Thursday, January 28, 2010

My Dad

Me: My phone’s broken. What a piece of shit.

Dad: Just charge it

Me: I did. It won’t turn on. It’s broken.

Dad: You’re probably not doing it right, let me see.

He proceeds to put my phone on the charger for a few hours, then tries to turn it on. He does this at least once every day for about 2 months.

Then one day…

Dad (Presses power button calmly and stares at phone for a very, very long time): Turn on, come on, come on, turn on… you bastard! (slams phone on kitchen bench) Fucking piece of crap! This is ridiculous, friggin’ Optus! I swear to fucking God… this phone is fucked!

December 2009: the delivery guys have failed to ring the doorbell and have instead left a notification that they have attempted to deliver a parcel.

Me: Hey, I found this under the door. Sorry Dad, I guess they didn’t ring the doorbell. I mean, I didn’t hear anything.

Dad: No, no, it’s okay… I mean, next time please just answer the door

Me: they didn’t knock, Dad. I didn’t even know they were here, actually.

Dad: Yeah, I know, it’s just a bit annoying really… I mean, you should always keep an eye out… you could have done more than just sit around downstairs… well, you should have heard them! Fucking cunts! Useless fucking bastards, they never ring the fucking doorbell. I can’t fucking believe this, I need that laptop. Those cunts. Jesus Christ. Just answer the fucking door next time Alex! For fucks sake!

Me (after being attacked by my brother’s highly aggresive pet bird): OH MY GOD that bird just tried to rip my earring out! Jesus! Put it back in the cage!

Dad: It’s not the bird’s fault Alex, you just don’t know how to handle it… if you show it fear it’s going to try to dominate you. The bird doesn’t bite me because I show it I have confidence, I look it in the eye. It knows who’s boss.

Me: It was waiting for me on my bedroom door handle when I came upstairs. She followed me when I ran.

Dad: Don’t be ridiculous. Trevor’s a nice bird (Dad reaches out to scratch Trevor and Trevor clamps her beak down on his finger)

Dad: OUCH! FUCK! GET IT OFF ME! GET THE FUCKING BIRD OFF ME! (at this point, my younger brother is forced intervene and extricate Dad’s bloody finger)

Dad: Get that fucking creature back in it’s fucking cage and do not let it out again. Ever. Put an ad in the fucking paper! FREE BIRD TO GOOD FUCKING HOME!

My Dad (talking to the coffee machine and hitting it with his fists): come on you motherfucker! Work you goddamn piece of shit!

(I look up from my book at the kitchen table, wordlessly)

Dad: Don’t swear.

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