This is the story of grudges. A specific grudge. My first grudge, the one I hold dearest. I know they say “don’t hold onto things,” but I do, and the person who said that first, well you’re on the damn list, too.
I will be the first to admit, I’m petty. Petty AF actually.
If someone slights me, I make a mental note, and vow revenge. Well now, instead of a mental note, I keep a list. A true list of grudges against people that have slighted me. Or were rude, or caused me to miss things, or because they were assholes. Time. Date. What they were wearing. Hair messy. Car they were driving. Any detail I can think of.
As I already stated, I’m petty. If my pettiness was to be summed up in one fell swoop, it’s this:
That’s my character flaw, a big one. I’ll openly admit it. It reminds me of Mr. Heckles from Friends. He kept a list of grudges, a book actually.
I have a list. I keep it in my iPhone notes.
(Most recently updated this morning, August 30th, because the workers at Home Depot on 59th Ave and Pima freeway, refuse to move their cart sanitary wipes from their exit door, to their entrance door. Which, makes more sense to be honest.)
See. I’m Petty. I could be Tom Petty’s distant relative, Marcus Petty.
With me, I’m never sure how I’m going to exact revenge, but somehow, someway, I try.
I’m going to introduce you to my oldest grudge, my rosebud.
Enter Devin T. Thompson.
It was 1986, He had just turned 6 years old, white kid, spiky blonde hair, mole on left cheek, was really cool until January 5th 1986, might be a double agent. Certainly a lying punk.
Status: hate him.
Location: unknown, for now.
Devin is my oldest grudge.
EXACTLY: 32 years, 7 months, 24 days, 11 hours. 4 minutes.
Why? Why am I so angry with Devin Thundertramp Thompson? (Yes I do believe the T stands for Thundertramp.) Well let’s just get to the point. Little bitch stole my only black GI Joe action figure.
You would say, he’s my Roadblock.
Let’s rewind to 1985. That year I asked for G.I. Joes for Christmas. I was (still am) obsessed with the show. I got 33 action figures. Back then, they were about 3 dollars each. My mom and dad had a 150 dollar Budget for each of us for Christmas. 150 dollars could go far back then. Now, not so much. That same 150 would get you 4 Barbies, a shirt, a pair of pants and a shoe. Not a pair of shoes, one.
That Christmas I was fortunate to receive those 33 action figures. I figured it would only be 10 or so, but they got all of the ones available, plus the space shuttle, some jeeps, and some corduroy pants. I was over the moon happy. My brothers, well I didn’t care what they got, I was happy with what I got. First person I told, was Devin.
Devin and I were close. He was my 1st grade homie. We used to eat lunch together, hang out during recess. Talk about GI Joes. Whatever.
But, something changed. Over Christmas break, he didn’t hang as much. Three times in 14 days. He came over twice and we watched GI Joe and played with my then extensive action figure ensemble. It was the third time that he became my Benedict Arnold.
On January 4th he came over. We played. It was the Saturday before we were returning to school. Normal day. We had lunch, wrestled, laughed, made fun of my dumb older brother, and then, before he left, he asked me a question he’d asked many times:
Devin: hey, can I play with this tonight? I’ll bring it back.
Me: sure, Dev. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t walk on the grass. You know my dad hates that.
Translated to 2018:
Devin: Hey, can I stab you in the back? I’ll even use your knife.
Me: Um, what?
That moment, before he left, we did our little cool kid handshake, and he left. I watched him walk down the path, and to his house 7 doors down. Little did I know, that would be the last time I ever saw that lying, lowlife snake in the grass.
We, as we always do on Sunday’s, went to church. My Mother, was a minister. So church was an all day affair. Like, 7 hours of torture, please just kill me, all day affair for a kid.
When we finally arrived, I went into the house, changed out of my Sunday clothes as we always had to do, and I ran down to Devins home.
At that time, we lived on a military base. I went to knock on his door, and before I did, I saw that his house was empty.
Dude straight up ghosted without saying a word. I had no idea his family would be moving, or had moved. He, of course, knew about it.
In my opinion, it was very premeditated. We always knew at least 60 days in advance before we were moving and he never once said anything. He had a plan, and to his credit, he executed it.
Was I mad? Yes.
Am I still mad? Damn Betcha.
I asked my parents for a new one, but back then, the parent motto was:
Do you think money grows on trees?
I even offered to do more chores to earn enough money to get it, and after I did, I couldn’t find that damn figurine anywhere. No stores carried it. It was an item that evaded me. My 3.44 cents with tax, sat in my pocket, store after store.
That was the only black GI Joe figure I owned and Thundertramp took it. There was no google, or twitter, or Facebook to find him. I asked my dad, the military man at the time, if he knew how I could find him. Of course, he did not. Or if he did, he didn’t tell me.
I’m going to add my dad to the list for that (he’s already on the list three times, but now a fourth), because he probably could’ve found out. New grudge entry. Dad: 1986.
To Devin’s credit, that was a Straight up baller move, at my expense. I’ve tried to find him, but I have yet to locate him.
I hope for your sake, Devin Thundertramp Thompson that you are in witness protection because I’m coming for you. Messed up thing you did. I’m going to exact 32 years of street justice on you. Kick you right in the balls, 32 times, or one for every year it took me to exact revenge. You lulled me into a false sense of friendship, then straight up stole one of my prized possessions.
Devin is the sole reason for this. He spawned my current pettiness. My grudge list. I’ve always been wary of people after that. When someone asks to borrow something, I’m always like:
hmmmmmmm. You moving tomorrow? Will I get this back? When? What time? Gimme your DAMN social security number. Your moms maiden name. I want info. I want two verified numbers I can reach you at. I want to know where you are at all times until it comes back to me.
I hope I find Devin, because before I die, I’d like to cross this grudge, off of my list. I am slowly checking the other ones off. But this one, my first, I’d like to cross that off. Yes, for the others on the list, tick, tock.
Next week’s posts:
Monday – Death Becomes Him
Thursday – Normal.