by Bryn Pottie (Satire/Fiction)

As of this writing, the Covid-19 outbreak has killed tens of thousands and wreaked havoc on economies all over the world. In this time of global anxiety, only one thing is for certain: the second my local Boston Pizza opens up again, I’m gonna march down there and fucking tune the manager, Dave.

If Dave thinks I’m going to forget what he did to me, he’s got another thing coming. Coronavirus may only have a 3% fatality rate, but these fists are a solid 50/50, bud. After we flatten the curve, I’m gonna flatten his smug fuckin face. Just wait and see.

I see people on the news saying this is a time for people to support each other, but that straight up doesn’t apply to Dave. I mean, picture this! March 18, 2020: Me and my boys are about six deep at BP. I’m making eyes with a lady from out of town, no ring on her finger, dressed up all business-like. I’m fixing on helping this travelling saleswoman meet her quota, if you know what I mean. So I go to the bar to order a Fish Bowl for the lady, when Dave steps out of the back like he’s friggin Vince McMahon or something.

Like I said, I was only six deep, but Dave starts giving me the third degree, asking how many I’ve had and how drunk I am, like he’s my son or something. Like anybody would, I tell him to get fucked, and that’s when he starts power tripping. Not only does he cut me off, but he takes my fucking keys! He humiliated me in front of everybody: The business lady, the nice waitress with the weird bangs, and all my boys, (including Cory R, who barely ever comes out anymore!).

And I fucking know it was personal, too. He’s had it out for me ever since I got an HJ from his prom date at Safe Grad.

Anyways, next night I head back to Bossy Piz, cause me and Dave gotta have words, right? Turns out, the whole fucking thing is closed down, except for takeout. Dave’s the bar manager, so he’s nowhere to be found. I figure this must be some kind of scheme to protect Dave’s weak ass, but the lady at the door very patiently explained coronavirus to me. So, I take home a 12 inch Spicy Perogy pizza and a two litre of Pepsi to start my months of self isolation/planning revenge.

Okay, so he lost his job, big hairy goddamn deal. Sitting at home, living off Trudeau money after fucking up my last chance to get some tang before a global friggin quarantine? That’s too good for Dave! I’ve been Facetiming with my boys and they pretty much agree (The sole holdout being Cory R.)

Dave may forget what happened that fateful night, but I sure as shit never will. I don’t have too many hobbies, so I’ve got nothing to do but stew in this rage! While he’s been watching Tiger King, I’ve been watching Youtube karate tutorials. While he’s been cutting his own hair, I’ve been cranking pushups in a dark room, lit only by the blue glow of my disconnected TV. While he’s been learning to make bread, I’ve been building my immunity to pain by holding my fists over the hot stove. I’ve been doing some jigsaw puzzles too, I’m not crazy or anything!

Thought I seen him in the grocery store parking lot the other day, but it turned out to be someone else. Son of a bitch was lucky I figured it out when I did, buddy almost got domed by a can of Campbell’s Chunky Split Pea With Ham. Even from six feet away, I can still inflict some serious damage. Since that day, I’ve been carrying that can around every time I go shopping, just in case. I also keep it with me when I’m on my walks, which I swear are just for exercise, not for trying to figure out where Dave lives (get off my back about that, Cory R!).

Dave, don’t forget, bud. Even if you wait out this pandemic, you don’t have shit on this mandemic. Once the crisis is over, health risks may go down for everyone else, but they’re gonna get way, way worse for you.