wields stupidity like a weapon, having long since learned to use it to his advantage, preferring to look the fool to achieve his own ends. In school there wasn’t much that Dave couldn’t get out of by pretending he was clueless. Twice Dave “forgot” to knock and barged into my apartment, once lucky enough to catch my girlfriend while she was changing. Even though I had long since become hip to his game, his sinister super stupidity power made it impossible to get mad at him. “Oh, Dave…” was a familiar refrain in our group.
But sometimes Dave’s affected stupidity will the better of him, as events conspire to erupt in hilarious or tragic (and sometimes both) consequences. Once such time was shortly after I got my new corporate sales job.

Oh, Dave, You Incorrigible Lout!
Although the job was in Washington State, I was sent down to LA for training, which was ideal, because many of my college friends still lived in the Southland, and I hadn’t seen them for a few years. Dave was one of many friends I planned to see.
One night, a few days after I’d arrived in Los Angeles for training, I had gone out in the evening with a couple of college friends. When I returned to my hotel room, my roommate and fellow trainee Justin (yeah, roommate–I was quickly to discover that I was working for one of the most penurious companies in the Western Hemisphere) told me that while I was out, I’d received a call.
“Who was it?” I asked, walking up the stairs to grab a shower.
I stopped dead in my tracks when he answered “Dave,” not completely sure why I was gripped by such a sense of mounting dread.
“He did?” I said, “What did he say?”
Justin’s chuckle didn’t reassure me. “Well,” he said, “For about the first minute of the conversation, he thought I was you.”

Oh, He Isn’t Even Warmed Up Yet.
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod! “Oh really?” I asked, making an heroic effort to remain casual.
Justin laughed again. “He mostly talked about dusting huge bowls {partaking in the consumption of marijuana, a harmful and highly addictive narcotic}.”
Before I could protest that I didn’t know what that meant or say something ridiculous like “I never inhaled,” Justin assured me that he didn’t care and wouldn’t mention it to our corporate masters, and that moreover he’d even smoked pot once or twice.
I told him that my experience with the pernicious drug had been equally infrequent, and asked him, if he should happen to talk to Dave again, not to mention that he’d told me about the conversation. He agreed.
A few days later, after we’d gotten together and dusted a few of the aforementioned huge bowls, Dave asked me, “So how’s training going?”
I grew very serious, and cast my eyes downward. “Not good, Dave. I got fired.”
“What? What happened?”
I told Dave that I had reported for training as usual that morning, but that my instructor had held up class to speak with me privately. “She asked me point-blank if I’d ever smoked pot,” I told Dave. “I said, ‘Once or twice in high school, but not since.’ But Dave–they fired me anyway.”

But Getting Shitty Drunk With The Boys From Corporate Was A-OK.
Dave had the good grace to look stricken. “So how did they find out?”
“That’s the thing I don’t understand,” I said. “It makes no sense. The nearest thing I can figure is that one of my Washington buddies called corporate as a joke. It wasn’t very funny, though.”
We sat in silence for a while before Dave spoke again. “But you really don’t have any idea who it was?”
I affected the most touching look of bewildered hurt I could muster. “No, man–not a clue.”
Said Dave: “That sucks, man.”
Sounds like Dave should enter politics. He has self-preservation down to an art. John Edwards knows a little something about that. Of course, it didn’t quite go according to plan for that well-coifed man, but, you know, he swam in De Nile for a pretty long time, an impressive accomplishment in its own ugly way…
Yeah, if Edwards had reached office, he might have eclipsed Spiro Agnew as the biggest scumbag to ever hold the VP’s office.
I’m afraid Dave’s got no future as a politician. First of all, he’s not nearly so pretty, and doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. And more importantly, he’s a decent human being. The above story is true, but it shows only one side of my friend. It doesn’t depict all the great times we have together, or how, when I was taking care of my mom just before she died, he and another friend drove up from LA to see me for a few precious hours which, today, means all the world to me.
You are right. Decency like that would not survive in Washington. Sadly.
Did you ever tell Dave you were putting him on?
Well played, Tardsie. Well played!
Thanks, Guap! I ended the story where I did because I liked its sense of punch-line completeness. But in fact, my very next two words to Dave were “You fucker!”
I forgave him, of course (it’s seriously hard to be mad at this guy. It’s like being mad at a mentally retarded person–only he’s pretty darn bright!) under the condition that I be allowed to share the tale of his ineptitude and perfidy with whomever I liked, and moreover to tell it as often as I liked even with him present (oh, especially with him present). I’ve dined out on that for years. On those too-infrequent occasions when we’re able to get the old gang back together, somebody often asks me to tell the story, and if Dave’s around, I’ll tell it even if they don’t!
That was crafty and evil – I loved it. When he said “That sucks” – it woulda been hard for me not to bust him out and say – I know it was you who told! (And you’re right – Asian people ARE really smart)
Thanks, WhiteLady! And no, just like you, I couldn’t hold a thing like that in. See my reply to El Guapo’s comment–I busted him on it immediately.
I thought about mentioning this in the piece in reference to the whole “smart Asians” thing, but thought it an unnecessary digression–but when I was teaching in Southern California, I noticed something. Many of my students were 1st-Generation Asian Americans, primarily from Korea or China. A few were second-Generation kids. Invariably, they were clever kids. However, I also had a number of Japanese kids. They, in many cases, were not first-Generation Americans, but rather fourth, fifth and even sixth-generations. It must have something to do with the effects of long-term exposure to America’s special brand of liberty-laced air, but the Japanese kids were the exception. They were every bit as dumb as white, black or brown kids.
Unfortunately, I think the “intelligent Asian” myth is more of a cultural thing than anything else. It’s more about work ethic rather than innate intelligence, and the more exposure kids get to the prevailing culture, the lazier and more complacent they get.
Uhm, *cough *… what’s that about Filipinos, again? o.Oa
Oh! Well, I think what Tardsie was trying to say is that everybody already knows that Filipinos are super-smart, so there’s no reason to test the theory!
Eh. I’m not sure about that. he he he
Arnel Pineda is pretty hot (for only being 5’1″) and he’s got a hell of a voice too.
Why didn’t you give him a swift kick to the groin?!
It’s really, really hard to get mad at this guy. And groin-kicking is a last, last resort. I think men take that a little more seriously than do the ladies!
Oh, so that’s why all those guys never called me back…
No, they never called back because they were LOSERS! You don’t need losers in your life.
Reblogged this on Promethean Times and commented:
One week from today, my buddy Dave (from this True-Ass Tale) is getting married. I’m far too much a gentleman to take revenge, let alone on the happiest day of his life–but imagine the possibilities!
Not revenge…maybe just a friendly practical joke. 😉
The fun with Asians is they generally have NO street smarts. They’re incredibly book smart- especially with things mathematical- as a rule, but as far as what some would call “emotional intelligence,” or what I call that primal reptilian ability to read others thoughts and intentions- well, not so much. And as I’ve said before, most of the time when a guy gets married he’s improving his quality of life. I can say Jerry’s has improved, especially because he was raised by wolves and all.
Who knew a 55 year old male would be incapable of operating a plunger? I was just about to scurry out the door this morning when I heard this whiny, “It won’t go down!!!” coming from the bathroom. So, to save my bathroom linoleum, I drop my stuff and go rescue him. Again. It “went down” for me just fine. I know how to use the plunger. Basic life skill- at least in my world.
Re Asian students…. I think it’s cultural too. Ever heard of Asian Tiger Moms? That is so true. At age 6, my mother drilled me on multiplication table…. I had to memorize everything, one mistake and she’d say ” AGAIN, FROM THE TOP ! ! !
I was a redneck cracker mom, so my son ended up with a degree in automotive technology. But I did make him do handwriting drills when he was little because his writing was virtually illegible. His writing is still atrocious, but he can type twice as fast as I can, and he’s always been good at math. I don’t think white parents push their kids hard enough!
That. Is. Too. FUNNY!!!
Hahahaha! Jeez…I can imagine him saying, “That sucks, man” in that completely straight face he had on your other post. Ugh, I would have head smacked the guy had I been in your place. He’s such a complete evil friend—no wonder you love him so much! (It’s rather difficult to explain the logic in that, eh?)
P.S. “Uhhh…*points finger at chest* me FIlipino, Smak. Uhhh…you can call me idiot anytime. Anytime.”
Yeah, I thought that one might come back to haunt me. If I can dig myself in just a little deeper, I’m glad you didn’t “flip” out.