An Homage to Roby Fusspucker*
*For the sake of the anonymity of the parties involved, all names have been changed to protect the innocent.
It was 08:15 on a damp, quiet night on a Wednesday, last October...
Roby Fusspucker had set off in his 1998 Buick Regal to join some friends for a lighthearted dinner and drinks at his neighborhood Chili's. Little did he know that this would be a night he would look back on in infamy.
Roby met his friends Marsha Knubbrubber and Craig Slischt, two friends he'd known since business school and met frequently at American franchise restaurants. When it came time to order, Roby chose from the beer list a drink popular with housewives, Stella Artois.
"May I see your ID?" the waiter asked. His name was Paul Wienerpluhg and he'd been working double shifts for three days in a row.
"Sure," says Roby and he slides his ID out of his duct tape material wallet before gingerly handing it to Paul.
Paul looks at the ID and shakes his head, "I'm sorry, but your ID is expired. I'm not legally permitted to serve you alcohol."
"Seriously? I didn't realize that was a thing. It's still got my date of birth on there; it's not like that's expired," Roby said with a slight chuckle tinged with discomfort. But the jovial extension only hit an ugly chord with Paul. As it turned out, 'I didn't realize that was a thing' was his hot-button phrase. Apparently he'd recently contracted a case of syphilis from his long-time girlfriend, Jenny Perdue, whom the rest of the staff knew as 'Jenny Any-dick'll-do', whom had not long ago told Paul she hadn't gotten an STD test because she "didn't realize that was a thing."
Paul's eyes narrowed. "It is a thing. And your attitude isn't helping the situation, sir."
Roby blinked in disbelief. The last word emphasis caught the ear of the crew leader, Ron Ripsack. Ron had also been working double shifts since most of the crew had called off due to a syphilis outbreak. He made his way to the party's table. "Is there a problem over here, sir?" he asked. He had a rolled menu slapping against an open palm. "If that's even your real name," he snarled, then snatched the ID from Paul's hand. "What do we have here? An expired license! With the name ROBY!" Ron exclaimed, then shoved his menu into Paul's chest. Paul took the menu without breaking eye contact with Roby and Ron slammed both his hands against the table. "Did you drive here, Roby?"
At this point Roby knew he had to up his game if he wanted to leave Chili's alive. "...Actually, yes, I did." He straightened his shoulders.
Ron snapped his body erect and turned his head quickly to Paul, cocked it to the side and said in a mocking tone, "He drove here, Paul." He snapped his eyes back on Roby and glared as hard as he could, again slamming his hands down on the table. "Don't you think that's...dangerous?" His eyes widened as he enunciated the last word. "Maybe we should call the police. I'm sure they'd have something to say about this."
Paul, still never breaking eye contact with Roby, said to Ron, "Maybe we should escort his heinie OUTSIDE!"
Roby looked at his friends Marsha and Craig. "You guys suck as friends," he forced out as Paul and Ron grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the restaurant. "You two are off my joke e-mail list! OFF!"
Marsha and Craig exchanged glances. "Why does he always have to make a scene, Craig? Always. Remember when he got thrown out of Meineke?" Marsha asked rhetorically. Craig nodded, "Mmhmm."
Meanwhile, out in the parking lot...
"Well boy, looks like you got an ex-pired li-cense," a black club was lifted up over his shoulder, then swung. Glass shattered and pieces sprinkled onto the ground. "And a bus-ted head-light."
"What the fuck, man!" Roby protested, "You're not even a cop!"
"That's right, I'm the man-a-ger," said Jeff Honkytrough. He'd been manager of Chili's for four days. He was part of the "Reformed Release" program funded by the state.
"That's not even my car!!"
Jeff smashed another headlight on a nearby vehicle. "And this here is MY parking lot. Who do you think you are, driving into MY parking lot without a proper license?!"
"That's not my car either..." Roby quickly formulated a plan. After Jeff had smashed through enough cars to run through both Marsha and Craig's vehicles as well, he'd fake a seizure. "Dicks," he thought to himself.
Twelve busted headlights later...
"Well boy, you sorry you drove here with that pathetic piece of garbage you call a license?" asked Jeff.
"Almost. That Volkswagen Beetle is mine. Why don't you just let me get in it and take off..." He hoped they didn't notice the headlight eyelashes that Marsha sported on her beloved bug.
"Not so fast, Roby!" Jeff smashed both headlights out. "Ex-pired li-cense and TWO bus-ted head-lights," he emphasized.
Roby knew what he had to do. He fell to the ground and contorted his body, mimicking convulsions.
"Oh crackers!" whined Paul. "Now we have to do paperwork!"
"Fuck that," said Ron. "It's not really a seizure until his pisses himself. I read that somewhere."
Roby repeated to himself, "You can do this you can do this you can do this..." and he tried to urinate. Unfortunately, he found that peeing his pants was difficult with three grown men staring at him. He imagined waterfalls, canon-balling into a pool, that Asian site he frequented called the Golden Bathhouse, but nothing seemed to work. He was getting tired from the convulsing. It was now or never. He strained as hard as he could, but all he could muster was an erection. Defeated, he ceased all convulsions and laid on the concrete like a crumpled piece of paper.
Ron, Paul, and Jeff exchanged glances then descended upon Roby like birds of prey, disgusted at his convulsion-boner. Bob Barkers, Pumas and New Balance shoes became weapons of choice as the three took turns kicking Roby. Gang initiations had less violence. The irony was that the beat-down he took caused him to lose control of his bladder and he finally achieved his goal of urinating in his pants.
Roby has an intense fear of American franchise restaurants. He walks with a limp now and poops in a bag, but he always carries an unexpired drivers license.
*Paid for by the committee Making the DMV Look Good in Comparison