Hilarity Ensues - Hilarity Ensues Part 15
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Hilarity Ensues Part 15

Twenty minutes. Hate is white-knuckling his utensils. The veins on his head throb and pulsate. In a disaster movie, this would be the part where Morgan Freeman comes on to tell us a comet is headed for earth, and it can't be stopped.

At some point between the twenty and twenty-five minute mark, it happens: With his knife and fork still in his hands, Hate violently gorilla slams both fists down into the table. All the plates on the table jump up, the glasses clink and fall over, and he yells at the top of his lungs: "CRIMINY!"

The mousey girl next to him yelps in surprise, and a look of true primal fear fills her face. For a second, I think she was honestly scared for her life. All the other girls sat wide-eyed and speechless, like they'd just seen a shooting. Credit and I, too, were speechless. But we couldn't talk because we were laughing. And I could NOT stop. I'm sitting here at my computer, over ten years later, still laughing my ass off as I fucking write this.

I mean ... who says "criminy"??? What's next, "fiddlesticks"??? "Jiminy Cricket"???

Here's the thing: After he'd hammer-fisted the table so hard it almost broke, it's not like he started laughing. Hate wasn't doing this to be funny. He was VERY serious. He sat there, just as angry as before his out burst, hands still death-clutching his utensils, staring a hole into his plate, waiting for the food, like a guy who takes his role as the king at Medieval Times a little too seriously.

No one said a fucking word until the food came-which of course happened only one minute after Hate's explosion. The only sounds were the girls picking up the glasses that fell over, Credit and me cackling like uncontrollable hyenas, and Rachel trying to shush us. I don't think anyone talked as they ate, nor do I remember a thing about the food, and still this was probably the most enjoyable meal of my life.

THE ITALY TRIP.

The summer between our first and second year, Credit and Hate went to Italy to do a summer session at a law school there. The first thing they did when they got back was tell me all about it. It was awesome-not because of the sights or even anything they did, but because Credit basically spent the entire time getting under Hate's skin in the most subtle and ingenious ways.

Credit tells the story of the bus tickets: Credit "So no one checks your tickets on the buses in Rome; they are run on the honor system. But every once in a while, a cop will get on and check everyone's ticket, and if you don't have it, you have to pay a huge fine. We would buy our tickets most of the time, but one night we were out drinking and we'd both lost our tickets, and you can only buy them during the day. And it was far from our place, like six miles or something. I'm not walking that, no chance. You can go ahead and fine me or whatever, but there is no way I'm walking six miles. Hate on the other hand ... well, you know Hate. Breaking the law-ANY LAW-is a black and white issue to him. So he watched me get on the bus, and then started the long, SIX MILE walk home. While drunk, at 1am. It takes two hours for him to walk home. Two hours! Can you imagine? And it started raining. He was soaking wet when he got home."

Tucker "But was there a cop checking tickets on the bus?"

Credit "Of course not! They're Italian, they're not working late night weekends."

No response from Hate as Credit told this story. Just suppressed anger. Then, as if he had spent the entire time crafting his defense, he finally pipes up: Hate "Credit, did you tell Tucker about the place we had to stay? Because of you??"

Credit can do nothing but laugh.

Hate "OK, so I organized everything for this trip. I arranged the travel, I got us registered at the school, I did EVERYTHING. The only thing I asked Credit to do was find us a place to stay in Rome. That's it. ONE THING. That's the ONLY thing he had to do."

Credit [still laughing his ass off] "Hate, it was a place wasn't it? And we stayed there, didn't we?"

Hate "Ooohhhh-you want to play that game? Tucker, listen to this place. It looks like Section 8 housing. Building had to be 200 years old. We had a communal shower/toilet area we had to share with a bunch of other people. The entire room wasn't even as big as one of our bedrooms here. You could stand in the middle and almost touch both walls with your arms outstretched. There was no desk or anything. We slept on cots. Cots. Actual cots, that may in fact have been left over from the American occupation during WWII. And of course, no air-conditioning. Which in the summer in Rome was awful. I would wake up every morning drenched in sweat."

Credit "Hate, it wasn't that bad."

Hate "Oh no, in fact, it was worse. At first I just sucked it up and dealt with it, because I assumed that this was the only place we could get. This is Rome, it's hard to find temporary places, OK fine, at least we're in Rome. Then we get invited to a student thing at the apartment of another girl in our program, who goes to Georgetown Law School. Her place was amazing. Huge, totally furnished, everything; better than our place here. Well, at the very least this girl must be rich or something, so I assume her daddy paid for this or something, and we could never have afforded this anyway."

Hate's anger is starting to hit a crescendo, and Credit is laughing so hard, he's almost crying.

Hate "NO!! She is paying LESS THAN WE ARE. And get this-she got the place through the service the school has for the summer students. CREDIT COULD HAVE DONE THIS!!"

Credit "Max, you don't understand how awesome it was-he was screaming at me in this apartment, with all these law students around who didn't know him at all. They were all nervous and freaked out."

From the second they'd come back from Italy, Credit had repeatedly busted Hate's balls about this "two inches on the cot," or something. I wanted to see how this tied in, and what better time to ask than right as Hate was reaching the brink?

Tucker "But what's the deal with the smaller cot or whatever?"

Hate "Oh, that's just the icing on this cake of bullshit."

Credit "OK, when we got to our place for the first time, since it was so shitty, I let Hate pick the cot he wanted, and I took the other one. Well, after a few days, Hate started to suspect that my cot was larger than his cot."

Tucker "We're talking about cots? Like, these are just two pieces of fabric tied between sticks?"

Credit "Oh yeah. No doubt. It was impossible for these to be more shitty. So anyway, Hate starts obsessing over the cots, every day he's talking about the cots, and how maybe I got the larger cot, and on and on. So one day we bought a tape measure and measured them-"

Credit is laughing too hard to even continue, and Hate can't contain himself.

Hate "HIS COT WAS TWO INCHES WIDER THAN MINE!!"

Credit "Hate, I let you pick the cot you wanted!"

Hate "It doesn't matter-YOU GOT THE LARGER COT!! EVEN AFTER YOU FUCKED EVERYTHING UP!!"

Credit sums up his most faux-serious voice, and still laughing, says: Credit "Hate ... let's not live in the past."

Hate exploded with indignant fury, cursing and storming around the apartment for at least another hour.

THE APARTMENT.

Those vignettes above were all from the first year of law school. Second year was when Hate, Credit, and I moved in together. Now with closer proximity to Hate, Credit and I devised dozens of little things to fuck with him. For example: 1. Chores: We'd conspire to adjust the chores so that he always had to do everything. For example, if it was Credit's turn to take out the trash, we'd both claim it was Hate's. His pure astonishment and righteous indignation at the thought of having to take out the trash TWICE in a week was a bouquet of hilarious.

Hate "Credit, take the trash out."

Credit "I think it's your turn, Hate."

Hate "It is not, it's yours, I took it out Monday."

Credit "I took it out Tuesday."

Tucker "Yep, he did. You're up Hate."

Hate "There was no trash on Tuesday!!"

Credit "I seem to remember taking trash out."

Hate "FUCK BOTH OF YOU! THIS IS THE SAME TRASH FROM YESTERDAY! I EVEN REMEMBER THE CANDY BAR WRAPPERS HERE! NOW TAKE IT OUT!"

Credit "I ate a Snickers this morning."

Tucker "I think I saw Credit take the trash out."

Hate "WHAT THE FUCK?!??!"

2. Food: We'd always eat his food and then lie about it. You see, the three of us were at that stage in our lives just past the free-for-all of college food allocation, but not quite into the responsibility of adult food budgeting. Because we each bought our own food, but stored it together, Hate devised a complex system to divide the refrigerator and pantry up into sections for each of us. It makes sense he would do this-think of the attributes that go into making the type of person who would create a fastidious and explicit system for fair and equitable storage of food. Credit and I paid lip service to following his rules ... but it was only so we could break them in the most subtle and infuriating ways.

Like eating his peanut butter. We'd CONSTANTLY eat his peanut butter, making sure to leave just enough so that the next time he went to make a sandwich, there was only enough to thinly cover his bread (he liked it thick). He'd get pissed off and rant and rave, but we'd always be in the clear-because we'd eat enough of our own peanut butter that it looked like we were only using our own. Hate, being too good of a person, couldn't conceive of someone eating double the proper amount of peanut butter just to fuck with him, so instead he blamed himself.

Sometimes we'd use his peanut butter completely up, and replace it-except with low-fat peanut butter. You haven't lived until you've seen a grown man flip his shit when he goes to make a PB & J and finds low-fat Jif in his cupboard. One time we switched it up and replaced the bread of his we ate with potato bread instead of whole grain wheat.

Hate "Max, what the hell is this??"

Tucker "Bread."

Hate "THIS IS POTATO BREAD!!"

Tucker "So?"

Hate "WHY WOULD YOU BUY THIS??"

Tucker "I replaced your bread, just like I said. Plus, I only ate about ten slices of your last loaf, and I bought you a whole new one. So ... you owe me a few slices out of there."

Hate "WHAT THE FUCK IS POTATO BREAD?"

3. The TV: We had two TVs in our living room, one little one and one big one. So anytime there were two things on TV, we would vote on what got the big TV and sound, and what got the little TV and mute. Credit and I made it a routine to outvote Hate. I cannot tell you how many times we'd force ourselves to sit there with some awful movie on the big TV, and baseball would be on the small TV, just so we could listen to Hate bitch and moan.

Hate "Are you two fucking serious? Why is "Dawson's Creek" on?"

Tucker "I like Pacey. He's just so comforting."

Credit "Yeah Hate, plus James Van Der Beek looks like Tucker."

Hate "THIS SHOW IS FUCKING AWFUL! THE FUCKING PIRATES ARE ON, AND YOU TWO FUCKING SKIRTS WANT TO WATCH DAWSONS FUCKING CREEK! FUCK!!!"

Tucker "Hate, we voted fair and square."

Hate "THIS IS BULLSHIT!!!"

4. The Debates: One of the things Hate, Credit, and I shared was our passion for pointless debates about stupid shit. Didn't matter whether it was who was the hottest Golden Girl (Blanche), what sport was the hardest (no resolution, but sports not involving physical violence need not apply), or which girl I brought home was the most fucked up (all of them), we were always debating nonsensical shit.

Movies were usually the biggest debate topic though. We would argue endlessly about movies. Here's the thing with these debates: while Credit and I just engaged in them as purely fun intellectual exercises, Hate took them VERY seriously. If you tried to argue a point that he didn't like or agree with, it could quickly become intense and personal. For whatever reason, his identity was in many ways tied up with his position on movies, so he'd defend them vigorously. To counteract that over-seriousness, Credit and I would start the most ridiculous debates.

One weekend a Sean Connery movie was on, which started a debate that quickly became intense, because Sean Connery is Hate's favorite actor: Credit "Hate, best Sean Connery movie-Untouchables?"

Hate "What? No chance! What about Indiana Jones? The Name of The Rose? Goldfinger? There are so many better ones. Costner ruins that movie."

Credit "But Credit, that's the role he won an Oscar for."

Hate "An Oscar?!? Jesus Christ!! Martin Scorsese hasn't even won an Oscar, fuck the Oscars!" [Note: this was like 2000 or so, before The Departed]

I was in the bathroom taking a dump. Thanks to the layout of our place and the fact that I usually shit with the door open, I could hear the debate begin. I couldn't hear all the details, but I didn't need to. Credit and I are like Peyton Manning and Marvin Harrison when it comes to inciting Hate's rage. I yell out from the bathroom: Tucker "Hate, what about Medicine Man?"

I don't know if you've seen Medicine Man, but it's fucking terrible. Arguably the worst Connery movie ever, and easily one of the worst major studio releases of that year. Everything you can imagine is wrong with the movie; for fuck's sake Lorraine Bracco is supposed to be his sexy sidekick! So yeah, a complete disaster of a movie. Hate immediately bellows back from the other room.

Hate "MEDICINE MAN?!?"

Tucker "Yeah, you know the movie about him being in the jungle and curing cancer and shit!"

Hate "MAX, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"

Tucker "Did you even see Medicine Man?"

He walks closer to the bathroom and, without actually coming into view of the open shitter door, yells even louder: Hate "Of course I've seen it, 'I DISCOVERED THE CURE TO THE PLAGUE OF THE 20TH CENTURY AND NOW I'VE LOST IT'-oh Christ, Max shut the fuck up!"

Credit and Hate went back to a more serious discussion.

I finally finish pooping and come out into the living room. Hate is standing in the middle of the room, about five feet from me. In the calmest but most condescending voice I can muster, I look at Hate and say: Tucker "Hate, I guess you didn't hear me from the bathroom: What about Medicine Man?"

His face twisted into a knot of sneering rage. He bunched his fist up, cocked it back, and took a step towards me. He immediately got hold of himself, but it was clear as day what had just happened: For the very briefest split second, Hate was going to take a swing at me. Because of Medicine Man.

Far from getting upset, Credit and I broke down laughing. Hate tried to deny it at first, but Credit had seen it too-Hate's emotions over Sean Connery had gotten so out of hand, he was going to throw a punch at his friend and roommate.

THE AIRBAG.

During the same week Credit and Hate got back to Durham from Italy, we all had to run some errands to get ready for the first semester of our 2L year. The last one took us by the law school. A friend of ours was out front, looking like he was waiting for a ride. He didn't see us, so Hate lightly tapped the horn to get his attention.

Oh, we got his attention ... because the horn wouldn't stop honking.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNN.

Credit "Hate, what are you doing?!?"

Hate "IT WON'T STOP!!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNN.

Hate hits it a bunch more times, trying to get the horn to unstick. No dice. Mind you, we are right in the middle of Duke's campus, and Hate can't stop because the car is in motion, in a street, with cars behind us and in front of us. But this fucking horn won't stop honking.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNN.

Tucker "HATE! WHAT THE FUCK!!"

Hate "IT WON'T FUCKING STOP!!!"