The Ankle Biter

Years after incidents that should have been long forgotten, he was still questioned by those who knew him well enough to know but didn’t like him nearly enough to remain silent. And it didn’t matter who was to blame, what the circumstances were, or that the people who brought up his past were not even remotely involved. It didn’t matter.

Remove Our Staples, We’ve Been Badly Collated

Monday night, sitting outside at the Barking Spider and listening to Steev Inglish, Heidi Cool asked Sally and I to explain the difference between a Putz and a Schmuck. I did my best to differentiate between a sad-sack loser who meant no harm and an impotent jerk. She would have seen a living, breathing embodiment of this had she been with me Tuesday afternoon.

I won’t bore you with the specific details as to where I was or what he actually said. I have no need to publicly shame this guy, the Schmuck. Besides, if Tuesday was any indication, he is already shaming himself on a regular basis. I was embarrassed, for him, when he admitted that he and his insignificant friends were so fascinated with my life twenty years ago that he still, to this day, had questions about certain details. There are few things sadder than a short, balding man in his sixties who still suffers from penis envy.

I felt badly for him. No, I did not cut him to ribbons, not even after I politely hinted (twice!) that he was out of bounds. He was incapable of understanding the need to stop. The room went silent as he verbally dirtied himself.

What I will do is print a copy of this blog and mail it to him at his office. I don’t need an apology from him. I will know that he learned something, that he regrets this incident and others, when I receive notification that he has made a donation to either my synagogue or the American Heart Association. The acknowledgement won’t reveal the amount of his contribution. If he has any honor, any menschlichkeit, it will be a nice sized check.