Just Deserts
For some time now, I have worked diligently to ensure that the good people of this world, particularly those who have performed the great service of befriending me, receive just desserts: apple pie cookie bars, pumpkin spice cinnamon rolls, braided lemon crème bread, and so on. But I fear that in performing this role, I have inadvertently invited the false conclusion that I am a charitable and gracious person, when in fact I am extremely petty and vengeful. The only thing stopping me from performing petty acts of vengeance is my inability to exact the kinds of revenge that would most satisfy me, as they require supernatural powers typically held by lesser demons and the like, which, quite unfortunately, I do not myself possess—yet.
I am in fact very much interested in offering a small piece of my mortal soul as consideration for the evil magic I seek, but I have thus far been frustrated in attempting to access the Dark Market: On my first attempt, I put a few drops of red food dye (which I typically use to make pink frosting) in a jar of water, labeled it “virgin blood,” and stood outside the Stanford mausoleum gesticulating wildly with the jar whilst yelling, “Wanna buy my soul?” in the general direction of the late Leland Stanford. This was unfruitful. On my second attempt, I drafted a “Soul 4 Sale” advertisement on Canva, airdropped the PDF to my iPad, and began to draw a pentagram around it, but my Apple Pencil died somewhere along the fourth point.
Upon reflection, I have come to believe that my problem may lie in my assumption that evil magic is a commodity; it may be the case that the powers I seek are not bought and sold, but rather conferred to worthy individuals through a transparent democratic process. And thus, my third attempt is this blog post:
I hereby announce my candidacy for the role of Avenger General. We live in a world plagued by thoughtless indifference, in which decent people suffer minor indignities at the hands of those who couldn’t care less (and, worse yet, those who “could care less”) about the wellbeing of their fellow mortals. As Avenger General, I would use the supernatural power of my office to ensure that no trivial impropriety goes unpunished, that minor offenders of polite sensibilities receive their just deserts.
Under my tenure, overly verbal classroom pests (also known as “fucking gunners”), including but not limited to those who engage in heated debates with professors during class, speak without express invitation, share their insights at an average rate in excess of twice per hour, or ask questions that no reasonable person could think are remotely pertinent to the material their classmates have paid large sums of money to learn, will be thusly punished: Immediately before interviewing for a job, entering the office of a respected superior, or sitting down to a formal dinner, a single square of toilet paper will become affixed to the underside of one shoe. This is a subtle thing: only an inch or two of the paper will visibly protrude, such that the condemned classroom pest will never be entirely certain whether those in his company caught a glimpse of the cursed tissue and will instead be subjected to forever wondering.
Those who drive in objectionable ways will regularly find themselves entrapped in small and highly localized traffic jams. Those who honk far more aggressively than the occasion merits will find that their car horn, when pressed, is prone to becoming stuck in the “on” position for 15 to 30 minutes at a time. And those who routinely park in such a way as to force owners of adjacent cars to perform excessively many maneuvers to exit will find that each time they witness a meter gentleman* performing alarming activities near their vehicle, it will be too late: “Sorry buddy, there’s nothing I can do—the ticket’s already written.”
Cutting others in line at the grocery store will cause one’s checker to suffer from temporary memory loss, rendering the checker acutely unable to remember the product codes for most varieties of produce. Parking one’s cart in the frozen section in such a way as to prevent ice cream enthusiasts from accessing their treat of choice will result in one’s ice cream containing, on average, 30% fewer morsels of cookie dough, ribbons of caramel, shards of toffee, etc. For persons of stature, passing by a vertically challenged individual visibly straining to reach an item on the top shelf without offering assistance will cause the height of a regularly used doorway to decrease by six inches.
Those who engage in debased dating behavior—such as catfishing, (unwarranted) ghosting, feigning non-possession of a contraceptive device at a critical moment, and so on—will find that each time they are engaged in intimate activities, the door on which they are relying for privacy mysteriously unlocks itself and swings ever-so-slightly ajar, such that the room becomes vulnerable to entry by unwanted intruders including roommates, rambunctious animal companions, and, for the most egregious offenders, biological relatives.
These are but a few of the brilliant, innovative ideas I have for restoring civility and justice to a world that is so often short on both. With your vote, I will work to ensure that each trivial social infraction is swiftly punished in a manner that is perfectly proportionate in triviality. Join me and together, we can #MakeAmericaPettyAgain.
* I was once told that “meter maid” is a pejorative and insulting term, and, though unverified, I am now operating under this belief and have adjusted my verbiage accordingly.
