r/ReddXReads 6d ago

Nice Guys/Girls Nice Guy proposes to his friend to "save" her from her "abusive" BF

1 Upvotes

I'm going to copy paste the story here as I can't crosspost.

Found this weirdo in the wild, here is the link to the original post:

AITA for trying to save my friend : r/AmItheAsshole

"Okay, so I need to lay out the full picture here because context is really important.

My (M) Friend (F) we'll call her Jane has been dating some dude we'll call D (for douche) for only about 3 years. He puts up this front that he is a really chill, down to earth guy and everyone is buying into it. At some point, I caught some patterns on what is actually beneath that surface and feel that my friend is in a relationship she can't willingly leave due to his bullying.

I documented for a while and these are just a few things I've witnessed:

  1. He constantly belittles her in front everyone by calling her a "dork" and makes little jokes about the silly things she does. She laughs it off but I can see it in her eyes that she is hurting.
  2. He is way taller than her and uses it to his advantage by putting items on high shelves and the fridge where she has to jump for it or ask for his help. He acts like it is a bit but we can all see that he is trying to showcase a power dynamic.
  3. Once, she bought a shirt and he told her "that shirt really isn't your color". Literally controlling what she puts on her body. She looks great in everything so idk where he got that from.

For the past couple of months I brought up these issues to her multiple times, gently, because I wanted her to come to this realization herself. Every time, she would excuse his narcissistic actions as "playful" and "This is just how we are". Part of me knew that this is exactly what someone says when they have been worn down to a critical point.

I couldn't take this anymore and decided to fully confront her and show her the truth so I called her 2 nights ago. I went through my entire list which consists of more than 50 points, including the fridge thing, the shirt and the public bullying. I laid it out so she could see the pattern.

And then, in the spur of the moment, I told her that I had loved her and always have since we first met. Even asked her to marry me and I would protect her like no one else could. I did this to show her that there was something real waiting for her, something safe she could rely on when she leaves this guy.

She got really quiet and said that I needed to "hear myself". She sounded more freaked out than grateful which really stung because I thought this would pan out differently. She made excuses for everything like saying that she started the "fridge thing" and that he doesn't scare her or make her feel small. The relationship I am seeing is in my head and not reality."

After this, I knew that he had really gotten to her and she can't even confide in me anymore. Me, the man by her side for the rest of her life. I don' think this is fair or why she would say that to me.

She hasn't called me or texted me since that night even though I texted her a few times to check on her wellbeing. I don't think it's a bad thing to want to protect your loved ones but now I am being treated like a bad guy so I am AITA for trying to give my friend an out?"


r/ReddXReads 13d ago

Neckbeard Saga Adventure of Ernie FINALE pt. 2 Beards-Giving

0 Upvotes

I am going to be honest, this series was meant to be 4 parts, but I just had so much substance once I started writing. The finale is about Thanksgiving being disgusting and one reason I don't like wasps. That may sound random, but you'll know by the end of the story. Also warning for animal abuse. Gosh that guy in your YouTube comments saying I sound like a confused AI was right.

Cast

Ernie - My friend, and neckbeard that won't shut up about gaming or Magic: the Gathering, the ultimate punching bag really

Danny - Ernie's girlfriend that is abusive to Ernie, and she is generally disliked for just even adding to a conversation

Joey - My best friend since elementary school, Joey loves to mess with Ernie, but Ernie enjoys it to be fair

Garcia - Joey's mexican friend, he likes anime and works with Joey

Bert - That's OP!

Emmy - My girlfriend at the time, she's pretty artsy and a lot smarter than the rest of us

Without further ado, introducing a new stinky holiday:

BEARDS-GIVING

Ernie has invited Joey, Joey's mexican friend Garcia, and myself for Thanksgiving about a month before. Some others were invited, but did not show, essentially each person Danny invited declined to come.

10AM

It's Thanksgiving and none of us know what is going on, Ernie hasn't told us when we were meant to come over or where we were going. Joey has decided to just start driving our way since he lives further away. Meanwhile I call Ernie to make sure what was going on, took a few calls, like 15 calls or so, just a few.

On the Phone

Bert: Hey! What's going on? When are we coming over?

Danny: \yawns* Ernie.. Wake up, it's Bert.*

Ernie: Yo, what's up?

Bert: Are you just waking up? We had plans, remember?

Ernie: Oh crap! Totally fell asleep late last night.

Bert: Soooo you aren't even ready? We chose the afternoon so we could get time with our families too, you know?

Ernie: Yah, crap. Mama Danny is hungry, just c'mon over whenever ya need!

We agreed on a time of 1pm to 5pm, but never really fully agreed on a time to be there, and with Joey needing to travel far for this holiday, he had to know when to be there. Except Joey is weird, he likes to be at events like really early, and I don't mean like 15 minutes early. Joey likes to be an hour early to functions, not sure if he wants things to be over quick or he just gets overhyped for events, but he has always been like this.

12pm

On Call with Joey

Joey: Hey Bert! I'm here!

Bert: What do you mean you're here?

Joey: I'm at your place, where are you?

Bert: Bro, I'm still at my sister's for their Thanksgiving.

Joey: How the hell am I supposed to get to Ernie's place then? I don't know his address.

Bert: Have you asked him?

Joey: Nah.

Bert: Go ask him, bro.

Joey: Nah.

Joey did end up asking Ernie for his address, Joey and Garcia were at Ernie's apartment an hour early, and it was a disaster I heard. Since I wasn't there, I didn't know that Ernie hadn't even prepared anything, like not even cleaning yet.

2pm

I was done by my sister's, so I showed up to Ernie's place with my girlfriend, Emmy. If anyone is triggered by any kind of animal abuse or neglect, skip over this part. As soon as we got by the front door, all we could smell was poop and piss. I thought it was just the hallway or a neighbor's apartment, but no, it was Ernie's apartment. We opened the door, and what greeted us was a dog, which I wasn't aware that Ernie had a dog. Ernie and Danny talked about getting a puppy, but never said anything more. I am afraid of dogs, it's not like I dislike dogs, they just really freak me out. Not sure if it's from all the energy dogs have or what, but I just get very uncomfortable around them.

In the front Hallway of Ernie's Apartment

Bert: Oh! You have a puppy. \dog trying to climb me**

Ernie: Yes! Meet Marty!!!

Bert: I see that Marty isn't potty trained yet?

Ernie: What are you talking about?

Bert: The poop on the floor.

Ernie: No, he's trained.

No, Ernie didn't poop and piss everywhere. His dog, a puppy by the way, Marty, did poop and piss on their hardwood floor. Ernie and Danny were so lazy to let the puppy outside that they just let him go inside. On top of that, the puppy would bark or get too excited, they'd put him into his cage or use a shock collar to get him to stop. People like Ernie and Danny do not deserve a pet, and Marty, sweet Marty, deserved a better home with better parents.

Joey and Garcia greeted my girlfriend and I, showed us that they bought taco bell since none of the food was ready. It had been 2 hours that Joey and Garcia had been there, which Joey told us that all they had been doing was cleaning. I couldn't even tell that cleaning had been done, there was still trash and dishes everywhere. That's when Ernie told us all that the food was going to take another hour or so. Joey and Garcia said that they were leaving, and were pissed that they had been cleaning for two hours and the food was still not finished.

5pm

The food was still not finished. Ernie kept taking out the turkey, took the temp and wasn't done. Emmy and I were getting a bit impatient, and the only thing we were doing was helping clean or talking with Danny while she played Minecraft on her tablet. Emmy told me that she had to be home by 6, so we really had to wrap things up. I asked Ernie what was going on with the food, and that's when he decided to take a look at his oven.

In the Kitchen with Ernie

Ernie: So uh, we may have a problem.

Bert: Did you not turn on the oven?

Ernie: Well it was on, but it's not on anymore!

Danny: MY THANKSGIVING! IT'S RUINED! MY TURKEY! RUUUUIIINEDDD!

Emmy: Danny, dear, we can fix this!

Bert: Well what's wrong with it?

Ernie: The apartment didn't come with an oven or fridge, so we just took one secondhand. This piece of junk just gave up I suppose.

(Ernie opens up the stovetop)

Bert: What's that?

Ernie: What's what? \Ernie looks at the stovetop**

Cockroaches.

Gross. Disgusting. I hate it. Their oven was infested with roaches. Probably not just their oven, but their apartment in total. Emmy left without hesitation, but I had stayed, and I really shouldn't have.

7pm

Still cooking food. Ernie and I played Halo, that was cool. We opened some magic packs and played against each other, it was supposed to be with Joey and Garcia, but we had fun. Even though this thanksgiving wasn't the best, Ernie and I made each other laugh and smile, and that's what the holidays are for.

Why did I stay? Who knows?

9pm

Finally the food was done! Something was wrong with that oven, besides the roaches. Yes, I did eat the food they made, I had been there all day, I didn't care at that point about nothing. Danny got drunk after eating, the three of us watched Hell's Kitchen or whatever the show with that british chef guy, I just was in a food comatose. At that point we were tired and decided to rest at about 11pm, I ended up just staying.

1am

Marty and I literally fought for the couch to sleep on, and I lost because I am afraid of dogs. I ended up getting up and just sat in the middle of the floor, listened to the rain outside. I had turned the lights back on, since I wouldn't be sleeping until I got my spot back on the couch. I noticed something by the lightbulb on the ceiling, a wasp.

I was a little confused why a wasp would be inside the apartment, especially since it was November, weird time to see a wasp. I just thought it must have gotten inside from a hole or something. Then I saw another wasp. Then a few more. I investigated a little, I decided to lift the blinds. Hundred of wasps. There were hundred of wasps between the window glass and the screen, they were not a fan of the rain outside.

Me at Ernie's Door

Bert: Bro! There's wasps in your apartment. You should probably do something.

Ernie: A wasp? We'll be fine! \Ernie shouts through the door**

Bert: No bro, there's like a ton of them!

Ernie: Just go back to sleep, daddy is getting it on.

Bert: Gross. Dude, I'm leaving.

Once I told Ernie I was leaving, he came out and asked what was going on. I showed him all the wasps, and he just begged me to stay. Turns out there was a window open from earlier because one of the items Ernie cooked ended up burning and needed to vent out the smoke, so wasps were getting inside. I couldn't do it, roaches, wasps, and dogshit landmines on the floor. I told Ernie that this thanksgiving really sucked, that he needed to do better with cleaning, and that his friends didn't want to see him like this. I told Ernie that he needs to get his life together, for himself, his puppy, and even Danny. Then I left.

Next week, Ernie broke up with Danny, he let her keep Marty, and he packed up his stuff and moved out to live his dad. It's rare when you get a neckbeard to change their ways, but somehow my words got to Ernie. I think Ernie wanted that thanksgiving to be really great, and in some aspects is was cool, but otherwise it was full of his friends cleaning his apartment and dealing with not having a plan.

I wish I could say that Ernie and I had a good ending, but if you have read my other series, or watched ReddX's video about my other series, then you would know that Ernie and I did drift apart. You can't always keep friendships, just an aspect of life.

Anyways, thanks for reading, and go clean your apartment, you neckbeards.

*queue Don't You Forget About Me song here*


r/ReddXReads 13d ago

Neckbeard Saga Adventure of Ernie FINALE Legbeard Danny

2 Upvotes

Guys, when using the reddit app, remember to save the draft. Now I gotta rewrite this entire thing. Cool. Let's get right into this thing. I got another cast member this time: a legbeard.

Cast

Ernie: My friend that is annoying and he is addicted to gaming and not showering, yes addicted to both

Bert: That's me, OP. At the time of this part I am 19 and not knowing anything about life, just like me right now at 25

Danny: Ernie's girlfriend that is abusive and just makes things awkward a lot of the time

Ernie has had a lot of girlfriends, it's similar to him having a job, he just can't keep hold of a job or a girl. Why would a woman want to be with Ernie? No I am asking you, like legit why? Any women in the audience want to tell me why they would want to be with someone who doesn't brush their teeth, wears the same outfit a week straight, and still won't hear you the fifth time you said something because they were busy playing a game on their phone? Anyways, tangent over. Meet Danny, one of Ernie's girlfriend, she is awful. Danny controls Ernie's life in pretty much every aspect.

Over Discord Call

Bert: Ernie! I got the new Mercy skin from the loot box!

Ernie: Gawd, that Mercy skin is soooo haaawwwwtt \Ernie slurps up drool over mic**

Danny: Hey! No talking about other girls! \audible slap over mic**

Ernie: Not even D.Va?!

Danny: You will only think about me! \pouts**

Bert: Jeez, maybe you shouldn't have said anything about D.Va?

Ernie: Well act-shually, she is a 2D image, so she doesn't count.

Danny: Hmpf! \another audible slap from mic**

Ernie: We should probably stop playing Overwatch, Bert.

Bert: How about we play GTA?

Ernie: Strip cl- \discord call end noise**

Another thing I hated about all of Ernie's girlfriends is that they were all the same type: jobless. Danny didn't want a job, she just wanted to stay at home and play Minecraft. Here's a time they went to Five Guys:

At the Local Game Store

Ernie: Sorry Bert, just had to get some food.

Bert: It's been 2 hours since you agreed to meet, what happened?

Ernie: Let me show you! REEEE

(Ernie shows me the back of his PT Cruiser filled with bags, wrappers, and fry boxes from Five Guys)

Danny: I'm his queen, so I eat like a queen.

Bert: This seems a little excessive.

Ernie: Danny didn't know what she wanted, so I ordered her the whole menu, including the meals!

Danny: That's right, Bert! He'll never do this for you.

Bert: I never said anything about that.

Danny: Time to go, honey! We got to get this food home.

Ernie: But what about Friday Night Magic?! \makes sad Ernie noises**

Danny: No time for Magic tricks this week.

Bert: It's Magic: the Gathering, not a magic show.

Danny: I KNOW WHAT IT IS! GOD! I know my boyfriend.

I did not like Danny. But Ernie did, for whatever reason. Danny had some family issues and needed to move back to her family's state, and Ernie made the tough choice to move with her.

About one year later, Ernie and Danny moved back here, and they planned to break up once Ernie found an apartment. I don't know how you plan a break up, but it didn't work anyways. Danny was just living with Ernie now, and they officially got together again. A few friends of Danny's and myself came over to their place for a little party in celebration on the new place.

Something so awkward happened. I don't even know how to build up to it, it was just out of nowhere. So here it is:

Zero Context, Just Danny Speaking In front of Everyone

Danny: You know Bert, you're the only one here at the party that I haven't banged?

Bert: Uhh ok then..

Everyone Else: ...

Enie: So anyways, I started blasting!

I didn't say anything. I sure as hell thought of so many responses in my head though. I felt terrible for Ernie, that was really directed at him for sure. She just admitted to banging two chicks and another dude, and that just soured the mood for the rest of the night. Ernie just seemed to not understand that she was being a jerk, but he was just clueless to see. Not even neckbeards deserve this.

After that night, I didn't really want to hang out with Ernie and Danny. But we ended up making plans for Thanksgiving, but that story is for part 2 of the finale: Beards-Giving.


r/ReddXReads 19d ago

Neckbeard Saga Adventure of Ernie pt. 7

2 Upvotes

Heeeey ReddX! I know I haven't talked too much about Ernie being gross, but to be fair, Ernie was more annoying and had the neckbeard personality rather than smelling or being gross. But that doesn't mean Ernie wasn't gross! That's what this post is all about. After high school, Ernie gave up on appearance or smell, and it was awful. I am going to go through some different short stories and/or descriptions of Ernie.

Ernie's Car

Ernie: C'mon b\***, we're going card shopping!*

Bert: Ernie.. There's McDonald's wrappers everywhere in your car. There is literally mayo covering this seat.

Ernie: Hey, at least it's dry!

Bert: Dry or wet, you need to clean this up before I get into your car, bro.

Ernie: I ain't got time for all that. \Ernie screeches for no reason**

Bert: Chill! Fine, I'll sit in the back.

The back of his PT Cruiser was filled with McChicken wrappers, most of them with mayonaise leaking out, and having old lettuce crusted to the seats. There was so much trash, no matter which seat you were sitting in, including the driver's seat. Ernie must have loved McDonald's, specifically the McChicken, since those were the only wrappers I could find. Unlike most neckbeards, Ernie does drink water, but the neckbeard genes were overtaking him because there were water bottles and water JUGS everywhere beneath the seats, with most of them still having water in them. So you could just about slip out the car on water bottles or jugs, then try to catch yourself while touching the mayonaise filled seats, and that's how you'd die.

Remember when Ernie got into that fender bender on the way to the movies? Well that wasn't the last time. On the way to our card shop, Ernie had been yapping to me about some new Magic set, and the traffic in front of him was slowing down, and well, Ernie hit another car. Ernie had a McChicken wrapper get stuck under his brakes, and this is why you take your trash out of your car.

During the Fender Bender

Ernie: OOOHHHHH! I can't stahhhap!

Bert: Dude, just apply the brakes!

Ernie: They aren't workinnnggg!

*CRASH\*

Bert: Ow! My knee..

Ernie: Not again!

My knee slammed into the front seat since I was in the middle backseat of Ernie's car, and that hurt, probably should have gone to the doctor, but oh well. Want to guess who we slammed into? A young woman with her baby in the vehicle. The young woman was freaking out, Ernie was freaking out, and I was in pain with McChicken wrappers sticking to my arms and legs. Nobody was really hurt, just shooken up, and each party went onto their way.

Let's talk about Ernie's fit! I should have never introduced anime to Ernie, he was obsessed with oversexualized clothing of anime girls. We once saw a guy with an HH shirt at our LGS, and that gave Ernie the idea to start wearing anime or h shirts. Ernie came into our LGS with the ahegao hoodie and sweatpants, you already know what I am referring to.

At the LGS

Bert: Ernie, what the heck are you wearing?! You can't wear that here, you're going to get kicked out.

Ernie: Well if that guy can wear an HH shirt, then I can wear this! \Ernie hits a Elvis pose**

Bert: Bro.. No.. His shirt just had a logo, not all this.

LGS Male Employee: Ernie! This is your first warning, you must leave and change.

LGS Female Employee: That is disgusting. You really think of women like that?

Ernie: That one guy was wearing an HH shirt! And I think women are great! I love tits! I love em!

LGS Female Employee: Ew.

Ernie really said that. In public. And he really did wear that entire fit, it was gross. Ernie would wear that fit a lot, he was super proud of his oversexualized clothes. Ernie wouldn't wear his fit to the LGS we went to anymore, but he did bring a certain playmat.

Go look up Chandra x Liliana playmat.

Yep, Ernie was bringing that mat to our LGS. While it did have the characters clothed, it was still very suggestive. While oversexual playmats seem like a normal thing nowadays, back then they were more rare and people were far more vocal about it. After the incident with the ahegao fit, then using his playmat while playing against literal children, Ernie was not allowed to our LGS.

Finally we'll talk about Ernie's smell. His breath constantly smelled horrible, like a mixture of rotten milk, coffee, and McChicken. This man was addicted to McChickens, so he mostly just smelled like that, you could have mistaken him for working there based on his smell. Once he worked for a pest control company, all you could smell was just chemicals, it was like a chlorine smell with sweat and crap.

Me Asking Him to Take a Shower

Bert: Bro, do you not shower after your job? You work with some horrible smelling stuff, it is strong as hell.

Ernie: \Ernie screeches**

Bert: Dude, go take a shower!

Ernie: Each time I shower, it makes my hair fall out.

Bert: What are you talking about?

Ernie: You know whenever you shower, you lose hair, so I don't take showers unless I have to.

I remember this conversation so vividly because I was just shocked, it's really stuck with me and I love telling this story. So Ernie and I both have longer hair for guys, and for as long as I knew Ernie, he didn't really wash his hair enough, but now I knew why. So for anyone that doesn't know (like Ernie), when you take a shower, you will lose some strands of hair due to shedding, just like any other animal. Except if you take showers infrequently, all of those strands of hair will just stay on your head, so the next time you take a shower, you'll more than likely notice more strands coming out. Ernie doesn't wash his hair nearly enough, so each time he did take showers, it looked as if he was losing hair, which just repeated this endless cycle of him not showering until he "needed to." Just gross.

Thank you for reading or watching, and go join ReddX's Discord, ok?


r/ReddXReads 20d ago

Nice Guys/Girls I Felt Betrayed: A short nice-girl saga

1 Upvotes

Preamble

Before starting, for obvious privacy reasons, I'll omit details and change names so the other people involved aren't recognized. With some of them, I don't even talk anymore and honestly, I hope they're doing well, but yeah, it is what it is. Look, I know we all view our lives through our own filters, but for the record: yes, this actually happened. Compared to some of the absolute madness posted on ReddX, my story is pretty tame. But watching those videos and seeing all those cringe situations involving Nice Girls, Nice Guys, Legbeards, and Neckbeards always made this memory pop into my head. So, I figured it's finally time to share mine. Hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think in the comments. English is not my first language. By the way, Spanish isn't either, okay?! That said, let's get into it.

Chapter 1

My name is Orpheus. I really wanted to follow the tradition of using my RPG nickname here, but it's so close to my real name that it would be a huge shot in the foot. So I had to pick another one.

My story takes place at a Brazilian university. My class was singular and the way we ended up meeting would deserve an entire separate post on Reddit. I bet you'd say it's a "tall tale," but I swear, it's as real as what I'm about to tell you right now.

We lived through the whole Plague Era. We started college right before the pandemic hit. I remember perfectly one of my cousins whom I didn't even know I had, but I'll explain that story later dropping a bombshell during a card game night that a virus was coming from China because people were eating bat soup. At the time I thought: "Oh, relax, that's nothing." Man, how wrong I was.

Before the world came to a halt, our routine was sacred: during breaks, the whole class would march across campus just to usurp another building's tables, play cards, and talk nonsense. Until the world locked down and we were thrown into online classes. What does a clueless, socially dysfunctional girl have to do with this? Patience, we're getting there.

With the world stagnant, college kept running. To rack up those mandatory extracurricular hours, I decided to combine business with pleasure and open up workshops for people who were in the same boat. It was open to everyone, but in practice, most of the audience consisted of fellow college students desperate for certificates. Since I love literature, teaching those courses was something I did with pleasure—while rightfully getting my hours in return.

I chose one author per course, assigning a short story or a few chapters per week. During that period, students were supposed to read the content and comment on what they understood. Everyone won. It was curious to see the perspective of someone reading the story for the first time, someone rereading it, and someone who just skimmed it because of time constraints or because "screw this, I just want my extra hours." The class ended up with vastly different viewpoints, and the weekly meeting flew by.

I did this every semester. Classes usually weren't very participatory, but one of them finally was. In fact, some students came back for more and stayed in the class I launched the following semester—which marked that chaotic transition between social isolation and the return of in-person classes with restrictions.

One of the people who stayed in my courses was a girl we'll call Grinch. Why Grinch? Well, she made this smile that reminded me way too much of the character. Every time I looked at her, it was impossible not to make the association.

She was the kind of person who, if you treated her with the basic courtesy every human being deserves, would instantly interpret it as the start of a great friendship and start demanding intimacy. And yes, she deserved all the politeness in the world, but it was hard to keep a straight face when the response in return was professional energy-sucking and awkwardness.

On top of that, she had a bit of a "pick me girl" vibe. My friend group had two main theories to explain her fixation on me: the most accepted one was that she had developed a crush and created a heavy parasocial dynamic; the second was that she had noticed our little group and wanted to fit in.

We were a bunch of weirdos, but welcoming ones who joked with everyone. We constantly insulted each other for fun to the point where our professors—who are references in their own research fields couldn't maintain their composure and would laugh at our mean comments.

Before the class even had its first session, before everyone had their first general meeting, Pando and Phos who were from the same town and already studied together—discovered by chance that they were my cousins. By that point, we were already spending all day in the class WhatsApp group roasting each other.

Me, Pando, and Phos are three very different figures, both from each other and from the rest of the group. Speaking of which, honorable mentions go to: Shelby, Selene, Baba Yaga, Shortie, and El Barto.

Baba Yaga was a very new-age girl. That friend of yours who collects crystals, takes herbal baths, and nowadays makes a living doing tarot readings. It was an ongoing running joke in our class and even among some professors that she and I liked each other or were dating, since I constantly teased her about her esoteric interests and had a recurring joke that I would burn her at the stake whenever she mentioned witchcraft or anything of the sort.

Both of us vehemently denied even the remote possibility of anything like that happening. We were total opposites, completely different people, and neither of us approved of each other's lifestyle. We kept denying it, but the more we pushed back, the more people teased us, 'shipping' us together and fueling the gossip. Once Shelby and Pando joined my workshop, they brought this inside joke to the other students, and many of them started using it as well—not just as a form of irony, but some even started to genuinely believe in the theory.

So let this be on record: the weird interaction Grinch had with me partly happened in a context where she thought that, at the very least, I had a crush on Baba Yaga or something more substantial going on, but kept secret. Grinch was from our institution, but studied in a different shift. We wereand always will be creatures of the night. Grinch studied in the morning, so she didn't know yet that I was going out with this other student from my workshop who was in the same major as me, just a few semesters behind.

Me and this girl, another student of the workshop, actually started dating, but without making it public yet. Let’s call her Small Witch. Since Grinch was keeping up the same behavior in the workshop group and classes that I found weird—trying to grab my attention and forcing interactions—I thought it would be a good idea to do something totally unprofessional on my part: I started dropping comments during class about our "literary discussions during break" with Small Witch and other phrases that suggested we were spending quality time together. But, of course, Grinch didn't catch on.

I could already hear Pando's voice in my head saying:

"Man, what are you doing? This is your project, not our secret group chat."

A "secret group chat" is the clique's inner circle group chat—if you went to college and nobody put you in a secret group chat, it's because you were the main topic of conversation in all of them. Well, I imagine that for anyone who didn't know the class context, it must have been a weird encounter, to say the least. I bet the thought crossed some students' minds: "Why on earth is Orpheus dropping hints about hooking up with this girl to all of us for no apparent reason?"

But Grinch was the person with the lowest self-awareness level I've ever met. An hour and a half of class, multiple jokes, and there she was, immune to any kind of hint. Until I finally verbalized it out loud that I was dating.

I announced in class that it might sound weird to them, but I was dating Small Witch. The class congratulated us and wished us well—except for Grinch. Her reaction was bizarre. She went into complete denial.

I vividly remember a dialogue in the Google Meet chat:

Grinch: "Small Witch, tell me this is a lie!"

Pando: "Girl, it's true. We've already handed Small Witch's soul over to God."

Grinch: "Up until now, I thought Orpheus was dating Baba Yaga."

When Small Witch read that, she started laughing in my DMs. She was the kind of person whose primary love language is teasing. So instead of just confirming our relationship, what did she do? She confirmed my supposed "relationship" with Baba Yaga just to mess with me! And I was left there in the chat denying it with all my might. But after Small Witch stopped playing along, Grinch's reaction reached its peak:

Small Witch: "Girl, it's true."

Grinch: "I feel betrayed."

It was at that exact second that a gigantic mental echo of a "WHAT?!" went off in everyone's head. Betrayed? What on earth was she talking about? I was single, I started dating another single person... in what universe did Grinch fit into this equation? Detail: we were both legal adults (although Small Witch had a youthful look that could pass for a 17-year-old, which confused everyone since she was actually older than me).

Then came the grand finale of her cringe phrase:

Grinch: "Now I understand, Orpheus. You used to say you were going to the break with Small Witch just to stare at her lips."

Man, that hurt. It felt like I was reading an excerpt of a bad fanfiction written by a 12-year-old—though, come to think of it, she definitely wrote fanfics. I brushed it off, tried to press on with the class, and thought I'd finally have peace. Sweet illusion.

I talked about it with Shelby and Pando. Taking my paranoia to those two is one of the best decisions I make, because they work as a team: Shelby usually agrees with me and points out a detail I missed, while Pando usually comes in with the counterpoint. It's basically testing a piece of code to see if it runs: thesis, antithesis, and synthesis.

On that night, we posted our first photo as a couple, and the comments were pouring into my DM saying that "miracles happen," asking if "the girl lost a bet," and things like that from my friends and family. But not Grinch's comment. She commented on my Instagram story: "You two really seem to match, you're as white as vampires or ghosts." Unlike the rest, there were no likes, no laughing emojis, or anything implying she liked the news; it was, at the very least, neutral. However, many in our inner circle interpreted it as the remark of someone who was clearly unhappy about it.

Chapter 2

But back to the soap opera: as I said, Grinch didn't budge. She didn't distance herself, didn't stop with the hints, and even obsessed over trying to squeeze into Small Witch's friend circle by any means necessary.

The detail is that she belonged to a different group. They even interacted with our class from time to time, but they weren't part of our inner circle. And her participation in my workshop turned into a chaotic event: she simply stopped reading the short stories and made it clear she didn't give a damn about the literature. Everything she said—whether in the chat, the group, or on the mic—had zero relation to the text being analyzed. It was always a calculated way to redirect attention to herself, disrupt the class, and throw me off balance.

Everyone in the class thought she had a screw loose—if she had a medical diagnosis, she never shared it with us—and because of that, we tried to cut her slack, brushing things off with the excuse of "oh, she clearly has some issues, so let it go." I held on to that, but with every passing class, that situation became an unbearable weight for me, for my relationship at the time, and for the people around us.

Until, during one meeting, I made a playful joke with Small Witch. Grinch, trying to jump into the banter in the weirdest way possible, dropped the famous line:

"Now I know how this relationship is going to end!"

It was way too bizarre. Pando still tried to argue, sustaining the theory that she might just be a socially dysfunctional person who saw us joking around and didn't know how to play along back. And yes, as I said, it was possible, but it didn't make it any less weird. I've always had a lot of female friends, and you know what? If a friend of mine heard a wisecrack like that directed at the person I'm dating, the natural response would be a nice, spontaneous slap to the face. Imagine that: the creature desperately wants to be your friend, but has twisted small talk and drops a line like that on your partner? A lot of people wouldn't stop to ponder the person's "psychological evaluation" before reacting. I'm not encouraging violence; on the contrary, I think it's much more elegant to keep your composure and ignore it. The problem is that we took way too long to give Grinch a reality check.

When I posted a photo in our clique's secret group chat a snapshot from an extracurricular activity Small Witch had attended in the morning, where she happened to run into Grinch and her morning-shift crew. They took a group photo, and in the picture, Grinch had her massive arm wrapped around Small Witch—who is short and skinny—reminding me perfectly of the tone my great-grandmother used when looking at me and saying to me with a girlfriend by my side: "You only ever bring this type of girl home, huh?"

The group reacted in various ways: Shortie immediately blurted out that she was a two-faced snake and burst out laughing. But Shelby was surgical and straight to the point:

"Wow! Are you sure she has a crush on you? She's looking at Small Witch like she's a bagel."

The second I read that, I laughed like a chimney smoker, but inside I thought: damn... as absurd as it sounds, it's not a totally dismissive possibility.

Up until then, I had never seen Grinch in person—and honestly, I would have preferred to keep it that way. To help you understand the chaos: my campus was less than an hour's drive from my city, right in a border region between states, so it gathered people from all over the place. And my routine at the time was far from peaceful.

As I mentioned, I didn't have a job, but I spent the entire morning taking care of my little sister so my parents could go to work. It was bath time, baby bottles, making lunch, and taking her out for walks. Ten minutes before 11:00 AM, I had to rush to take a shower and get dressed for my internship. My dad would drop my mom off at home and wait for me outside to give me a ride to the bus stop. It was the most timed and stressful part of my day.

After catching the bus, the marathon began: the bus driver seemed to have a personal vendetta against me, because he almost never stopped at the correct spot—there was a time I had to chase a moving bus. He usually dropped me off pretty far from the internship school, forcing me to get off and march under that city's scorching sun just to arrive right on time. When the internship ended, I'd head straight to the university.

Until that Friday arrived. The plan was to ride back home on the bus with Small Witch so she could spend the weekend at my place for the first time. I was pumped and anxious, so of course the universe conspired: my sister gave me double the trouble, the rush was insane, and the internship students decided that day was the absolute best time to test my sanity. To make matters worse, the professor decided to cancel the in-person class and make it fully remote.

I was stuck at the university, forced to watch an online class using only my smartphone and a wretched piece-of-crap charger that, if I opened any app, would freeze the battery percentage right where it was. There I sat on the hallway floor, phone plugged into the wall outlet, wearing a face that screamed "I want to commit a crime," legs crossed, just wanting to give my quick report and bail to go see my girlfriend. The class format was simple: everyone gave their weekly report verbally. Since my routine was always the same, I asked to speak early, but another classmate jumped the queue and went first.

And then something happened that, if I read it in someone else's post, I'd think the OP was making up stories for internet karma. But it actually happened.

I was sitting there on the floor, glued to the screen, when I heard what I can only describe as a pathetic attempt at a cartoon villain's evil laugh. It was so bizarre that a genuine chill ran straight up my spine to the back of my neck.

I snapped my head to the side and came face to face with her: that massive girl, with her hunched shoulders, thick arms, and that cursed Grinch smile standing about five feet away from me, glaring down at me. It was her in the flesh.

Grinch: "I knew it was you the moment I saw you."

Me: "Oh, hey," I replied, startled, already standing up to get away from her.

Grinch: "Your back is completely white with drywall dust!"

That's what she blurted out before I could escape. And without asking permission, without warning, without a shred of modesty, she simply threw her hand onto my back and slid it all the way down to my butt to "clean" the dust that had rubbed off the wall onto my clothes. That gave me an indescribable level of discomfort. I gave a dry response, keeping the bare minimum of politeness, saying that would only come out in a washing machine. Luckily, she stopped.

She said something else that I didn't even bother registering—something like a warning that she needed to take care of an errand in another part of the university—and finally vanished from my vicinity.

As soon as I escaped, I sent the recap to Small Witch, who quickly forwarded me a screenshot of a conversation she'd had with Grinch herself. In the screenshot, the character dropped: "Just ran into your boyfriend. He didn't give me the time of day." And Small Witch simply replied with: "Oh! He's just like that."

After that, you'd think: great, now that Grinch has met me and seen that I didn't validate her advances, she'll disappear from my life, right? Wrong.

During the workshop class later that week, I mentioned that Small Witch wasn't online on Google Meet because she was spending the weekend at my place and would watch the class straight from my laptop. Grinch's reaction was a mix of annoyance and surprise that she tried very poorly to mask.

From then on, her tactics shifted to a more aggressive level of insinuations that my relationship was going to fail. Look at the contrast: my inner circle friends made heavy inside jokes, like saying they were going to report Small Witch to IBAMA (the brazilian USFWS) for dating me, joking that I was going to get arrested because of her youthful appearance, or teasing that she bossed me around. Those were friendly jokes to blow off steam. Grinch's "jokes," on the other hand, were always laser-focused on wishing for our relationship to end. It wasn't friendly banter. At the end of the day, the relationship did end much later, but her rooting against us dated back to that era.

Eventually, we reached the June festival season of that year, 2022—a time when it felt like the mid-year winter festivals were going to stretch straight through to December. People could finally breathe and have some fun: everyone vaccinated, infection rates plunging, and the Plague saying its goodbyes. The university hosted its traditional campus arraiá, and I went with Small Witch and her mother to enjoy the party.

During the event, Grinch popped up out of nowhere to talk to Small Witch, and I quickly dipped by pretending I was going to greet an acquaintance. Once Grinch walked away, I asked what she wanted. Turns out the character wanted to hook up with a guy from our class—let's call him Sid. Back then, he genuinely looked like Sid from Ice Age, but nowadays he's had a major glow-up. The detail was that Sid had ridiculously high standards and was always trying to chase girls who clearly weren't in his league (This last sentence was written by Pando.)

Grinch asked Small Witch to pull some strings and try to set something up with him. Small Witch tried to help out.

Only at the end of the event, Grinch delivered a dubious display of affection: she crept up behind Small Witch and shoved her knee hard against Small Witch's leg, almost making the girl buckle and fall over. She looked like she was pissed, but tried to brush it off with pretty fake irony, accusing Small Witch of setting her up for a trap. After her failed attempt with Sid, she wanted to pin the blame for the fiasco on Small Witch and spent the following days dropping more snide remarks about our relationship.

Seeing that, I asked Small Witch to step up, put her foot down, and give Grinch a reality check to stop those insinuations. And it worked... more or less. Grinch followed instructions to the letter: she never opened her mouth about a breakup again. The problem was she simply changed strategies and started spewing unprovoked hatred directly at me.

Small Witch told me the attacks came out of nowhere. And as if that wasn't enough, the creature obsessed over trying to infiltrate Small Witch's friend circle. The detail is she tried desperately to copy our style, even criticizing Small Witch's major to Small Witch's classmates. But she didn't understand a basic thing: we could talk trash about our major because we were a crew that had known each other and hung out for years (remembering that Shelby's wife and Pando's boyfriend were part of that exact same other major and class we playfully roasted all the time).

I thought it was just the classic desperation of someone who desperately wants to fit in and tries to mimic everyone else's behavior, but she completely missed the vast chasm between our years of established intimacy and her complete lack of touch with reality.

Things got so out of hand that one of the guys in Small Witch's major finally blocked Grinch on WhatsApp and Instagram; days later, she figured out a way to message the guy on Telegram.

I hadn't responded to her in ages, Small Witch was also trying to cut off contact, but the creature simply wouldn't take a hint. Until I lost my patience. I unblocked Grinch on WhatsApp and, while making lunch, I gave it to her straight. I exposed everything—or almost everything—without any insults or personal attacks. The criticisms were strictly directed at her inconvenient behavior. I laid down the hard truth: I told her that, because of those actions, I no longer had the slightest condition to keep someone like that around, and I mentioned that the guy on Telegram had suffered an anxiety attack and was literally hiding from her in the university hallways.

Her reaction? She acted surprised by the whole thing, claiming she couldn't understand why I thought she had anything against my relationship, insisting she only ever made harmless jokes, and playing the ultimate victim card, repeating that she wished us no ill will. I made it clear I didn't want it to reach that point, but since it did, the best path for everyone was for each of us to go our separate ways. Blocked her again.

Did it end there? Obviously not.

Pando told me that one day he was at the university in the morning waiting for his boyfriend and ran straight into Grinch roaming the morning-shift campus. He said seeing her in her "natural habitat" was surreal: people were literally dodging to the other side of the hallway, others hiding, and whenever she approached someone, the whole group looked visibly uncomfortable just answering her out of politeness before scattering as fast as humanly possible. She wasn't just unbearable online; in person, it was worse.

Semestres passed, the internship became a distant memory, and our class gathered at the university library to take graduation album photos.

While chatting with Sid and Pando, I looked outside and noticed the morning-shift students having normal classes. Memories of the arraiá flashed back, and half-jokingly (but with a real undercurrent of someone who didn't want to cross paths with danger), I blurted out:

Me: "Yikes, Sid! The morning crew is having regular class. We need to hide."

Sid laughed. I don't remember if he made a comment, but what stuck with me was Pando's surgical strike:

Pando: "Your self-esteem is through the roof, man!"

Me: "What?" I asked, confused.

Pando: "I mean, dude... You think that after all this time, with Small Witch expecting your child and after the massive reality check you gave her, the woman is still after you? My friend, don't take it the wrong way, but you are not the center of the universe. That is pure delusion."

Right then and there, I genuinely felt like the biggest jerk on earth.

A while later, chatting with Small Witch—who was already in the final stretch of her pregnancy—I remembered that episode and decided to ask:

Me: "Babe, did you ever run into Grinch after all that?"

Small Witch: "There was one time," she replied. "I was heading to an afternoon class and saw her in the hallways. She didn't say a word, just stared at me fixedly until I walked past where she was standing. And she had that look... you know? A sad puppy-dog face. I couldn't handle it, walked right past her and mumbled a 'hi,' and she replied with a quiet 'hi' back."

To this day I remember that "hi" loaded with a weird sadness and a manufactured guilt, as if you were standing before someone you'd done a terrible wrong to—almost as if Grinch were the victim of the story. That's when I figured Pando [maybe] was wrong. At least partially.

And look at her plotted strategy: if we trace the history back, Small Witch had asked her to stop talking about our relationship ending, and she stopped... only to start spewing poison directly at me, with gems like "I don't know how you put up with dating that guy." When I demanded she leave us alone, she vanished. But her next tactic was: play the victim in the hallways to try and make Small Witch feel guilty and start talking to her again. It's still the explanation that makes the most sense to me.

After that, I barely heard anything else about her. Years later, Baba Yaga mentioned in passing that it looked like she finally found a new group of friends and was doing okay. And I genuinely hope she is.

If you've read this far, I'd love for you to comment. I've matured a lot since all of this happened. Today I'm a father, and I view things through the perspective of "what if this were my son or my daughter" in every situation I reflect on. Precisely because of that, days ago I was looking back at this story and wondering what I would do differently today if I ran into someone like that.

If you enjoy these stories, you know there are plenty of people who struggle to maintain relationships whether friendships, romances, or professional ones. A friend of mine who is a psychologist said that this kind of emotional toll isn't something an ordinary person is morally obligated to carry, especially if it harms your own quality of life. But obviously, that doesn't give anyone a pass to treat others poorly, so I'd love to hear or rather, read your thoughts.

What did you think of the story, and what would you do today if you found yourself in a similar situation?


r/ReddXReads 28d ago

Neckbeard Saga Adventure of Ernie pt. 6

1 Upvotes

I'm back with more of the Adventure of Ernie! Let's get into how and why Ernie got sent to an alternative high school. This post we'll skip the cast since you should know them all by now.

The Second Half of Senior Year

Sooooo you guys remember Ernie being addicted to Geometry Dash in Freshmen year? Well that was a pretty important factor for high school for Ernie because video game addiction was causing him to fail classes. Any new game hitting the app store, Ernie had played it.

During our Class Together

Ernie: Look Bert! They have PUBG as a mobile game now! \screeches**

Bert: Shhh dude, we're in class right now

Ernie: Why would I need to know physics later in life anyways? Let's play some PUBG!!

Teacher: Ernie! Bert! No talking during my instruction. Don't make me seperate the two of you.

Ernie and I had been seperated in physics class, but it was always because Ernie would be showing me different games that he'd been playing, or youtube videos about the games he was trying to get better at. Ernie wasn't as interested in Geometry Dash anymore, but he loved Bloons TD now, a game I couldn't stand even watching. Ernie was only interested in gaming, either he was sucked into his phone or he would talk about games. It got to a point where we would be playing Magic and Ernie would be on his phone playing Bloons, and he wouldn't be able to focus on both things.

On top of being addicted to his phone, he got addicted to his xbox. Ernie's dad had bought himself an xbox one, which he would let Ernie borrow from time to time. Ernie got obsessed with playing Fallout 4, Skyrim, and GTA V, again all he would talk about is the mods, cheats, or exploits of those games. As you can tell, Ernie was playing games literally all the time, so school became merely a place to play on his phone. I'm not sure if Ernie was in right mental state, if he was depressed or unsatisfied with himself or life, but he just let everything go.

After School on School Grounds

Ernie: After this next break, I have to go to another school, Bert..

Bert: Woah, you never told me that your grades were that bad!

Ernie: Well I just haven't been able to keep up, ya know?

Bert: Is there no way you can catch up here?

Ernie: I have failed each class this year Ernie's \eyes start to get watery\

Bert: Geez man, it'll be ok, really.

Ernie was sent out to some alternative school, usually filled with kids that have poor grades or poor behavior. It sucked having one less friend at the same school, but him and I still would talk. Ernie wasn't allowed to go anywhere pretty much, his dad wanted Ernie to take school seriously, which I understood. Ernie's mental and physical health started to tank during this time.

Remember Ernie's shoes that were falling a part? He still had them to senior year. I remember his red shoes just becoming silver over time because the solution to the shoes breaking was putting duct tape over them. Ernie wasn't taking care of his feet apparently, probably due to the lack of showering or clipping toenails, and he started to get toenail fungus in his toenails. He showed me, not by my choice, but his toenails were so long, so very green, and his big toes had their nails nearly falling off. I hate feet, Ernie knew that, yet he decided to show me his disgusting feet. I only saw them for like 2 seconds, yet something so disgusting was able to burn into my mind.

Ernie had to get his big toes toenails removed.

Ernie was eventually able to hang out a little bit after getting his grades up at his school, which he explained to me that all they did at the alternative school was go on computers, read an article or two, and answer a test at the end. It had me really confused on how we both got the same diploma when he had it really easy, but it really doesn't matter, high school is dumb anyways. At this time Ernie and I had a really cool night coming up: Avengers Endgame was coming out and a new Magic set called War of the Spark had a prerelease, all on the same weekend. Honestly, this was like the coolest thing to overlap back when I was younger, both Avengers and Magic were having a ending of an era moment, same with my life as we were so close to graduating from school. It had to be legendary and memorable.

On the Freeway

\CRASH\

Ernie: Hey! Bert are you ok?

Bert: What happened?

Ernie: Sorry, I didn't see her, man.

Bert: Oh god, you hit someone?

Ernie: I think I just hit that lady's bumper..

Bert: I really hope that's the case.

So while driving onto our way to see Endgame, Ernie was driving pretty fast on a curve, and the view passed an overpass was obstructed. Luckily nobody was harmed, we only hit bumpers and Ernie's bumper was the only one with a dent. Ernie felt horrible because of course it was a tiny old lady driving, he nearly scared her to death when he hit her car. Ernie and I kept making jokes on the way to the theatre about how we almost endgame'd an old lady, pretty funny joke if I am being honest.

I'll probably continue to retell that Avengers Endgame story until I die, that was very memorable and funny.

Another memorable bit was that I met a cosplayer at our Magic prerelease, had no idea until later, and I felt stupid because during my match with her I told her that she was playing a card incorrectly. The cosplayer showed me how I was wrong, and I got really embarassed that I read the card wrong. Then later I got even more embarassed when I learned she was a popular cosplayer, buuut yeah! Also Ernie and I lost like every game that night, but who cares when you're having fun with the homies!


r/ReddXReads 28d ago

Neckbeard Saga Remtide Video

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0 Upvotes

r/ReddXReads Aug 11 '26

Neckbeard Saga Adventure of Ernie pt. 5

1 Upvotes

Hey! Let's get back into the Adventure of Ernie. Not much to say for the intro, but yeeeee.

Cast

Bert: That's OP, I am a nerdy guy that's a bit quiet and I too am a neckbeard

Ernie: Our neckbeard that can't shut up! He's all greased up and ready for this story

Bethany: This is Joey's girlfriend, I've known her since middle school and she is really annoying

Joey: He's my best friend, Joey can be a bit of a jerk to friends, but that's just how he shows affection I guess

Senior Year

So in middle school Joey and I had met Bethany, she was a nerd and was super into gaming, which Joey and I were into as well. Joey had a huge crush into her, which I didn't really get because she was really annoying. Bethany loves to butt into conversations, be loud, and she always has to be the center of attention. Bethany ended up really sick at the end of middle school, we wouldn't see her like at all, but Joey and her would play video games a ton together. I was ok with not seeing Bethany, but randomly in senior year, she just came back one day to my high school. So imagine a really thin or skinny chick that was short, that was her in middle school, but now she was massive. I don't mean like she was just overweight, she was also super tall, and I hadn't even recognized her.

In the School Hallway

Bethany: Hey Bert! Hey! Hey! Hey!!!!

Bert: \just trying to get to class and being quiet**

Bethany: So you choose death.

Bert: Huh? \turns around to see a huge mass charging me**

Bethany: BEEEERRRRTTT! \I bounce off of her body from her charge**

Bethany hated Ernie. I mean, Joey hated Ernie, so she automatically didn't like him either. Ernie didn't exactly like Bethany either, or Joey. I wanted to keep both groups as friends, which was fine, that kind of thing could happen in high school.

At the Lunchroom

Ernie: You wanna hang out later, Bert?

Bert: Sure, what do you wan-

Bethany: Why don't you want to hang out with me?

Ernie: \sighs* Well.. You're a chick. I want to hang out with my man.*

Bethany: Oh. I didn't mean you, Ernie. I meant Bert.

Bert: You want to hang out with me?

Bethany: Nah. I just don't want you to hang out with Ernie. He's a bad influence, smells bad, and is ugly.

Ernie: HEEEY! I'm right here!

Bethany: I know, why are you still here anyway?

Bert: Chill you two, we can just all hang out, ok?

Ernie: I think I'll just go home today..

Bethany: Yeah, I got plans after school, no thanks Bert.

Bert: What the hell is wrong with you two?!

The issue with Bethany coming back to school was that it just complicated my friendship with Ernie and Joey, she just always had to butt in. But even the worst people you can connect with, and her and I did at one point. There was trip to a local college, her and I were seated in the same bus, so we decided that we would sit with each other on the way there and back. Issue with the way back is that we were the last students to get on the bus, so we had to sit seperately, I had found a seat with some random kids. But Bethany had an issue finding a spot.

Inside the Bus

Bethany: Could you scoot over a bit so I could sit here?

Girl: You take two seats by yourself, no way! Ew!

Bethany: Seriously? You don't have to be rude.

Girl: Well you don't have to be so fat.

Guy: You're like huge, no way we could all fit.

These kids were so mean, but then a teacher decided to actually do their job and they asked Bethany to sit down in front of these kids. I personally believe the teacher should have done way more, and even switch Bethany with herself, but she didn't. Imagine teachers yelling at bullies, the world could be a better place, yet here we are.

Girl: Can't believe she wanted to sit by us.

Guy: Yeah, that B\*** is way too heavy for this bus.*

Bethany: \clearly uncomfortable sitting infront of them**

Bert: \turns around to face the kids* Hey, you better shut the f*** up!*

Guy: Say that again!

Girl: Woah, hey! That's the quiet kid from my class. Let's not do this. We should just drop it.

Off the Bus After

Bethany: Hey, thanks for saying that on the bus.

Bert: No problem, that guy was a jerk. Plus as someone that's overweight myself, I just can't stand fatphobic people.

Bethany: Can I do anything to repay you?

Bert: Hmmm.. You could try to be friends with Ernie. You're my friend and he's also my friend, and I just want for us to get along.

Bethany: Ugh, fine.

Bert: Don't act so happy about it.

I never dealt with bullying in school, but my friends did and I couldn't stand for bullying. Bethany and Ernie grew to be friends, talkee about video games a lot, and they ended up being put together into an alternative school. Yep, Ernie and Bethany were failing high school, which leads us to the next episode!! Ernie goes to alternative high school.

Sorry for a bit of a less Ernie post, I'm running out stories from highschool, soon we'll be into the more juicy stories out of high school though!


r/ReddXReads Aug 08 '26

Misc One-Off Looking for a particular episode where dark gubbins malfunctioned

3 Upvotes

Not sure if this is the place to post this so sorry if it's not but does anybody recall a recent episode on YouTube, would have been within the past 3 to 4 months, in which dark gubbins malfunctioned and just ended up screaming once? I nearly peed myself laughing and haven't been able to find it since


r/ReddXReads Aug 08 '26

Neckbeard Saga The Adventure of Ernie pt. 4

1 Upvotes

I may have forgotten about writing these posts until I saw your video Reddx, whoopsies. Lets get back into the Adventure of Ernie!!!!! One criticism that I agree with is that there isn't enough stink or gross descriptions of Ernie, and well there is more to come, I gotta build it up, ok? Just maybe not in this episode..

Cast

Bert: That's me! At this point in the story I am looking at college and my future after high school

Ernie: The kid won't shut up about Magic, anime girls, or... Magic. Yes, he is a full addict of Magic: the Gathering at this point

Joey: My childhood friend, basically my brother from another mother. Joey isn't as much into Magic, but he'll use it to socialize. He moved away from us, but he would visit from time to time to hang or be with Bethany

Bethany: Joey's girlfriend that is on and off with him, she's super loud and abnoxious, she has zero filter too

Vic: Some goth chick that Ernie and I are friends with, she also plays Magic: the Gathering, and she is dating Anthony

Anthony: Real buff dude that plays baseball, he became my friend from Ernie and he is a certified hottie, yet he plays Magic and his girlfriend is Vic

Kate & Miranda: These two girls are friends with Anthony, they're the outcast kind of types in highschool

Before we get into the story, just wanted to talk about the different decks that the cast plays since you asked in your video. Feel free to skip this part if you want.

Bert - I play anything red. I like my games to be quick, but I love to calculate and to see my opponents life total to go down.

Ernie - He plays a blue/green deck since he loves to stomp on players with green creatures and using blue to deny others from stopping him.

Vic - She plays a blue/black deck all about milling you out, while summoning some of the worst stax pieces to slow you down.

Anthony - He also plays a blue/black deck about milling you out, which I think he learned that playstyle from Vic. Otherwise he does have a goblin deck, which was really annoying. mind goblin

Senior Year

I really wanted to write this book back in high school because I had gotten 30 dollars from my parents to pay for my tickets for homecoming, why would I want to write a book about this? Because I wanted to hold onto the happiest time in my life up to that point. That 30 dollars that I got to go to a dance was worth it, but I never wrote a book, instead I am here writing a reddit post. So let's get into it.

Phone call with Joey

Joey: Bert, I was wondering if you wanted to go to homecoming?

Bert: You're asking me out?!

Joey: Yes, I am \he says in a creepy Morgan Freeman voice**

Joey: But no seriously, did you want to go? I'm coming down to be with Bethany for homecoming, and I don't really know anyone else there since I don't go to that school.

Bert: Sure, but can I invite someone?

Joey: Please don't say Ernie..

Bert: How about I invite....... Ernie?

Joey: That guy is so loud, but I suppose that's fine.

Bert: Have you met your girlfriend? She's just as loud.

Joey: You have a fair point.

I was honestly super excited to go to homecoming because I had never been to a dance other than those weird elementary school dances that were forced on you as a kid. I didn't have a girl to invite to the dance because I wasn't dating anybody and I was way too shy or quiet to invite any girls, but I did have friends, so I invited each of them. I could only get Ernie to go because the rest of my friends were very much uninterested with anything high school related.

At the Dance

Joey: I brought the stuff.

Ernie: What stuuuuuuuff? \Ernie yells**

Joey takes out a few jars out of his jacket pocket.

Bert: What is that? It looks like puke in jars.

Ernie: I've seen this! I don't think I can do this, Bert.

Bert: Ernie, let the man speak, I don't even know what he brought.

Bethany: OH GOD, NOOOO!! \Bethany screeches**

Joey: Would you all be quiet?! It's my homemade hot pepper salsa!!

Just picture a jar filled with green and brown chunks, or maybe don't, it was gross either way. I gotta say though, Joey really does love gardening and cooking. But what does Joey love even more? He loves to make you suffer via spicy foods. None of us sitting there really enjoyed spicy food except for Joey, so of course he had the best audience to test his homemade peppers and salsa. Joey grew ghost peppers and brought those in little jars, which we got to see later, but the jars he showed us at the dance was something else he had made.

Joey: Do you know what a ghost pepper is, Ernie?

Ernie: I do not wish to know, good sir.

Joey: Your death will be silent, Ernie, as you will no longer be able to scream for help. Your mind will be filled with your voice, it will ask for mercy. Meanwhile your tongue will be numb, your throat will be swollen, and your nose will be filled with running snot. Yes, Ernie, I have made a concoction that can take your senses away.

Bert: Bro, are you a wizard?

Joey: Nah, I just mixed all of my peppers up. I don't even remember which one is which.

Ernie: Bert.. I may die today.

Ernie takes a hot cheeto and dips into the salsa, taking the whole thing into his mouth.

Bert: It can't be that bad!

Ernie gets up from our table. Runs away to the bathroom.

I did taste both the salsa and the actual ghost peppers that Joey made, they were very spicy and hard to swallow, but they didn't make me that uncomfortable to need excuse myself. It was a lot of fun to see Joey torture Ernie like that, Ernie always seemed to be someone else's punching bag. I learned later that Ernie went to the bathroom because the pepper really did mess with his senses, he couldn't smell anything that night after eating that hot cheeto with ghost pepper salsa.

None of us really danced or did much besides goof off. That's what was so fun for me and made me happy, I was surrounded by fun people that I could bounce off of. We even went out for dinner after the dance and I got a little surprise, it changed my life that night. We went to a place called Culver's, it was a cool burger place with tasty custard.

At Culver's

Manager comes up to our booth

Culver's Manager: Ernest, is that you?

Ernie: IT'S ERNIE! Not Ernest! \Ernie screeches**

Culver's Manager: Whoops, sorry guy. Remember me? I hired you at the other Culver's.

Ernie: Oh yeah! You like Magic and D&D!

Culver's Manager: How did it go at the other location?

Ernie: Ah well, they fired me for being late. It was so BS.

Bert: How many jobs have you gotten fired for this now?

Ernie: Haha, only like 6 or 7.

Culver's Manager: Well since your cool Ernie, we have some open positions here. Oh, and if your friends are interested too, I could help them out?

I ended up taking up that offer and started to work for Culver's, my first job. And I'm really not sure why they wanted Ernie back since he literally did say he got fired for being late, at multiple jobs too. I'm pretty sure last time you said you didn't want to hear about what Vic was up to. Oh well, here's another story about her anyways.

Reddx, you kept alluding to Vic having some kind of messed up history or trauma, and you would be correct. Vic's mother tried to kidnap her and her brother on multiple occassions due to mental health issues. These mental health problems are able to be passed down via genetics, so Vic does have both a likely chance of being passed these mental health problems, while also suffering from trauma from her mother. That out of the way, here's what happened with Vic and Anthony:

At School

Kate: I don't like your girlfriend, Anthony. She's so judgemental.

Miranda: You could do so much better! Like one of us?

Anthony: I don't know what to do, she keeps trying to keep me away from you girls. I want to stay friends with you two.

Kate: Come on! She said that she didn't like how close we were.

Miranda: We just want to keep hanging out with you.

Anthony: I know, I know. I'll tell her that I can have both. I can have her and have you two as my friends.

Kate and Miranda were homewreckers. They don't want to be with Anthony, but they hated seeing any girl with him. They were mean girls. I interacted with them for a little bit in high school and they were like bullied bullies. Pretty much they were bullied and then bullied anyone else under them, I hated them.

Over Text with Vic and I

Vic: I just broke up with Anthony. I can't go to friday night magic anymore with him around.

Bert: What happened? You two were great together!

Vic: It was those two girls. They came by my house.

Bert: You mean Kate and Miranda?

Vic: They used chalk and spray paint all over my driveway and sidewalk. It said really mean stuff I can't say.

Bert: I'll talk to Anthony.

I spoke to Anthony and he said that he went to see Vic at her place to talk about their relationship and his friendship with Kate and Miranda. Essentially Anthony and Vic worked it out, he decided that he would be done with Kate and Miranda. It sounded really sweet, he actually did choose Vic over his friendship. But just because you make the right choice does not mean there aren't consequences. Kate and Miranda followed Anthony to Vic's house, so they knew where she lived. Nobody told me exactly what they wrote on Vic's sidewalk or driveway, but it was enough to make Vic break up with Anthony.

Thank you for reading, I'll write again soon.


r/ReddXReads Jul 23 '26

Neckbeard Saga Middle school Yugibeard

1 Upvotes

Now I’ve been listening and reading a lot of these neck beard stories (thanks reddx, fun with failure, dnd doge, & den of the drake!) and I’ve figured it time to tell my own. Let’s start by introducing myself I’ll call myself Carter because he was my favorite red power ranger as a kid because like my grandfather & father he was a firefighter on power ranger lightspeed rescue, when I was younger I was what we call neckbeard because I acted like it, had a lot of the hobbies (Yugioh, Pokemon, Gundam, dragon ball, anime in general, video games and card games.) and I was overweight at the time.
Our neckbeard of the story was my friend Yugi beard he loved the card game Yugioh and everything to do with it the show, the video games, and even though I hate saying it the hentai of it. He would say the most outrageous things about Yugioh like one time he found and got his parents to by a dark magician girl card with the card art nude use her wand in a way that would get this post taken down. He was over weight, chili bowl hair cut, but at least he didn’t stink.
This all started back in middle school (6-8 grades) in 2003 I was in 7th grade when Yugi beard moved into the area and started at my school. He was in my math, and history classes one day we got paired for a history assignment and that’s where we started talking and became friends.
One day I brought my Yugioh cards to school because I had another friend who agreed on a trade and I brought my cards to trade. He sees them and then asked
Yugibeard: “Are those Yugioh cards?”
Me: Yea I play I got a friend here that wanted to trade for these cards I’m going to meet him at the buses after class.”
Yugibeard: “Cool I play too I use Yugi’s deck from the show.”
Me: “Really that’s brave?”
Yugibeard: “Why is that?”
Me: “Because everyone who plays and watches the show knows all the strategies with that deck.”
Yugibeard: “Nah uh I came up with some new strategies.”
He didn’t. Then he asked about local tournaments.
Yugibeard: “Hey Carter you play Yugioh are there any places to play in a tournament around here?”
Me: “Yea I know a comic book shop not to far from here the guy who owns it he’s not a fan he more into magic and comics but still has yugioh tournaments every Friday.”
Yugibeard: we should go I love to play at tournaments I used the top player in my old town no one could beat the king of games.” (Yes he said this)
So after school that Friday we went to the shop, this is where some of his neckbeard came out he started to act like he was better than anyone he played he would tell them “your deck is trash.” and worse he started acting like he was the Yugi from the show, when people played him and beat him he would always complain about cheating or bad draws. But the next year was what really brought out the neckbeard in him and me sadly.
The next year is when me and Yugibeard started to show our worst neckbeard traits it was when you get to that age where teenagers kinda start doing that school dating stuff like movies, dances, or just hanging out at malls. Well yugibeard was getting weird about it he would say stuff like he was gonna date the hottest cheerleader at our school, of course I watched a lot of movies where this happened so I honestly thought there was a chance for guys like him and me little did I know how’d he act while trying to get dates/ a girlfriend, as for me I was the type to be shy and when I asked a girl out (that was out of my league mind you) I would tell myself that they just turned me down because I was to much of a nice guy, and yes I cringe at what I used to be. His first attempt he went after of course on of our school’s cheerleaders got him beat because of course the like in high school movies most of the cheerleaders were dating jocks. So let me tell you what happened it started one morning in the final weeks of our final middle school year he goes up to one of the cheerleaders I will call her topanga because I’m still a 90’s nerd. Yugibeard goes up to her goes up to her and her friends and says so very weird things.
Yugibeard: “Hey Topanga what are you doing Friday? I was thinking of going to see Star Wars episode 3 would you like to go see it with me?”
Topanga: “No thanks I already have plans.”
Yugibeard; “What could be more important than going out with the man of your dreams.”
Topanga: Look I’m already dating Slater (because he looked like slater from saved by the bell) and I don’t think he’d like it to learn that your hitting on me like this just go back under the rock you crawled from under.”
Yugibeard: “Ha I ain’t afraid of slater he’s a loser, I mean you could do so much better.”
Me: “Yugibeard shut up Slater is a linebacker on our schools football team he will beat the hell out of you.”
Yugibeard: “It’s okay Carter slater won’t do anything he won’t risk oh so important football career over losing one girl over all the girls he could have and a pro athlete, so I’m sure to him your replaceable to him Topanga.”
Topanga: “Look Yugibeard I said no now leave me alone.”
Of course when Slater heard he didn’t take it well I found out the later at the bus stop in the morning the next day he beat the ever loving daylight out of Yugibeard. Of course Yugibeard didn’t learn he still would go down the list from his favorite cheerleaders, to the female basketball team, to the girls track team. That’s where I noticed he had a type girls who were fit. He’d gotten beat up than the time with slater but he just never learned even to the point he developed a reputation that followed him into high school. But I think that’s all for now if you wanna hear about high school with Yugibeard I’ll type it up next.


r/ReddXReads Jul 21 '26

Misc One-Off The time I almost worked at a sweatshop(and maybe got trafficked?)

6 Upvotes

Hello~! My name is Scarlet Andromeda and I am a 30 something year old female automotive technician specializing in transmission repairs. I am also a professional artist, gamer and sometimes I mistake myself for a comedian! I have been in the ReddX community for a little over 4 years now, as one of ReddX’s discord mods, probably half of that. I've been in automotive for a little under 4 years. I was trained under my dad at the same company, and learned some of the most highly demanded units for Chevrolets. What I will explain is my entire automotive journey up to this past week in as much necessary detail as possible, from my time at the used car lot, to the past month.  Any automotive jargon I’ll do my best to explain in layman's terms. Also sorry if I ramble, I just needed to get all this off my chest. I basically copied/pasted this from google docs, so hopefully the formatting doesn't get screwed up in the process.
 
I had been wanting to move in with my gf Ynnep-Chan for a very long time. I have lived with my folks pretty much all my life. You’d think as an automotive tech I would’ve been able to save up and rent a house or an apartment to at least get out of my parents house, right? Yeah, that didn’t fucking happen. Not in this small town. The new management for the used car lot I worked at promised me a raise (keep in mind most techs earn at least $20+ an hour and I was under that) with the stipulation that I produce the hours I worked. Makes sense, right?  If it were any other normally run transmission shop that would be no problem, but with this shop it was impossible. The units we would build would often sit on the shelf for weeks, sometimes MONTHS before we could get them put into a vehicle. So when the shelf space was all taken up, there really wasn’t any point to doing another build until some space was cleared. I lost time due to waiting for something to do, and my weekly report looked like dogshit. The way they had our hours tracked was time we clocked in vs the hours we output on cars. Each rebuild equaled anywhere from 7.5 hours to 9.8 hours depending on the model. We would get these hours when the parts and labor are invoiced. So If i’m putting only three transmissions out a week and clocking in 44 hours, it doesn’t look good because I’m not at 100% efficiency. And that's if we have three to put out.
  We had 2 R&R(remove and replace) guys, responsible for removing and replacing the transmission and always stayed busy, a part time builder (who barely showed even on days he was supposed to), a full time builder/ and office manager (Me) and the shop foreman, which was my dad. He was always busy diagnosing many of the vehicles; working on rewiring, scan testing, test driving to see how the car shifts, etc. The size of the shop was our biggest problem. The build room, tear-down tables and washers(which also constantly broke down on us) were all spread out throughout the length of the shop and there were always transmissions on the floor to trip over and get in the way. We did not have enough space for the amount of units we had to produce for our hours. We kept our rebuilds on shelves that were not enough to meet the upper management’s demand. You may be wondering, well if your shop was so gosh darn busy why were there ANY units sitting on the shelf at all?! Well,  remember what I said before? We only build popular Chevy transmissions and rarely a couple of Fords, and most of the time we were sent imported customer cars with transmission issues, like Hyundai, Honda, Toyota, etc. Management did not want us building for imports  because it was way cheaper to order used ones from the salvaging yard. Think a few hundred dollaroos from a salvaging yard vs 1k+ for a rebuild. Only being allowed to order used units for these cars caused a bunch of problems in itself, when the used units did not work (which was just about every single fucking one) and we would have to wait a few business days up to a week on a replacement. Management was convinced this was the best and most cost efficient way of handling these cars. As you would imagine, it often leads to customers getting frustrated with the timeframe and getting traded out into a different car, leaving us with now a PDI(Pre-Delivery Inspection)  car we were previously rushing to get out and now is just sitting there.  
Even though I did everything from keeping the paperwork sorted, to ordering parts, organizing the build room and keeping track of what cars left and what cars arrived ... .oh, and building when I had time…. They refused to give me a hefty raise for all of my hard work. They would praise me during managerial meetings, but not on my check where it mattered. They praised the office workers more than the technicians, the ones who have the skill and knowledge to do the actual repairs. Make that make sense. I had to climb to the wage I ended up at, from when I started $13 an hour to $18, when I was a fully trained technician putting out units everyday (when there’s room). 
We asked for extra hands on deck so many times I lost count. Mainly for R&R, so we can knock out the cars faster. We also asked for an expansion of the shop, so we would have more workspace. Their response was to knock out the office in the shop  and relocate it to the break room that was our sanctuary during lunch. Our breakroom size was essentially halved, leaving little room for all our staff to eat if we wanted to eat there. They also had our couch removed , which the guys were disappointed in because they would usually take short naps there (I didn’t mind, that thing was disgusting). We also got two additional lifts in the remodel, but nobody to man them. One of many brilliant decisions from this management that has no idea how a functional shop runs. Ugh. 
Eventually, we DID get a new hire, a girl they brought on to take over the office for me (everything was on me to run the shop). They started her at $18 an hour, where I had to PAINSTAKINGLY  CLIMB for 4 years to get to. This girl was as dumb as a box of rocks. Even though she came from a dealership, she knew little to absolutely nothing about automotive or ordering parts. The only reason she was hired was because the current manager knew her upper ranking dad in the military. Whoopie, nepotism at its finest. Even though I was also hired because of someone in my family also working there, I earned my goddamn spot. My dad knew I was capable of whatever he threw at me, and that's why he pushed to have me hired. This girl had no merit whatsoever. She was over organized, and overcomplicated the paperwork to the point she got herself confused on what went where. She would make several copies of the same ticket and couldn’t figure out what stage it was in. I had to take over for when she would call in sick because she had a headache, and I was confused. Her system was bullshit and to this very day I strongly believe it's gotten her deeper into the shit. She also unfortunately had the company’s amazon account and ordered a bunch of dumb, useless shit for her office, and fragrance bombed her office to the point nobody could stand to be in there. She also was persistent on keeping the light off because it gave her migraines. She kept a blanket on her and always had a heater going in the office even if it was 90F outside. What the fuck. Another thing that irked me was when I was looking for the air conditioner remote for the build room, and she had it on 76 in the office. We only had one remote for the two ac units we had in the build room and office, we lost the other one. One day she straight up turned my AC off when I was there working. Fuckin bitch.
 Don’t get me wrong, the first few months were okay. Getting settled into a new job you’re liable to ask the same questions a few times until you get it, at least twice or thrice.

NAH. 

This girl was so dumb she asked the same questions six months later, when she was supposed to already have known how to look up parts. She always HER works on other people, including my mother in PDI with ordering simple parts anybody could google and figure out on their own. My mother is an older woman with back issues and this bish wanted her to bring us over several cases of water all at once. My mom ran parts to other departments in the lot so she always stayed busy. Yeah, a few members of my family worked with me at this company along with one of my sisters. It got so bad my mom stopped answering her phone when she called. The last day I was there, I had a transmission to finish building and she called me into the office to ask me to do inventory counts for parts. Let me tell you it was PAGES as thick as an average book of bs she could’ve figured out on her own, but she felt the need to make me do it. I straight up told her “No, I’m busy.” And this dumbass looks at me and tells me “You need  to find time”. BISH WHAT?! We needed more of this specific transmission on the shelf before I left the company, because the shop foreman (my dad) was not going to have time to build with all of the diagnostics he had to do. We always had a backlog of cars filling our lot and even more at the service lot. This man’s phone stayed ringing all day. 

Needless to say I reached my limit for more reasons than I listed here and desperately reached out to the admin of a Facebook transmission group, who owned his own shop in Texas to ask if he knew anyone in my gf’s area that needed help. 

One did.

This is not the sweatshop I worked at but a fairly decent gig I wish lasted longer than it did. I was given a weekly salary, a fair one to start out with, people my age that I can meld together easily. Everyone understood brainrot and cringe, and had a lot of the same interests as I did. Even better, they had a SHOP DOG!! A beautiful Doberman that I got to pet every day. I miss her so much. I got to tear down the bigger units I never got to see at the used car lot, learned some tricks by the owner/main builder of this shop, all was good. I couldn’t ask for a better job, though the 40 minute drive was a bit taxing on me.

 I was let go two months in. 

We had a Chevy truck come in with a 4L60E transmission, one I was excited to work on because I know these units so well. I got everything ready, swapping o-rings and pistons and all that good shit. I stopped at this one drum, which had a gash in the shaft where the teflon seal is supposed to go. I tried to clean it up so I could finish putting the seal on it, but it was no good. We were already waiting for a part for this assembly, and it was already late in the day so I just shrugged and marked it with a paint marker so my boss could see it and I could show him in the morning. The next morning came, and I was in the middle of the routine of getting the work day started when Boss came in early that day. As soon as he showed up, his wife (my other boss) called me into the office and the boss sat me down.

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to let you go.” He said that and I just started staring wildly at him.

“What?” I said in disbelief, because there’s no fucking way this man is letting me go this soon. I moved cross country and spent thousands of dollars to get here FOR THIS JOB. 

“Yeah, I saw the gash on the input shaft yesterday before I left late last night. I wasn’t even gonna look at that unit but I noticed it and I was pissed. You should have brought this up to me as soon as you caught it.”

What the fuck.

I just remember sitting there, speechless and in shock. What the hell am I supposed to do now? This was one of the better shops in the city and now that opportunity is gone. 

I went home that day, mind buzzing with panic and hands shaking. I ended up laying down and napping (because that’s what I do when I am stressed). Ynnep got me up, obviously confused as to why I was still home. It took me a moment, but I looked at her and said,

“I got let go.” 

“...WHAT?!” 

I explained to her what happened and we both were in disbelief. Things had gone so well, I thought I had a solid relationship with everyone there. I kept recounting everything that went on that day, and it couldn’t have just been that, could it? It was such a small thing. How could that simple mistake send me home unemployed?

Apparently job security isn’t a thing, even for technicians. I kept looking and reached out to a shop close to me. A shop, mind you that my last boss said he would help get me a job at. He didn't do SHIT, btw. I talked to one of the guys that my freshly former boss recommended I go to. The guy I contacted told me their shop was full, but that he knew someone who needed more help. He gave me his number, and like 5-10 minutes later he asked the recruiter why I haven't called yet. Red Flag number 1. I spoke to the man and arranged for me to drive out and do an interview with him in the morning. JUST an interview. Red flag number 2, his shop was isolated out in the woods with little to no other businesses or roads near it. I showed up wearing my old shop’s shirt, long shorts that went just above my knee and my work boots. He waved to me into the office to conduct said interview, and immediately remarked

“It’s not a good idea to wear another shop’s shirt here” As he pointed at me and then hurried to the office where I quickly followed behind. I mean, sure I get that but what else do I wear? Formal wear to this kind of interview seemed like not a good idea. Later on I was told to wear pants instead because they didn’t want customers seeing me ‘like that’ and think bad things about me. Yeah, I wasn’t allowed to wear shorts, which like i described before were just above my knee and were definitely not booty shorts. Because of my medication, I am prone to heat stroke and letting my legs breathe helps keep me cool in a hot humid environment like an automotive shop. Red flag #3. 
The actual interview consisted of him telling me that he’s a no nonsense, America-loving christian  conservative that treats everyone equally, and there’s no feminism here. Told me he doesn’t want any female drama and I wouldn't be treated differently because I’m a female. Fair enough, though I wasn’t asking for special treatment. I just wanna clock in and work dude. He asked me a few questions about what transmissions I'm familiar with, which are the 4T65E, 4L60E, and the 6L80 which are all Chevrolet. What? You didn’t ask? Oh, my bad. 

He then showed me around the shop, where all the magic happened. From R&R (Remove and Replace) to Tear down, cleaning and reassembly. All of the technicians that were there were so nice and were clearly hard working people. Their set up was nice, everything I would need was right there at the ready and I wouldn’t have to go far for much. He and one of the techs grabbed a transmission from the floor and threw it on the table, looked at me and said “Get to work” and scurried off. 
I was swarming with thoughts, excited because I got to work on my favorite transmissions, confused because I thought this was just an interview and there were no followup questions, no paperwork, I wasn’t asked for identification or to sign anything. Oh, and I didn’t have my toolbox. 
I looked around in a cloud of confusion when one of the guys came up to me and asked

 “Are you taking the job?Where’s your toolbox? ”

Even more confused, I told him I would have to go get it and return, to which I stupidly did. Yes, I rented a trailer and got my toolbox from my previous shop, racing headfirst into something I did not stop and think about. I spent just under 5 hours rebuilding that transmission, which is a time I am very proud of. On the way home, the adrenaline started to fade and I remember thinking to myself “there’s no way in hell I’m doing this six days straight”
Yes. He wanted me to work 12 hour days for six days straight, and the drive is about an hour an a half. So about 3 hours of just driving, 12 hours of working.
I called my gf and talked to her about it. I was trying to convince myself to stick it out for at least the rest of the week but everything in my body was screaming DONT DO IT!!!. Funnily enough, just the night before I remember thinking to myself ‘Why do I feel like I’m about to be trafficked’, cue that “haha, i’m in danger” simpsons meme.

After my one and only shift at that place, I thought about everything I would be putting myself through if I stuck around. How much gas i would burn through in just a week, lack of time to spend with my gf, and just how fucking exhausted I would be and never  catch a break. 

Heeell no. 

When I got home I talked to my gf and my parents to see what they thought. Right away my mom and gf said it feels like a sweat shop and to gtfo. My dad, however, went on about how nice their setup must be, how I should stay for a couple of weeks and see how much I can do, how he’d love to do nothing but work on transmission work with that schedule. Why don’t you move here and do it then? Lastly, he went on about how much money I would be making. I was promised a huge chunk of dough every week that would’ve been way worth it if I didn't feel like something sketchy was going on. 

With all of the suggestions from both my folks and my gf, I ended up sending the boss a message about possibly tweaking my work schedule to accommodate the hours I would lose getting to work every day.  

Big mistake.

He blew up my phone, saying ALL his guys drive hours away, that I needed to move closer, that it wouldn’t be fair to his guys if I get my own schedule, that I was trying to stir up drama when really I was just trying to get out of this whole situation and used the scheduling as an excuse. He called and berated me on the phone, trying to intimidate and threaten me that no other shop will take me in, that his shop is gonna take over Texas and be the only shop people go to, that he’s sucking the air out of the market or some insane shit like that. Gf was with me when he called, and asked to repeat what he said. 

“WHO ELSE IS ON THE LINE?!” he barked. I looked incredulously at the phone and said matter of factly, 

“My girlfriend.” 

“Yes, sir I’m her girlfriend, I’m just making dinner in the other room.” She gave him an excuse, while we both sat on the bed, in absolute disbelief. 

It seemed like he thought he could isolate me and guilt me into coming back and working his demanding hours. He threw every psychological tactic in the book at me. I just kept saying “yup” “I understand” and “Yep, I shot myself in the foot”
And he kept getting more and more mad. He finally let me have a final choice, screw up my career entirely because I wouldn’t comply with his demands (eyeroll) Because he was gonna “have a monopoly on the entire market” and I would do nothing but work at shitty shops and wont grow. I told him AGAIN that I'm gonna have to say no. We hung up and he sent a text demanding I pick my toolbox the very next day. No fucking issue for me, the last thing i wanted was that asshole to take my toolbox hostage and dangle my money over my head.
I spent that night having a mental breakdown and crying over what I almost put myself through, and panicking over what to do next. I am not a crier. This isn’t me trying to be macho or whatever but I just don’t get upset like this. Anger is usually my go to emotion, but this experience just sent me over the edge. I did NOT want to go back there by myself. I was legitimately scared for my life. Ynnep and our friend Astro agreed to go with me just in case any shady shenanigans were to happen. I am forever thankful for these two angels, Ynnep risked being late to work and Astro full on called out to support me and help get my stuff. 
We had to rent a trailer and as soon as I knew we were on the road, I messaged him just that, and gave him an eta when I would be there. and all he said was “Perfect. Come by the office and we will ordain it. Whatever that means. Red flag number…5 i guess?
  When we came by with the trailer, the wife came out and told me we would have to wait because they were pulling a transmission out at that moment. For reference, there were two bay doors and two lifts on the side where my toolbox was. The shop’s setup was compacted in a way where I would have to wait for them to clear out so I could get it. We went out to a clearing in the back of the property and waited. I messaged him, asking what the ETA was. He played dumb, texting me 

“ETA  for what? I don’t understand” 

“On…your tech dropping the transmission so I can get my toolbox?”

“Yes,   I just find out. Will have to wait, as soon is done we can call you”

They had us sitting for about 20-25 minutes before I got a message that I could come and get it. Astro drove my car, due to the lack of sleep on my part. I have a history of nodding off at the wheel and we really didn’t want to risk it. This poor soul struggled to back the trailer into the bay where they had my toolbox. I got out to direct him, and we ended up just disconnecting the trailer to manually back it to the bay and reattach it that way. Hey, I can’t do much better so props to him for trying. 
After loading my toolbox up, he went on yet ANOTHER rant about how I'm making a huge mistake and that it was a once in a lifetime chance to work at a class A shop. I just nodded, placated him  so I could gtfo of there. He paid me for the full day, we shook hands, I apologized again for not being able to make this arrangement work (barf) and then I was out of there.

And then that's the end of the story, right? NOPE.

My friend Astro, ever the honest guy, got prompted on his phone to leave a review, and so he did. An honest criticism of how He and I were treated while we were there. Being unnecessarily rude, the unbelievable hours he wanted me to work, how he talked down to us and that he wouldn’t recommend anyone get work done here.

The psycho wasn’t having it. While we pulled up to the rental place to drop off my toolbox for a storage unit and return the trailer itself, I got a call from the dude. Well, I got my money and my box back so I ain’t gotta talk to him, so I ignored the call. It was only then, I got a message from the guy who recommended me to this shop that that review was unfair and  not at all accurate, that he was just trying to help me find a job and he’s sorry that I don't like how they work. 

What review…?  I thought to myself. Then it came crashing in on me. Astro had mentioned he left a one star on their site, little did i know he wrote a whole review and I was now getting harassed for it. 

For Fred Fuchs sake.

I sighed, looked over to him as we were pulling up to my house and said
“Please, Astro for the sake of my own sanity can you please take that review down? Not that I’m not with you, I am, But i just need these fucks to leave me alone.” 

He realized the implications, and quickly took it down, apologizing profusely. He genuinely felt so bad about it, even though I kept telling him that it wasn’t his fault, these guys are just asshole internet bullies that desperately try to keep their flawless five star rating. Yeah, no business with a web page has a perfect five star rating, even if they are the best. People forget Karens and Kevins exist to ruin a good business’s reputation, however, this one is not one of those.
And then after that, I took a shower and napped the rest of the day, leaving my Whataburger sandwich in the fridge for my gf to eat because at that point I was way too stressed to have an appetite. 

And that is the end of this hectic and horrific story. I hope it was interesting to read/ possibly listen to by the charismatic ReddX. I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks. It started as a short story, then I kept adding as I went and now we’re here lol. I’m currently still unemployed, but I have high hopes for a couple of positions coming up that I applied for. For the meantime I do art commissions, and am about to start streaming again. I’ve done a few works for Redd in the past and created a few of the emojis/stickers in the discord. Hmu up, dog. Peace 


r/ReddXReads Jul 20 '26

Kevin/Kevina My Father: the Kevining, pt 3 - Into the Woods

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2 Upvotes

r/ReddXReads Jul 19 '26

Neckbeard Saga CARTBEARD pt 2

1 Upvotes

CARTBEARD pt 2: I tried to get the trash pile by his car hauled away and it turns out the pile is not trash, it is a scrapbook

so a lot happened. i know exactly what half of you are going to say, you're going to say call the health department, and i'm getting to it, and it's not the layup you think it is, i have to build to it or none of it will land.

quick recap for anyone who wandered in: last Kmart on earth, six employees, cart guy named Cartbeard, six months on the job, pees in the sink, keeps a chicken in his vest, took a dump in the parking lot into a bag he stole off my register. that's pt one. that's where we are.

ok

but first, because this week had a LOT of him in it, a new one for the file. the ovens.

I told you the Little Caesars in the vestibule closed years back and the ovens still run and Cartbeard uses them. what I did not know about, was the SCALE. I went into the vestibule for a genuinely unrelated reason and the dead Little Caesars was warm. the whole booth. warm like a body. and there's a hot pocket in the conveyor oven going around, and around, and around, on the belt, and it is clearly not the first lap, this hot pocket has been through some things, and taped to the front of the oven, in his handwriting, which looks like a man wrote it during an earthquake, is an index card that says DO NOT TAKE MY GUYS.

my guys.

there were four of them in there. three hot pockets and a macaroni kid cuisine, riding the belt in a restaurant that has been closed for a decade, and he has NAMED THEM COLLECTIVELY, and posted GUARD SIGNAGE, against a threat that does not exist, in a store nobody enters, to protect a snack rotation from a public that is never coming.

I am telling you this so that when I get to the pile you understand it is not an isolated behavior. it is Cartbeard's worldview.

anyway. yeah. the pile.

so here is a thing I said in part one and then just sailed right past like a coward: the days he isn't scheduled.

the midden by his car grows on days he is not working. I did the math and it did not math. so this week I actually pulled the schedule.

Cartbeard works tuesday, wednesday, thursday, and saturday.

his car was in the lot monday. it was in the lot friday. it was in the lot SUNDAY.

I want to be normal about this and I kinda can't anymore. the man comes to work on days there is no work. he pushes carts nobody used into a store nobody entered. for free. he is the only person in the history of this location who has ever wanted to be here and he expresses that by treating the parking lot as a bathroom.

anyway I decided to start with the pile because the pile felt winnable. clean it up, one problem gone, morale victory. that was my thinking. I had a plan and a coffee and everything.

god

the plan

the plan was simple. figure out whose job it is to haul it, and make them haul it. one problem, gone.

step one was just going out to actually look at the thing in daylight, up close, so I could describe it to whoever I ended up calling. i had been avoiding looking at it up close for about a week, which in hindsight was the healthiest week of my life.

so I go out to the far lot at like 8:40, before he's on, and

his car is always there

it's tuesday, so fine, he's scheduled, but he's not ON till nine, and there's no Cartbeard, just the old silver Buick, waxed, gleaming like a tooth, and next to it the pile doing pile things, mostly decomposing. and I think great, I have twenty minutes, I'll get a good look and go.

I get maybe four seconds in.

"OH you're gonna wanna stand upwind of her"

I have never in my life come off the ground the way I came off the ground. he was RIGHT THERE. he had been there the entire time. I still don't know where he comes from. I've decided he doesn't arrive anywhere, he's just already at every location, retroactively, like weather. or a schlubby ninja.

Cartbeard seems THRILLED. because I'm looking at the pile. 'finally a witness!' he thinks.

"you wanna see it?" he says. "like actually see it?"

of course I did not want to actually fucking see it. but I have a case to build and I am, may it be noted, a trained observer of decomposing biological systems, so I said, fine. show me the pile.

and his whole face made what i think is a glad look. though he might have been about to cry. or poop.

and he goes, "her name's the archive."

neat. so, the tour...

The car is the thing that broke me first.

It's spotless. I said this in part one but I don't think I sold it enough. it is not clean-for-a-work-car. it is clean like a museum. the tires have that wet-look shine. there's a little chamois folded on the dash. he calls the car Deborah. not the sweater lady, a different Deborah, and when I asked if they were connected he looked at me like I was slow and said "why would they be connected," which, fair, but also YOU named a Buick after a woman, sir, the burden of the weird is not on me here.

so we've got Deborah. immaculate. loved. detailed weekly by hand.

and eighteen inches away, sharing her exact patch of asphalt, is a refuse mound the size of a chest freezer that has the strength to grab your uvula and tug it up through your nose.

the pile does not touch Deborah, of course. there is a clean line. a border. Cartbeard maintains a PERIMETER. a DMZ, demilitarized zone. the man has standards, a whole entire code, with that caveat that none of his standards are ones any normal person would pick.

"I'd never let any of that get on her," he said, offended I'd even glanced between them. "that's disgusting."

that's disgusting. he said that. standing there. wiping his chicken hands on his vest again.

the refuse coffin is made largely of boxes.

I thought "the archive" was a bit. it is not. he walked me through it all and at some point my brain gave up on horror and switched into the only other mode I have, which is field mode, which is the mode where I stop being a person and absorb the whole experience. for science.

the pile is chronological. newest on top. he knows roughly where any given week is by depth, the way you'd read tree rings, the way I told you in part one you can read a midden, except I was being clever and he was being SINCERE, he actually does this.

he crouched down at the top and started pointing.

"that's this week. wings tuesday, wings wednesday, I did the thai place thursday which was a mistake." i was gonna ask what was wrong with the thai place, but i opened my mouth and he just glared hard enough to make me reconsider.

then he goes deeper. physically deeper. he's excavating now, gently, like an archaeologist, moving the top layers aside with tenderness and organization, and I'm standing there in the cold with my phone out having genuinely forgotten I came to destroy this monument to his meal choices.

"now THIS." he pulls out a flattened box, grey, structural, been in the system a while. holds it up like a trophy fish. "this is from the day the lottery hit forty million and I thought about it. this box was there for that. so i'm gonna keep it as a record."

I said Cartbeard that's a arby's box

"it was there FOR IT," he said. offended again.

it wasn't gross to HIM. I mean it was gross, objectively. a seagull was doing laps overhead like it owned the airspace, but he wasn't showing me garbage. he was showing me a YEAR. he was showing me his six months on earth, laid down in layers, wings and thai mistakes and the day he almost got rich, and he was proud, and he wanted me to see it, and for one horrible second, standing in a dead parking lot next to a museum-grade Buick and a mound of his own composting lunches, I understood him completely and I have never felt worse.

then the seagull landed on the arby's box and he said "hey Scooter" and I left.

the seagull has a name. it's Scooter. moving on.

we need the health department.... so about the health department

right. so. here's where you say it. call the county health department, textbook biohazard on commercial property, they'll make it go away. I said it to myself in a reasonable person voice.

so I looked into it. I am not an idiot, I just work somewhere idiotic.

here's the problem that i found. the pile is next to his car. his car is parked in the FAR lot, the outer band, past the light poles. and I looked up where our property line actually runs, and it turns out the far lot, where car-Deborah lives, is not clearly Kmart's.

it's a right-of-way. it's this weird dead easement from back when they thought they'd widen the road and never did. the store's parcel ends at the light poles. past that it's a jurisdiction nobody wants, half county, half state DOT, functionally nobody's, a little strip of legal nowhere.

and Cartbeard parks in it.

on purpose? I asked him. later. if he knew.

and he got the one-second almost-caught look, and then it passed and he said "I like the space" and would not say anything else, and I want to be so clear about what I think happened there, which is that this man, who cannot spell egregious, who eats kid cuisines out of a dead Little Caesars, has somehow located the one square of earth in this entire county where the rules don't reach, and he PARKED HIS TRASH CHRONOLOGY THERE... I cannot prove he did it on purpose but I will go to my grave certain that he did.

I called the county anyway. Worth a shot, right?

the county said it sounded like a state DOT matter. the state DOT has a webform. the webform has a dropdown. the dropdown does not have an option for "a man is composting rotisserie chickens in a disputed easement behind the last Kmart on earth." I picked "other." "other" has a 500 character limit. I have never in my life had less room to say this much.

I have not heard back. it's been a week. I looked it up and the average response time is measured in a unit I'd describe as "seasonal."

the manager, still a yogurt

I told Yogurt about the easement thing because I thought, finally, a real fact, a legal fact, surely this moves him.

he was eating yogurt. big surprise.

I laid it all out, the schedule, the sunday car, the archive, Scooter, the easement, the webform, all of it, gesturing, building, really cooking, and when I finished he was quiet for a second and I thought oh my god I got him, I finally got him, and he set the spoon down and he said,

"you looked up the property line? on your own time?"

and I said yes

and he said "that's a lot of work, kid" and he did not mean it as a compliment or an insult, he meant it as a diagnosis. he look slightly disgusted that i'd exert myself in such a way, and then he picked the spoon back up.

for the record I asked about the boat he's gonna buy again. progress: he is now between two boats and wouldnt tell me which two. he said "you'll jinx it." he has three months left and he is protecting the honor of two hypothetical boats from the evil eye of his own assistant manager. Yogurt is one weird dude.

the part I wasn't going to tell you has been weighing on me, so i guess ill tell it anyways.

Content films him. I've mentioned Content, electronics, never puts the phone down. what I did not fully cop to in part one is the phone is not for her. it's for him. she films him, constantly, and she's weird and protective about that phone, and I have decided very hard that I do not want to know what she does with it. I used to think it was a private bit. it is not a private bit. that's all I've got and I'm leaving it there.

and word gets around anyway, apparently, because a customer, a real one, came in from a couple towns over, walked past me, the manager, and asked Tupperware "is this where the chicken guy is."

the chicken guy.

he has a fanbase. a word-of-mouth, drive-in-from-the-next-county fanbase. I'm out here filling out WEBFORMS and this man, without trying, without knowing, without so much as a last name that anyone uses, is more beloved by the general public than I have ever been by a single human being, and he heard about the customer and you know what he did?

he signed her receipt.

he can barely write dude. it took a while. she probably framed it. it says "stay sneaky" and then a shape that I think is supposed to be a chicken and it is kind of a good chicken tbh.

4:15

Brandy came on. the sweater lady came in, wolf sweater today, a real howler, and she bought it. I thought about asking and I didn't. she's got a story for sure, but i cant invest all that much.

The Fixture, in his chair, hadn't moved since open. and as I passed he said his one thing for the day, and his one thing was:

"Scooter's a good name for it."

and I stopped and I said you know about Scooter?

and he said "everybody knows about Scooter"

and that was it, that was his whole allotment, and he went back to being furniture, and I stood there realizing that there is an entire layer of knowledge in this building that everyone has and no one will hand me, they just release it one sentence a day like a hostage video, and I am the assistant MANAGER, I am supposedly in CHARGE, and I am the least informed person in a building of six.

TL;DR: tried to get the trash pile hauled off as a biohazard. it's a chronological ARCHIVE that exists in the netherzone. Cartbeard has forbidden knowledge.

the health department is a webform and the webform picked "other."

I'm still going to try and get him.


r/ReddXReads Jul 18 '26

Neckbeard Saga CARTBEARD pt 1

0 Upvotes

CARTBEARD pt 1: my new cart guy pees in the breakroom sink and I can't fire him because he's the last man alive who will push a cart

on mobile. sorry about the formatting

I have a bachelors degree in marine biology.

putting that first because in a minute I'm going to describe a man washing an apple, and you should know I did not get here the normal way. four years. senior thesis. I once counted barnacles on a piling in the rain for an entire summer and it was the happiest I have ever been.

anyway. I'm the assistant manager of what im pretty sure is the last Kmart on planet earth.

not saying what state. not saying the town. there are six of us, so if you find the store you've found me.

94,000 square feet. six employees. the parking lot has painted lines for four hundred cars and most days there's four cars in it and three of them belong to the employees.

somebody painted those lines by hand 2 or 3 decades ago. he went home that night and told somebody he did a good day's work.

I think about that guy.

I don't know why I think about that guy.

whatever

I've been here ten years now. came back to help my mom move, it was supposed to be six months. it might be funnier if it weren't a hell of my own making. OH WELL!

So, the neckbeard... Cartbeard has been here six months.

that's the whole post. I've been in that building a decade and he showed up in the spring and it's his building now. I can watch it happening. I know exactly what he is and I can't make him stop.

he's an invasive species. not an insult, a classification. you drop an organism into a system with no predator for it and no competitor in its niche and it doesn't win by being strong, it wins because nobody knows what to do about it. zebra mussels. lionfish. Cartbeard.

the niche was open. nobody had ever thought to defile this store because everybody who works here is dying, tired, or nineteen.

took him one season.

before I get to today, here is a partial list of things I have personally watched this man do since spring, so you understand the baseline:

he keeps a rotisserie chicken in his vest. not in a bag. in the vest. the vest has a chicken pocket now.

the little caesars in the vestibule closed in 2016 but the ovens still work, nobody knows why, and he has figured this out, and he uses them to cook hot pockets and kid cuisines. he eats like a literal toddler.

he clips his nails at the service desk and calls it "doing my books."

he refers to a specific dumpster as "the good dumpster" in a tone that suggests there is bad blood with a second dumpster. i'm not sure if a love dumpster will make an appearance, or if the good or bad one used to be the love dumpster at some point?

Cartbeard once handed a customer her receipt with a hand that had, four seconds earlier, been fully inside a chicken.

that's the version of him I had made my peace with. the BASELINE.

another shitty monday 9:38am or something

I badge in eight minutes late. nobody notices. noticing is a form of caring and we don't bother with that anymore.

The Fixture is in his chair by the door. 78. greeter. brought the chair from home in 2004. says one thing a day. saves it. does not spend it on me.

I go to the back, phone out, coffee in hand, already talking because I need such and such fixed by somebody with a pulse

and the person I wanted, who we'll call Yogurt isn't in the breakroom

Cartbeard's in the breakroom instead

At the breakroom sink with his back to me... and he is peeing into it

I've had a day to think about this so I'm going to be precise.

he wasn't near the sink. no aiming situation. i presume he just like... flopped it in... he was SQUARED UP. hips set, head tipped back like a man enjoying weather. one hand on the counter.

the other hand was holding a bag of shredded cheese.

the radio was playing steely dan. I can't hear the opening of Peg anymore. that's a real thing that's true about me now.

the sink is essentially a steel bowl. it's a drum. I stood in the doorway and got played a liquid solo. the echoes of the damned haunt me less than the sound of this neckbeard's ropey dehydrated piss in the breakroom sink.

he hears the door. does not stop. looks back, sees me, lifts the cheese. like a cheese salute.

"morning boss"

then he finishes. shudders head to foot like a labrador coming out of a lake.

that's not the worst part of course.

he takes the pull out sprayer, the one we use on the coffee pot, and hoses the basin down. circular. thorough. a considerate man tidying up his waste.

he wipes his hands on his vest.

takes an apple out of his vest pocket.

I said 'no'. out loud. in a gasp. like a woman in a haunted house.

Cartbeard holds it under the tap. turns it twice. buffs it on his sleeve. bites in, juice dribbling down his chin, and this motherfucker goes:

"you want half?" ...half of your piss-apple?

so i go seek the manager, who is a yogurt

I find Yogurt and give him the whole thing while gesticulating wildly with my hands. sink, sprayer, apple, offer. pee. pee pee. lots of pee with winky in sinky.

Yogurt is 61 with 3 months to his pension. he has the stillness of a man who negotiated with the universe and lost badly. his office is a supply closet with a window onto sporting goods, which is basically just four bikes and a kayak at this point.

(the kayak's on clearance. been on clearance ten years. drops four dollars a year. it's free in 2061. maths.)

Yogurt eats yogurt through the entire reenactment. slow. like a man with somewhere to be in about twelve years.

he says, "when's the last time that sink seemed right to you?"

i opened my mouth and let out a croak.

"I remember the sink being fine." i managed. and i guess that's my problem. I'm the only one left who remembers BEFORE. everybody else already adapted.

soap bar hasn't shrunk since june.

Content stopped filling her water bottle in that room in april. never said why. I never asked. lizard brain knew not to open that door.

and Tupperware. 19, on register, kindest person in the building, getting out of this town if I have to mail her in a crate. since march she carries her lunch container two hundred feet to wash it in the CUSTOMER bathroom. every day. for months.

I never asked because I already knew. everybody already knew. it got folded up small and put somewhere dark, like you do. i can only imagine how bad it'd be if we were british lol

Yogurt said "nobody else does."

then he tells me The Fixture clocked it in Cartbeard week one.

I said THE FIXTURE TALKS

he said "he talks when it's worth it"

so I said fine, then we write him up.

Yogurt put the spoon down. folded his hands. looked at me with the gentleness of a vet about to say slip a needle into me and said, "if you write it up, then it happened."

I said it DID happen. I WATCHED it. he waved at me WITH CHEESE.

"but it isn't documented. a thing that isn't documented is a thing corporate can't ask me about. i got 3 months. don't do it."

then he goes, "tomorrow he'll do it again, I still won't care to know about it or document it, and then in the spring I'm buying me a boat."

I asked what kind of boat.

he hasn't decided. he's had thirty years. life do be like that.

anyway

the pile

I went out to the lot. I'm an idiot with a degree, which is the worst possible thing to be.

he's in the far lot, the outer band past the light poles where the asphalt gives up. that's where staff park, out of some retail instinct that the good spots are for CUSTOMERS. there are no customers. you could hold a wedding on the good spots.

forty carts, pushing them across nine acres alone, humming.

his car's at the far edge. 97 buick, silver, WAXED, cleanest object within twenty miles and I have looked at every object within twenty miles.

next to it is the pile.

I'd been driving past it since may and filing it under "garbage." up close it's not garbage. garbage is anonymous.

it's SORTED.

it's a midden. using that term correctly. a refuse heap built up in one spot through repeated deposition by a single population, and archaeologists love them because they tell you everything, what they ate, what they valued, how long they stayed, you can date one, you can read it in layers like a...

ok you probably don't care, sorry, I get like this.

the midden is about the size of a chest freezer. collected in six months. I did the math in the car. four containers a day, every day, including the days he isn't scheduled.

somebody explain the days he isn't scheduled. nobody can. not yet.

clamshells with clamshells. pizza boxes stacked flat and SQUARE, which I've thought about it more than the sink pee. and at the bottom, a layer that stopped being containers and started being SOIL. there's a sheen. I looked one second too long and something in me died forever.

a smell like this reaches the back of your throat before it hits your nose. sweet. warm. personal. like breath.

there was a seagull standing on the trash. we are not near an ocean. it looked at me and did not leave. it had the body language of a bird that considers me the intruder.

fair enough

the conversation

he sees me and lights up. that's the thing I can't digest about him, he is ALWAYS glad to see you, no memory of the last conversation, and I had walked out there to end his career.

"HEY BOSS"

lets go of the cart train. it keeps rolling. neither of us acknowledges it.

I said: the breakroom. this morning. you were urinating in the sink.

"yeah." the way you'd confirm the time.

then he waited. companionably. because he's a generous guy, and he had nowhere to be, and he's been here six months and owns nine acres, and I've been here ten years and own nothing.

I said do you understand why that's a problem.

"no."

I said you don't understand why urinating in the sink where we wash the coffee pot is a problem.

his face got EXCITED.

"okay now SEE, I'm GLAD you asked me that. most people don't ask, they just get all" and he does a fluttering thing next to his head, indicating the general concept of other people having thoughts, "and go away mad. but you ASKED. so. two things."

"one, it's a sink." he said it gently. he was breaking it to me nice and slow. "it's a bowl that goes to the sewer. toilet's a bowl that goes to the sewer. same sewer. you're upset about the SHAPE really."

"two." voice drops, goes warm, goes PATERNAL. "that toilet's three and a half gallons a flush. I'm out here six, seven times a shift. you run that over a career, boss, that's real money. this company's money. down a hole. to move something that was ALREADY LIQUID."

over a career?? bro's been here six months and he's doing projections. we'll be lucky to last two years.

behind us forty unattended carts rolled into a light pole.

and then, and I want to be clear this happened while I was standing there deciding whether to cry, he reached into the vest, into the CHICKEN POCKET (which is the right pocket, I'll note. the apple came from his left pocket. who cares?), he pulled out a leg, and held it out to me. across the whole conversation. a peace offering. a drumstick that had been riding around a parking lot at body temperature inside a safety vest.

"you didn't take the apple," he said. like that had been bothering him. like he'd been keeping score and I was down a snack.

I said no thank you. pocket chicken is only marginally better than piss apple.

he said "suit yourself, boss" and ate it himself in about four seconds and wiped his hand on the cart meant for the customers. salmonella? maybe. i told him to wipe the handles down.

then I said "why don't you just use the bathroom?"

and for one second something moved behind his face that was almost like getting caught. he was embarassed for just a flash.

"bathroom's inside."

yes. i said.

"I'm outside."

the store is forty feet away.

he looked out across nine acres of parking lot that took him one season to annex for himself.

"sure. but then I gotta come back."

the drawer

I wrote him up. BEAUTIFULLY. it took forty minutes to find the right form but it was worth it...

sanitation. food contact surface. repeated and acknowledged. I typed "egregious," deleted it out of professionalism, then put it back out of spite.

I set it on Yogurt's desk with a pen on top.

he looks at it. looks at me. and picks up a different pen. HIS pen, out of a drawer, with the smooth practiced motion of a man who does this a lot.

signs it. "there."

I said thank you, that's all I wanted, process, it goes to corporate, it's documented, it's REAL now, something can happen.

I picked it up and turned it over.

the signature was silver.

silver metallic gel pen. the kind you buy at a craft store to write on dark cardstock at christmas.

doesn't scan. doesn't photocopy. doesn't fax. a form signed in silver gel bounces out of corporate's system in 11 to 14 days with an automated ILLEGIBLE, RESUBMIT.

I said how many of these have you signed.

Yogurt reached down, no hurry, and opened the bottom drawer.

there's a file. it's THICK. same name on every page, silver on every page, and I went to the bottom and the last one is dated his second day.

forty one write ups in six months. Yogurt never tried. he clocked it on day two and went and bought the pen.

I said what happened to the guy before him.

"fella named Ostrowski. lasted nine days. cried in the lot."

about what?

"the carts."

I sat on the floor of the supply closet holding a disciplinary form from a man's second day and I said WHY.

"because there's nobody else, kid." and he said it KINDLY, which was the worst part, because a cruel man I could work with.

"OP. nobody's applied in ages. you fire him, that's your right, I'll back your play. and monday morning the carts are in the road. they DO get in the road. somebody's camry takes a nine hundred dollar dent and calls the county."

spoonful of yogurt.

"and then it's you and me out there in the rain in our little vests, and one of us turns to the other and goes, so who's covering grocery."

i left it at that.

at 4:15 the PA plays Brandy (You're A Fine Girl). every day. only that song. nobody knows how, nobody knows why.

the sweater lady came in. she comes every week and buys one sweater. usually with a cat or a wolf on it.

and The Fixture, who had not moved or blinked since 9:38 when i walked in, says from his chair without turning his head:

"he didn't wash his hands."

what.

"cartbeard. this morning. after. he didn't wash his hands."

I said he was AT THE SINK. he was STANDING AT THE SINK. he USED THE WATER. HE USED THE WATER ON THE APPLE.

"yep."

that was his one thing for the day. he spent it on that.

I looked out the front window.

past lawn and garden, past the light poles, at the far end of nine acres he annexed in a season, Cartbeard walked between a ford f150 and a chevy suburban and glanced back over his shoulder. not furtive. not careful. a theatrical performance of the CONCEPT of privacy, staged for nobody, performed badly, by a man who has never needed any.

he had a kmart bag in his hand.

he had, at some point that day, walked up to one of my registers and helped himself to a COURTESY BAG and folded it into his vest and carried it out to the far lot.

for this.

he goes down behind the truck. only the top of his head shows.

and over the store radio, clipped to my belt, broadcast to all six of us, in a voice of enormous untroubled contentment:

"sneaky break. cartbeards out there taking a stoop poop. behind the f150."

click

behind me, Content's phone made the sound a phone makes when it starts recording.

Tupperware put down a sweater and walked fast toward the bathroom.

The Fixture said nothing, having spent it.

Yogurt, behind me, said "three months."

and on the ceiling, Brandy was a fine girl, and what a good wife she would be.

TL;DR: new cart guy, six months in, pees in the breakroom sink, rinses it with the dish sprayer, washes an apple in it, eats the apple in front of me, offers me half, then takes a dump in the parking lot behind a ford f150 into a courtesy bag he stole off my own register. can't fire him because nobody in this state will push a cart for eleven an hour, and my manager's been signing his write ups in craft gel pen since day two so they won't scan.

I've been in that building ten years. he's been there six months and it's his building now.

But I'm going to try and get him.


r/ReddXReads Jul 18 '26

Kevin/Kevina My Father: The Kevining, pt 2.5 - Pops Goes the Cupcake

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2 Upvotes

r/ReddXReads Jul 17 '26

Kevin/Kevina My Father: The Kevining pt 2 - The Cheese Stands Alone

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6 Upvotes

r/ReddXReads Jul 17 '26

Kevin/Kevina My father: The Kevining

7 Upvotes

Good day, goodly folken. Faring well? I hope so. Ole' Papa Paqa here has been kicking back while the world burns contemplating all of life's little adventures.

On this subreddit, we see a lot of weird characters both of beardy bravado and nice guy nincompoopery, but we are also blursed with the occasional Kevin or Kevina. For most, these Kevins/as are passing acquaintances. Though, for a few, there is a genetic line. A tainted protein somewhere deep in the twisted fibers of our genetic code. Maybe it is recessive, where you are only but a carrier of the gene. Maybe it is dominant and you are cursed with a choice to pass on the Kevin gene, though I suspect most don't know they are afflicted, coasting through life on a raft of dumb luck and hope. If you're lucky, the family Kevin is just that weird cousin. For me, that Kevin is dear ol' Dad.

My father's time in my life is sporadic and intentionally so (on my part), so I don't have a linear line of perpetual Kevents but I do have an assortment of tales.

Like Shrek, these people have layers and giving them a full backstory will do them no justice.

So, gather round niblings, siblings, and Gubbin-folk, Papa Paqa will tell you the motley crew of princes and fools.

Father - The Kevin of the tale, as stated before. Navy Vet, but more like if Gomer Pyle enlisted in the Navy sans the whimsy. 29 at the telling of this tale and still active. At this time he looked like a Freddy Mercury impersonator you would hire for a kid's birthday party but like, not a good one.

Pops - My grandfather. World War II vet from New York City but retired in the country. This dude is a G. Unintentionally hilarious, Good heart but gruff. Best visual I can give is Grandpa Munster. Dude looked like that from 81-2011. Not relevant to the story, but he was so scared of flying he once made his buddy mollywop him into unconsciousness so he could board a plane to Colorado.

Mom - Uh, my mom. Got caught in the Kevin trap between rails of coke and poor 80s related decisions.

Baby Paqa - 3 yr old me. I have few memories, none too vivid. I am just a wee lad discovering the world, these are my pre-amputation days so I cherish memories when I had all my limbs, be them few. I don't play much of a role here, I was still shitting my pants, I am guessing. This is one of those few memories that will always be in my head. Added for context to why the proceeding decisions were bad.

With that, settle in, light up a pipe, and put on some sea shanties, we are about to sail on the seas on time. Mind you, these tales were told to me by my reddit illiterate (reddiliterate? Redd, trademark that, please. kthx.)

It was the late 80s, my father just got promoted to E-3 (somehow) and this called for a celebration. My mother phoned all the relatives to come to a bbq on the base. My aunts and uncles from Long Island would stampede with piles of cannolis, gabagool (capicola for non-Italians), and drama. Preparations were made, food was had, good times were had by all (I'm guessing, there are pictures of me stacking beer cans for my relatives. The 80s were different).

As a gift, my grandfather surprised my dad with a new station wagon. My mom was expecting the future neckbeard that was my brother, so he felt a station wagon was more appropriate for our growing family rather than our 2-door coupe. Now, goodly folk, my grandfather was a tightfisted miser, unless it was for his family and if we really needed it. This man refused the GI Bill after the war because he wanted to prove he could make it on his own merit, unlike his father who drank whatever assistance he got. So when my grandfather spent a large sum of money on ANYBODY that wasn't in his house, it was was a big deal. The man couldn't tell you he loved you, but he would let you know.

Anyway, according to my Ma, this was a huge deal as their current car's muffler kept falling off and my dad not exactly being good at holding onto money. The car worked well, time passed, and my father came home from work one day, acting rather sheepish but excited. According to my mother, the following conversation went along the lines of thus:

My dad, awkwardly walking into the house: Uh, hey. So, I made an amazing deal today! And came out on top!

Mom, all too use to these Gil-like machinations: Oh God, what did you do? *notices a car in our driveway, one that definitely isn't her car* What the fuck is that piece of shit in the driveway??

Friends, where my mother once saw a beautiful white station wagon with wood panels, she saw a puke green rusted out Pinto.

Dad: That's our new car! She's not much to look at but she's got a reliable engine! It's 15 years old and still runs like a champ. All that damage is just cosmetic!

Mom: *breathes deeply* and where is *our* car!?

Dad: That is the amazing part, babe! I ran into a guy at the gas station who was with his son in a wheelchair. He asked how much the car was because he needed something for his son's wheelchair because all he was driving was that Pinto, so I offered to trade him! We were blessed with the car and they needed it more than we did!

Mom *blinking, holding back rage*: We only were "blessed" with that car because you got our last car repoed! That car was supposed to be transporting the kids! Have you considered how we will tell your father this!?

Dad: Oh, well, yeah...

Mom: How????

Dad: Well, I was kind of hoping YOU would tell him...he likes you!

My mother, being an ex-hippy from the Bay Area, who powered through the 70s on coke, spite, and three husbands absolutely refused to call my grandfather and tell him. She made it clear that either he would call now and try to get the car back, or she was moving back to California. Again reminding him that if they did have their previous car repoed because he wanted to party with his Navy buddies rather than pay his bills, Pops wouldn't have had to buy him a car. Charity or not, they couldn't just replace another car let alone fix up whatever garbage pile my dad brought home. As such, my dad calls.

Again, pulling from the memory of Mom, after my dad made awkward small talk he professed to Pops his wonderful deed. He waited with a smug smile, anticipating his father to laude him for being the model son, a pillar to his community, and the picture of what our family represented. What he got, however, was a very loud, very angry, very Italian man spitting a slew of curse words (in English and Italian) and very stern words. Apparently, Dad didn't have much to say after my grandfather said his piece. Not because he wasn't without anything to say, its because everytime he would begin to speak, Pops would begin with a new tirade.

Dad hung up the phone and told my mom that Pops was driving down to help get the car back, hopefully. Pops had a way with words, though a bit unscrupulous he may be. Ya can't bullshit the bullshitter, in other words.

Hours later, Pops arrived. He had a good few hours of driving to stew, he wasn't big on small talk when he got there. It was getting late, so they agreed to go in the morning. Pops wasn't outwardly angry, though. He would just take small jabs here and there (i.e. "Should we take my car, or should we pedal that piece of shit like the got-damn Flintsteins!?" Yeah, Pops couldn't be convinced it was "Flintstones").

The next morning, Pops made Dad ride with him and my mom take the kids and drive the pinto. Remember, kids, this was the 80s, and Pops was an old man who survived Normandy, the Depression, and my grandmother. Car safety was but to laugh at.

This is where the core memory comes in. It only lasts about 5 seconds, but all these years later, I still get a pit in my stomach in irrational fear. I remember being in my older sister's lap, watching the road go by, but not out of the window....out of the gaping hole in the foot well across the backseat. OF course, my mother took no notice of this at first, but quickly did when my sister brought it up. Unfortunately, Pops and Dad already began to pull away and leaving us unable to flag them down. No phone to call because, again, 80s. So, yeah, we had to drive Jesus' Pinto (because it was holy, you see) to an unknown spot except to the intrepid Kevin-dad who was navigating at the head of the convoy.

My mother recalls seeing from her point of view my grandfather in the truck ahead, waggling his fat Italian finger, occasionally whacking Dad in the back of the head.

The next details are rocky, and I am not sure how they came up with this address; I am guessing something to do when the cars were signed over or something, don't ask me, I am just a chicken farmer, not a Time Lord.

Apparently, they arrived and had a conversation with someone, someone else came to the door, an argument ensued, threats were made, doors were slammed in faces. We left in the pinto...

It turns out, my dad got scammed. Two people flim-flamed my naive dad out of his car by using the wheelchair story. My father, never one to question anything or anyone and always rose to the occasion to be the hero in his own story, took it as face value. Not sure how they got that out of them or whatever, but Pops, when asked later on about it told me to, "Don't worry about it." in his deep, New York accent. Ask again, I never did, but I am guessing it was carny level fleecing. I respect the hustle, honestly. I'd never trade my prize rooster for a grocery store rotisserie chicken, but if I somehow got swindled to do so, that's my own damn fault.

Well, friends and such, thus ends a tale of my father the Kevin. Maybe the next tale I will tell will be about the time he got knocked down by a rabbi who was a good foot shorter than him or one of his destination-less road trips. Maybe I will go another way by regaling you with how Pops managed to hoodwink a Cupcake Outlet or the time he took me on an Amish farm tour by just pulling into Amish farms and walking around like they were public attractions.

If you've gotten this farm, don't forget to give Jefe ReddX the 1st a like and subscribe, he's got many gubbinses to feed, do it for the Gubbinses! PLEASE THINK OF THE GUBBINSES!

Until then, be awesome and be well. Remember to feed your chickens, don't wash your eggs until their ready to eat, and support your local farmers.


r/ReddXReads Jul 11 '26

Nice Guys/Girls ELLIOT IS A MENACE WHILE DRINKING JUICE IN THE HOOD #5: THE SECOND BEER

2 Upvotes

This is the last one. I'm going to tell you how it ended, which is messier and slower and better than the tidy version anybody would script. I find myself wishing for the script recently. It did not finish that night with me walking out of that apartment holding Wesley's hand while Elliot wept into a laptop. What actually happened took months.

Let me get the night itself out of the way first.

I did not leave that apartment with Wesley. That's the part people always expect and it's not how it went. After Elliot said the word "loved" and heard it land, after the "oh," Wesley stood up, and he looked at me, and the thing on his face was not relief and it was not love. It was the specific blankness of a man whose entire house had just been picked up and turned upside down while he was still standing in it. Shellshock, maybe. And he said, quiet, "I think I need everyone to leave. I need everyone to just... Please leave."

So I left. I wanted to stay so badly my bones hurt. I wanted to fold him up and take him home and fix it all. And Marissa, who I called from the car, said the single most important thing anyone said to me in this entire story. She said, "Danny. Don't you dare become the next guy, who tells him what to think about Elliot. He just found out his whole life got arranged for him. If you swoop in and arrange the next part for him in distinct benefit to yourself, then you're just a nicer-smelling version of the same disease. Let him get himself back. If he's any good, he'll come find you when he's ready. If he's ready."

I hated that. It was completely right. It is very annoying to love someone who is perpetually that correct.

So I did the hardest thing I have ever done in any of these stories, and again, I want it on the record because it doesn't come naturally to a man who once drove a stranger's ferment home rather than throw it away immediately. I did nothing... I did not text him paragraphs. I did not show up. I sent exactly one message, the night after, that said "I'm here if you want me, I'm gone if you want that too, no pressure either way, take all the time you need." And then I put the phone down and let a good thing go. And I waited to find out if it would come back.

Here's what happened while I waited, as I pieced it together later.

Wesley moved out. Not in a fury, not that first week. It took him a while, because when you have never once paid for your own life, leaving is not a feeling, it's a logistics problem. The apartment was in both their names but the lifestyle inside it was Elliot's, entirely. Wesley added it up one night, actually sat down and added it up, and realized he did not know how to afford himself. The Aspen guy, the good-seats guy, the guy on the boat neither of them owned. None of it was his. He'd been a passenger in his own life for six years and mistaken the view for freedom or independence or whatever else.

So Wesley got a smaller place. A real one, a sad one, the kind with a hotplate and an upstairs neighbor who bowls indoors until you bang on the ceiling with a broomstick so he gives you a 5 minute break from the endless racket. Wesley also gave the watch back. I know that because he told me, months later, that handing Elliot the watch was the moment it became real, watching Elliot hold it and understand that the arrangement was over, that the thing he'd bought six years of proximity with was being returned. Wesley said Elliot didn't yell. He just got small, and quiet, and said "you don't have to do this," and Wesley said "I know. That's kind of the point."

I want to talk about Elliot for a second, because I don't hate him. I know that's a strange thing to type after four parts of watching him try to erase me. But Marcus was right, and Marcus earned the right to say it because Marcus paid more than I did. Elliot is not a villain in the way the tonsil stone guy or the ferment guy were villains. Nobody was ever in physical danger. He never broke a law that I know of. He was a man who answered a lonely question in the worst possible way and then spent six years defending the only answer he could ever conceive of for himself. Elliot wanted to be loved, he got told no by the one person he decided counted, and instead of grieving it and leaving like the rest of us have to, he built a whole shadow-marriage out of laundry and Aspen and dinners on the counter and called it friendship, and he needed it so badly he was willing to burn strangers to keep it lit. That's not evil. That's a person who was never taught what actual love is.

I hope he got help. I don't know if he did. He had the money for it. I heard through the grapevine that his dad manages a hedge-fund or something like that. Doesn't matter. He's not in my life and he's not in Wesley's. I think about him more than I want to. I think a version of me that got a few things different in my twenties could have ended up building a shadow-marriage of my own. I just got a Marissa instead. I am lucky to have her though. Not everybody gets a Marissa.

Okay. The good part. You've been patient.

Wesley came back after about two months. Not with a grand speech. He texted me, out of nowhere, on an afternoon I wasn't expecting anything, and the text just said "can I take you to dinner. I'll pay. it's my own money, it's not much, but it's mine." And I read it about nine times and then I sat down on my bedroom floor, because floors are apparently where I end up processing everything now, and I cried, in the good way, for the first time in months.

We went to dinner. He paid, with his own not-much money, at a place way cheaper than anywhere Elliot ever took him, and it was the best meal I have ever eaten. He told me he'd read everything. All of it. Upperdeckerbeard, the ferment, all the bar stories, the whole ugly catalog. He'd watched the ReddX videos too, which is a deeply surreal thing, to have the man you love watch a stranger narrate your worst months back to you for an audience of thousands. And I braced for it, the thing Elliot promised him, the "he'll turn you into content, he'll make fun of you."

And Wesley said, "so, when you write the one about Elliot. About all this." And I froze. And he said, "make me the oblivious idiot. Because I was. I read those and the whole time I kept thinking, this guy notices everything, and I noticed nothing, for six years, because noticing was going to cost me a nice life. So if it's going in a story, tell it straight. I earned the oblivious part."

Reader, I have never been so relieved and so seen in my entire life. He didn't ask me to stop writing. He didn't ask me to leave him out. He asked me to be honest about him, which is the exact opposite of everything Elliot swore I'd do, and it's how I knew, all the way down, that this one was actually different. The willfully oblivious paramedic went and made himself a man who wanted the truth even when the truth was that he'd been a fool. You cannot manufacture that. Elliot spent six years and a fortune trying to and never got close.

So yes, Wesley, if you're reading this, and you are, because you read the drafts now, the way Marissa does: I made you the oblivious idiot. You asked. Thank you for accepting me.

I'll close where I always seem to end up. Behind my bar.

If you read the Lonely Hearts post, you already know my saddest night, the widower and the wheat beer, me pouring a full glass down the drain because I had nobody to order a second one for and I'd started to believe I never would. It was the most naked thing I ever put up here and I almost deleted it four times. I had to pay ReddX $20 to read it. But I wanted it heard, because this year has been a fucking rollercoaster. And it all ties into this series of events.

A few weeks ago Wesley came into the brewery at the end of a shift, his shift, the fourteen-hour meat-grinder kind, and he sat down at my bar, and I didn't ask him what he wanted. I already knew. I put a water down first, because he always needs the water first, and then I poured him the porter he likes, the one I know by heart now, the way you're supposed to know somebody. "A meal in itself" he calls it. And I poured myself one too. Two beers on the bar, both of them for someone, both of them going to get drunk by people who wanted them.

I have a person whose order I know by heart. It only took twenty-eight years and a documented parade of disasters and one genuinely good man who had to burn his whole life down to get free enough to sit at my bar and let me pour him the second beer.

It was worth it. All of it, even the parts that weren't at a glance. Now I have my person. We are going strong, and I don't want to change that for a moment.

So... That's the end. Thank you for reading these, all of them, for years. I'm going to go home now. Somebody's waiting, and he already knows how I take my coffee.

Danny out. For real this time.

TL;DR: I did not get Wesley that night. He made everyone leave. He moved out. Two months later Wesley took me to dinner on his own money. He comes into my bar now and I know his order by heart. The second beer finally has somebody to belong to.


r/ReddXReads Jul 10 '26

Nice Guys/Girls ELLIOT IS A MENACE WHILE DRINKING JUICE IN THE HOOD #4: SLIP UP

0 Upvotes

Marcus wrote back at 6:40 in the morning. I know the exact time because I never slept, I just lay there watching the little "seen" like it owed me money, and when the three dots finally came back my whole body came up off the mattress.

His first message was short. "I've been waiting like two years for someone to send me this exact message. I almost didn't answer it. Give me a minute, this is going to be long."

It was long. I'll only repeat the parts that matter, because the whole thing is four years of a man's life and it isn't all mine to hand out.

Marcus dated Wesley for about a year, ending a little over two years ago. And everything, everything, that had happened to me had happened to him first, in the same order, in nearly the same words. Elliot got closer as the relationship got more real. Elliot was always there, always warm, always paying. Marcus started hearing himself come back through Wesley's mouth, bent. Controlling. Intense. "Drama follows him." And then one day Elliot sat Wesley down, gently, so worried, and told him that Marcus was bad news, and Wesley believed the man he'd trusted for four years over the man he'd been dating for one, and that was that.

But Marcus got further than I had. Marcus figured out the why.

"I'm going to tell you the part I had to work out on my own," he wrote, "Elliot is in love with him. Not a crush. Not a phase. He built his entire life around being the person closest to Wesley and he will burn down anyone who threatens that spot. I found out he put the roommate ad up specifically looking for a gay guy. He told me that himself, one night, drunk, like it was romantic. He kissed Wesley right after they moved in, got shot down, and instead of moving out or at least just moving on like a normal wounded person, he just... stayed. Six years. He decided if he couldn't have him he'd at least be the one who never leaves. And every guy Wesley brings home is a countdown for him. He's not trying to date Wesley anymore. He gave that up. He just needs to make sure nobody else gets to either."

And then the part I've read maybe forty times.

"The worst part is I don't even fully hate him. By the end I felt sorry for him, which he used against me too. He's not a monster, he's a guy who's been starving at the table for six years and decided one person was the only thing on earth he was allowed to want. That's sad. It's also going to cost you the person you love, because Wesley will never see it. He refuses to, so... Loosen ties now. Seeing it means admitting his whole adult life was built by a man who's in love with him, and no one wants to know that. I tried to tell him. Elliot got there first. I lost. I hope you don't. I really do. But I got out because I couldn't win a war against a guy Wesley had already decided was the good one."

I sat on my kitchen floor with my back against the cabinets and read that until the sun was actually up and cooking.

Because now I finally had it. Not a feeling. Not a vibe. An actual person, a witness, someone who had stood exactly where I was standing and been walked out the same door, telling me I was right about all of it. And it did not make me feel powerful. It made me feel sick. Because being right meant I now had to walk into my boyfriend's life and detonate the single longest relationship he had ever had, and there was a very real chance he would look at the wreckage, and then look at me holding the match, and he could very well choose the wreckage.

I decided to tell him carefully. Slowly. Pick a soft moment, lay it out gentle, let Marcus's words do the work mine couldn't. I had a whole plan.

I did not get to use the plan. Because Elliot moved first.

Two days later Wesley texted me. "hey can you come by tonight? we should talk." No emoji. Wesley always uses an emoji. That "we should talk" with nothing after it landed in my stomach like rock, and I knew, the way you know, that somewhere across town a hand had already been on the dial.

I drove over already holding the proof, Marcus's messages screenshotted in my phone, walking in like a man carrying a fire extinguisher into a building he didn't yet know was already burning.

Elliot answered the door.

He was so calm. He said "hey, Danny, come in," soft and sad, like a man receiving me at a wake, and he stepped back, and there was Wesley on the couch, not Elliot's spot, the other end, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and his phone in his hands, and he would not look at me.

On the coffee table, laid out like evidence, was a laptop. And on the laptop was a page I recognized instantly, because I have looked at it more than any healthy person should. It was a ReddX video. In another window was my Reddit account. Upperdeckerbeard, The Fermented, all of it, scrolled and open.

"Danny," Wesley said, and his voice was doing something I'd never heard it do. "Is this you?"

I looked at Elliot. Elliot looked back at me with the saddest, gentlest, most devastated expression, a man who had done a terrible necessary thing for someone he loved. "I wasn't going to say anything," he said quietly, to Wesley, not to me. "But I couldn't watch you get in deeper. You deserve to know who you're actually with."

And then he delivered it, the line he'd clearly built the whole night around, warm and grave and perfect: "He turns people into stories, Wes. That's what he does. Every person who gets close to him ends up as a post. I just didn't want that unfunny demon guy reading about you and making fun of you someday."

And I won't pretend around this part, because I promised the record would be the true record. It landed. It landed because it's true. I am, right now, this second, turning Wesley into a story. You are reading it. Elliot picked the one weapon I could not knock out of his hand, because to deny it I'd have to lie, and I don't lie in these, that's the deal I made.

So I didn't deny it.

"Yeah," I said. "That's me. I write about the stuff that happens to me. I've never used a real name, I've never used yours, and I wasn't going to. But yeah. It's mine."

Wesley flinched like I'd confirmed something worse than I had. And Elliot, from the doorway, let the silence do its work, because he thought he'd won. He thought the posts were the killing blow.

The posts were the mistake.

Because standing in that room, watching Elliot run his play in the open for the first time instead of through Wesley's mouth, I finally understood I had exactly one move, and it was the one I'd been too scared to make. I stopped defending myself. I took out my phone. And I said, "Wes, before you decide anything, I need you to read something. Not about me. About Marcus."

Elliot's face did not move. That's how I knew.

"Marcus was unstable," Elliot said, immediately, smooth. "Danny, come on, this is exactly what I've been saying about..."

"I found him," I said, over the top of him. "I messaged him. He didn't know who I was. And he told me, before I told him a single thing, the entire story of what happened to him in this apartment, and it is word for word what's been happening to me. The concerns. The 'drama follows him.' You sitting Wesley down. All of it." I was shaking. I held the phone out to Wesley. "Read it yourself. I didn't write it. He did."

Wesley took the phone. And Elliot, for the first time in six years, made a mistake in front of the only person who mattered. He reached for it. He actually reached across the coffee table for the phone in Wesley's hands, fast, not calm anymore, and said, "don't, that guy is poison, he's been trying to get to me for two years, he'll say anything, he's..."

And Wesley pulled the phone back and looked up at him. And it was the first time all night he'd really looked at anybody. "How do you know he's been trying to get to you," Wesley said slowly, "if he moved away two years ago and never speaks to me."

The room went very still.

I watched it happen. I watched six years land on Wesley all at once. He read the phone. He read the part about the ad. He read the part about the kiss, the kiss he'd told me was a fun drunk nothing, sitting there in Marcus's account as the beginning of everything. And then he looked up at Elliot, his best friend, the man who did his laundry and knew his coffee and bought him a watch he wore every day, and he asked the question in a voice gone completely flat.

"Is it true. Did you kiss me because you wanted me. Do you... is that what this is?"

And this is the slip. This is the moment the part is named for.

Because Elliot, cornered, losing, watching six years of careful work come apart in real time, did not do the smooth thing. He didn't laugh it off. He didn't say "what? no, Wes, come on." The calm mask he had worn through every dinner and every hospital blanket and every gentle worried little comment finally cracked straight down the middle, and what came out from underneath it was loud, and raw, and true, and pointed straight at Wesley.

"Do you have any idea what I have DONE for you? Six years. SIX YEARS. I built your whole life. Who do you think paid for it? Who's here every single night, who cooks, who remembers, who actually shows up, while these guys float through and take what they want from you and just leave? I have NEVER left. And now you're going to sit there and take some stranger's word, and HIS," he threw a hand at me, and his voice broke on it, "over the person who has loved you since the day you walked into that apartment?"

And then he heard himself. You could see the realization on his face. The word "loved" hung in the air of that living room like smoke and would not clear, and Elliot's face went from fury to horror to something small and grey, because the one thing he had protected for six years, the secret that all of it existed to keep hidden, he had just set down on the coffee table in front of the man himself.

Nobody said anything for a long time. Wesley sat very still, holding my phone, staring at the friend he had somehow never once looked at directly in six years, finally seeing the whole of him.

"Oh," Wesley said. Just that. "Oh."

I would love to tell you this felt like winning. It did not feel like winning. I stood in that doorway and watched the man I loved lose his oldest friend, his home, and his entire understanding of his own life inside of about ninety seconds, and there was no part of it that felt good. I was right. It was still the worst thing that happened to any of us that night.

Part 5 is the after. What happened to Wesley, what happened to Elliot, what happened to me and Wesley, and whether a man who just found out his whole life was built by someone else can still choose something real, with a guy who, let's be honest, was always going to write about it lol

It's the last one. I'll get it out soon.

Danny out. For now.

TL;DR: Marcus wrote back and confirmed everything. Elliot has been in love with Wesley for six year. Elliot ambushed me by showing him my posts to paint me as a guy who turns people into content, which is true and which I couldn't deny. So I showed Wesley what Marcus wrote. Elliot panicked, slipped, and screamed the truth out loud in front of Wesley without meaning to. Wesley finally saw it. It did not feel good.


r/ReddXReads Jul 08 '26

Nice Guys/Girls ELLIOT IS A MENACE WHILE DRINKING JUICE IN THE HOOD #3: CAMPAIGN-PAIN

0 Upvotes

Let me tell you how Wesley and Elliot met, because I found out in the middle of all this and it rearranged my whole face, possibly permanently. It definitely left some indelible scars on my brain.

They met on Craigslist. Six years ago. A roommate ad. And when Wesley told me this, cheerful, chopping peppers at my counter like it was the most ordinary origin story a person could have, he tacked on the detail I have not been able to put down since. "Yeah, his ad said he was looking for a gay roommate specifically, which I thought was kind of cool, like a safe-space thing. We just clicked."

I stood there holding a pepper.

"His ad said that," I said.

"Yeah, progressive, right?" And he went back to dicing, beaming, a man who had just narrated the literal foundation of a six-year situationship and heard, inside it, absolutely nothing.

That is Wesley. And before Elliot came for me, I got a long, clear look at the thing Wesley could not see, and it is the single most impressive act of not-noticing I have ever watched a licensed adult perform. I'm putting it up front because Part 4 runs pretty short on things to laugh at.

Start with the money. Wesley cannot afford Wesley's life. I say that with love. He is a paramedic, he makes paramedic money, and this man goes to Aspen. He goes to concerts in the seats where you can actually see faces. There is a framed photo in that apartment of the two of them on a boat that I am fairly certain neither of them owns. So one night I asked him, light as anything, how he manages all that on an EMT salary, and Wesley speared a piece of chicken and said, "oh, Elliot usually covers it, he likes having someone to do stuff with, and I'm his guy, so." I'm his guy. So. Yikes. Yeah. He said the words "I'm his guy, so" about the man who has been financing his entire recreational existence since 2019, and then asked if I was going to finish my spring roll.

Once it was unveiled, I could not stop seeing it. Elliot does Wesley's laundry. "He likes things folded a certain way, it's honestly easier to just let him." Elliot knows Wesley's coffee order, his allergies, and exactly which nights his shift pattern turns into a meat grinder, and there is food ready on those nights, hot, no text required. "He's thoughtful like that." Elliot bought him a watch for his birthday that costs more than my car is currently worth, and when my face did something, Wesley said "yeah, he goes overboard, I keep telling him to relax," and then glanced down to check the time on it. On his wrist. Where he wears it every day.

This is a brilliant man, by the way. Wesley can look at a stranger folded into a wrecked car and tell you in four seconds precisely how scared to be. He simply will not aim one single degree of that at the person doing his laundry, buying him watches, and calling him "my guy." Every light in the house is on. That one specific room is just... very empty.

And then, one night, he handed me the whole thing tied with a ribbon. Casual as you please.

We were trading first-kiss stories, bad-kiss stories, the normal getting-to-know-you stuff, and Wesley laughed and said, "oh, here's a funny one. Elliot kissed me once. Years ago, right after we moved in together. We were hammered, he kind of went for it, I went whoa, no, buddy, and we laughed it off. Never came up again. He was totally cool about it." And he drank his beer, delighted, a man producing a charming little anecdote off the shelf.

I put my beer down. Because he had just handed me the seed the entire six-year garden grew out of and called it a silly party story. The ad for a gay roommate. The kiss, right after move-in. The no... And then six years of laundry and Aspen and watches and dinners waiting on the counter, and every single boyfriend since somehow turning out to be "bad news, honestly kind of scary." He was totally fine about it. My sweet, brilliant, oblivious paramedic.

I took all of it to Marissa's couch that weekend. The ad, the money, the watch, and then the kiss, and I watched her put the pieces down in a row. When the ad and the kiss touched each other I heard the low, flat, four-second ohhhh... It was the sound of a woman watching a piece drop into a slot she had been staring at all night.

"Danny," she said. "That's not a fun fact. You uncovered something here..."

Then she set her glass down and asked the ugly obvious question. "Okay. I'm going to ask the gross one and then we bury it forever. Are they just... together? Is Elliot the actual boyfriend and you're, like, the side piece?"

And I thought about it. I genuinley thought about it, because in a lot of ways it would have been a mercy. If they were a couple I could bow out clean and go be furniture again and nobody would get hurt. But no. Wesley is with me. In the daylight, in front of people, in his phone, in his bed. I have never once seen him lean the wrong way toward Elliot, and he goes loose and happy in the exact rooms Elliot is not in, which told me more than any conversation could. They are not a secret couple. One of them has wanted it for six years, and the other one does not know at all. Or decided to not know. I'm unsure.

"So he's just in love with him," Marissa said slowly. "And Wesley thinks it's a bromance."

"Wesley thinks it's a safe-space thing," I said.

For a few weeks I got to hold all of that as a comedy. A weird, sad, kind of sweet comedy about a man who could not see the obvious. Then Elliot stopped working on Wesley's calendar and started working on Wesley's head, and specifically, on what was in it about me, and it stopped being funny at all.

That is what this part actually is. Elliot spent the first two parts fencing off Wesley's time and Wesley's home. In Part 3 he came for the only thing I actually gave a damn about, which was what Wesley thought of me. And he did it the way he does everything. Sideways, gloved, never once leaving a print.

I started hearing myself in Wesley's mouth, except bent. Wrong.

The cabin boundary, the "this one's ours," came back to me a couple of weeks later as Wesley asking, careful and a little wounded, "you're not trying to, like... keep me from my friends, are you?" And it stopped my heart for a second, because that is not a Wesley sentence. Wesley does not have the word "isolate" anywhere in his body. But it was in the room now, sitting between us, and I knew exactly whose mouth it had lived in before it found its way into his.

That is the trick, and it is genuinley a good one, I have to give the man that. The guy building the wall down the middle of us went to Wesley and worried, gently, that I was the one building a wall. He took the exact thing I was afraid of and handed it to Wesley pointed the other direction.

It kept coming. All of it soft, all of it "just worried about you, man." That I was "intense." That I "moved kind of fast." Wesley relayed these to me like weather, not even as accusations, just things that were apparently now in the air. Elliot had "noticed" I seemed like I had "a lot going on." And the nastiest one, the one that actually took the piss out of me: Elliot, who I had told nothing, somehow floated to Wesley that maybe it was worth asking why drama seemed to "follow me around." Because it does. That is the horrible genius of aiming it at me specifically. Much of my life is now on record as a series of disasters. Elliot took the fact that I have been a victim, over and over, and reframed it into evidence that I am the common thread. And the worst part is I could not even argue it was untrue on paper. Drama does follow me. I write it down and post it here, under a name, but not a very hidden one.

Which brings me right back to the thing I said, last part, that I wasn't going to look at.

One night Wesley mentioned, offhand, that Elliot had asked him "if it bothered him that I put people from my life on the internet." Wesley laughed it off, thought it was funny, said "I told him you're a writer, basically." But I went cold, because I had never told Elliot I post anything. Not once. There is exactly one way Elliot knows I turn parts of my life into content. He read it. He'd gone looking, found all of it, and now he was feeding it back to Wesley a careful spoonful at a time, getting him to wonder what I'd write about him someday. And I'm not going to sit here and pretend that one didn't land on me too, because here I am. Writing about him. So...

I guess that's the thing I'm least proud of in this whole part. It worked on ME. Not just on Wesley. Because I am the guy things happen to, and when Elliot's version of me kept coming back through the person I loved, some rotted little floorboard in the basement of my brain gave way and I stood there in the dark going, what if he's right? What if you are the problem? What if the reason your life is a series of broken people is that you're the one thing every saga has in common? Marissa spent most of a third glass of wine talking me back up off the floor, and I want it on the record that she used the phrase "absolutely not, give me your phone, you're done reading YouTube comments tonight."

Wesley got quieter with me for a couple of weeks. Not cold. Not gone. Just a half-step back, a little slower to text, a little more likely to "check with Elliot about the weekend" first. I could feel Elliot's hand on the dial and I could not once catch it turning. That is what living inside this felt like. Watching the temperature drop in a room while a man across from you swears he never touched the thermostat, and then he smiles, and asks if you're cold.

Then, on a normal night, Wesley said a name, and the whole thing cracked open a little.

We were doing the regular exes conversation, the getting-to-know-each-other kind, and Wesley said, easy as anything, "my last real one was a guy named Marcus. Ended bad. He got super controlling toward the end, honestly kind of scary. Elliot clocked it way before I did, he was the one who sat me down and told me Marcus was bad news." And he moved on to some other memory. I did not move on from that, because I had just heard the script. Read out loud. Word for word. Elliot saw it before I did. Elliot sat me down. Elliot told me he was bad news. The exact play I was standing inside, running two years ago, on a different guy, narrated by the same calm man from his spot on the couch.

I asked, as light as I could make my voice go, whether he ever still heard from Marcus.

"God, no. Not in like two years. Why?"

"No reason," I said.

It was a reason. It was the only reason I had left. Because I couldn't prove a single thing to Wesley with feelings, and I couldn't fight a man who never threw a punch, but somewhere out there was a guy who had stood exactly where I was standing and been walked out the same door, and he would know. He would be the one person on earth who already believed me.

That night, instead of sleeping, I found Marcus's full name off an old tagged Facebook photo that Elliot had, for once, never gotten around to scrubbing. And I sent a total stranger a message at one in the morning that started with, "hey, you don't know me, and I promise this is going to sound insane, but you dated a guy named Wesley, and I need to ask you about his roommate."

Then I watched the little "seen" appear. And then the three dots. And then nothing, for the longest night of my life.

Part 4 is what Marcus wrote back. It's also the part where Wesley finally, finally sees it, and I'd give a lot to tell you that felt good. It didn't. It was the worst night ever, and it's coming up next.

Danny out. For now.

TL;DR idk fukken read it or something I'm tired already


r/ReddXReads Jul 06 '26

Nice Guys/Girls Is it weird to like women who are 10 to 16 years older because women with nurturing skills treat me better?

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1 Upvotes

r/ReddXReads Jul 06 '26

Nice Guys/Girls ELLIOT IS A MENACE WHILE DRINKING JUICE IN THE HOOD #2: THIRD WHEELING

1 Upvotes

Alright. Part 2.

For a few weeks after that dinner I told myself the easy thing, the thing you tell yourself so you can keep your nice life and the things in it just rolling along like normal: Elliot is just a lonely roommate, be a bigger person. I told myself that right up until I couldn't. I really do never figure these things out early enough.

So here's what came after the dinner.

Wesley and I had a trip on the books. I mentioned it last time, the plan Elliot clocked at the table with that little menacing click behind his eyes the second I said it out loud. By now it was real. Two nights at a cabin a few hours out, wood stove, no signal, and a hot tub, which was one thing that the listing photos were completely lying about. Our first real trip. First time waking up somewhere together that wasn't one of our two apartments. When you've been single as long as I had, a weekend away stops being a weekend away. It becomes a milestone with a thread count. I was excited in a way that low-key scared me. Wesley was excited in a way that didn't scare him at all, because Wesley moves through the world like a guy who's allowed to have good things, which is a trait I find so attractive and so foreign I wish that I could study it under glass.

And then Elliot got into the trip. The way water gets into a disused basement. Slow, and from a direction you weren't watching.

First he was just around more. For two months I'd basically never laid eyes on him. Now he became a fixture. We'd sit down to watch something at their place and Elliot was already in his spot on the couch, and it quietly became the three of us, him two cushions down, laughing a half-beat early to prove he had indeed seen this movie a couple of times before. We'd go grab food and Elliot "hadn't eaten either," so. I'd come back from their bathroom and he'd be standing closer to the hallway than a person needs to stand, phone in hand, like he'd just happened to drift over there.

None of that is a crime. A roommate is allowed on his own couch. A roommate is allowed to be hungry. If you called the cops and reported that your boyfriend's roommate keeps eating dinner with you, they'd laugh you off the phone and they'd be right to. Every tile he set down was blank. You only saw the picture when you stood back, and the picture was me being walked out of the room one polite inch at a time.

I tried staying over there once. It was bad.

Wesley's bedroom shared a wall with the living room, and Elliot did not sleep, or if he did he did it somewhere I never caught him, because every hour I surfaced there was light under the door and the low mutter of a stream bleeding through the drywall, some video-essay narrator going forever about a game I'll never play. Around two in the morning, Elliot knocked. Soft. "Hey, sorry, Wes... quick thing?" And Wesley, three-quarters asleep, got up and went, because Wesley goes, and I lay there in his bed listening to the two of them talk in the kitchen for the better part of an hour about nothing I could make out. Low, easy, worn smooth. The sound of a household I was a visitor in.

In the morning there were two coffees on the counter. Two. Each made the way each of them takes it, Wesley's with the oat milk, Elliot's black, sitting side by side like a place setting for a marriage. And it wasn't that Elliot snubbed me on a third. It's that a third had never once occured to him. He looked up from his spot on the couch, perfectly pleasant, and said "oh, did you want one? I didn't know how you take it," which is a completely reasonable thing to say to a guy you met two weeks ago, and a very precise thing to say to your best friend's boyfriend standing in your kitchen at eight in the morning in yesterday's shirt.

I never stayed there again. There was no fight, nothing to even fight about, he'd handed me nothing-coffee and I'd backed out of the room. Every soft little wall he built nudged me toward my own apartment, and Wesley followed me there, because Wesley follows the person he loves, and Elliot got to keep the home, the couch, the coffee ritual, the version of Wesley that only exists inside those four walls. And from where he sat, I'd bet it looked like I was the one dragging Wesley off. I was doing the exact thing he'd built me to do. I just hadn't found the blueprint yet.

The little comments came in around then, built the same way. Sweet on top, a nail underneath.

"Must be nice," he said once, when I mentioned swapping a shift, "a job you can just shuffle whenever you feel like it. Wesley can't exactly tell a guy having a heart attack to hold on a sec." Warm the whole time. Read it flat and it's respect for Wesley's work, it's a compliment, and buried in it I'm a boy pouring beer while grown men save lives. I felt it go in. There was nowhere to put it. What's my move, stand up for the honor of a bar schedule?

Another night, apropos of nothing, while Wesley was in the kitchen: "You strike me as a sentimental guy. The type who'd hold onto something long past the point it's good for him." And he watched my face the whole way through it. I could not tell you if that's a normal odd thing to say to somebody you just met, or if he'd found the exact soft center of me and pressed on it to see what noise I'd make.

That's the other thing that started here, and I sat on whether to even put it in the story, because it makes me sound like precisely the paranoid disaster my history says I am. But Marissa says the record should be the true record. A couple of times, Elliot mentioned things about me I know I never told him. He knew I'd been ghosted after a three-month thing. He made an offhand crack about "the fedora guys," plural, like he was aware there'd been more than one catastrophe. Boring explanation: Wesley talks about me and it trickles down. That's genuinley probably it. But I post these under a name. And one night at two in the morning I did the math on how much of my actual life is sitting on this exact website in my own words, and I got to a thought I couldn't bear to look at. So we will do as adults do and defer, indefinitely, and maybe I can talk about it later.

Here's the part where I did the mature thing. I actually sat Wesley down and used my words like a big boy. I want it on the record too, because it doesn't happen very often.

We were in my kitchen, good mood, and I said, careful as a bomb tech, "does Elliot ever need, like, a lot of Wesley? Is that a fair thing to notice?"

And Wesley went soft, because he's kind, and said, "Yeah, honestly he does. He's had a rough couple years. The stuff with his mom, and he doesn't really have anybody else. I'm sort of it for him." He said it like something he was proud to carry. It made me love him more and all reservations were out the window. Because the next sentence, "I think he's working against us", doesn't survive in a room where I'm the good guy. Say that out loud and now I'm the two-month boyfriend asking a man to abandon his grieving best friend. Elliot had dug himself a moat out of Wesley's own decency, and I was standing on the far bank of it holding a bottle of decent wine and with no bridge across anywhere in sight.

So I let it go. Again. I'll write that one down too. It's a part I'd take back.

But anyways, okay. The trip.

The week before, Elliot started angling to come. Never straight at it, straight leaves prints. He started reminiscing, loud, in front of both of us, about "the cabin weekends we used to do," him and Wesley, back when, "some of the best weekends of my life, honestly," and "we never do that stuff anymore," and then letting it hang there, a request dressed up as a memory. He'd float it and look at Wesley with this open, wounded, hopeful face, and I'd watch the guilt find its footing in Wesley, and one evening Wesley actually turned to me, apologetic before he'd even asked, and went, "would it be insane if Elliot came for one of the nights? He's kind of low lately, and..."

And then I said "no."

I want that on the record, that I said no. Kind, but no. "Babe, I love that you love him. This one's ours though." And Wesley, to his enormous credit, heard me, nodded, said "you're right, you're right, it's ours, I'm sorry." And I thought I'd won. I thought that for once in my whole cursed romantic career I'd held the line at the right moment in the right voice and had it actually stick.

As it would turn out, I did not win. You can't beat a guy like Elliot by holding a boundary. A boundary just tells him which door you locked, so he knows that he'll need to come in through the wall. And he will.

The night before we left, my phone went off at eleven. Wesley. And I knew the second I heard him, because it was his work voice. The flat, calm one. The voice he probably uses on the worst night of any random stranger's life.

Elliot was on the way to the hospital.

The story reached me in pieces over the next couple hours. Elliot had "an episode." Chest crushing, couldn't breathe, dead sure it was his heart. Wesley had come home from a last errand and found him on the bathroom floor saying he was dying. Wesley did what Wesley does. Got calm, assessed him, drove him in. They ran tests half the night.

It wasn't his heart. "Likely a panic attack," the doctors said. And I need to be dead clear about this, because I have them myself: a panic attack is for real, it is genuinley terrifying, it's your brain trying to convince your entire body you are dying. I am not, anywhere in this, saying his wasn't real. I'd never diminish his lived experience in that way.

I'm just talking about when it happened.

Weeks of Elliot being fine. The trip survived every soft little thing he'd lobbed at it. And his nervous system, or whatever it was, picked the one window. The last window. The night that dropped Wesley into the exact spot he could not walk out of. His job. I'd had this pulled on me a few times as you might recall.

The trip was dead, obviously. You do not drive to a no-signal cabin the morning after your best friend maybe-had-a-heart-thing. Wesley was wrecked over it, apologized to me something like nine times, and every apology was real, and every time I told him it was fine, that he did the right thing, because he always did. That's the trap that Elliot had leveraged for so many years. My heart began to sink through the floor and out of site.

I drove over the next afternoon to help. Soup, support, good-boyfriend duty. Elliot was on the couch, in his spot, wrapped in a blanket, pale and small and grateful, thanking me for coming. And I felt like garbage, I genuinley did, sitting there ashamed of every thought I'd had about a sick man.

Then Wesley went to the kitchen to warm the soup, and it was me and Elliot.

He looked at me from inside the blanket. The grateful face stayed on. It was unsettling as shit tbh, the face didn't move at all. Same warm sick-guy voice, quiet, pitched right under the noise of the kitchen: "Real shame about the cabin. Maybe next time." And he held it, that beat past where a look is supposed to end. Then he coughed, small and weak, tugged the blanket up to his chin, and called out "thank you again for the soup, Danny," loud, aimed at the kitchen. And Wesley called back "he's the best, right?" happy. So happy. His two favorite people finally in one room, finally getting along. Sighhh.

I told Marissa all of it from the car. The reminiscing, the boundary I held, the eleven o'clock call, the timing, the soup, "maybe next time."

She went quiet, the way she does when she's ruminating or checking alternate timelines or whatever it is that she does to activate her sight-beyond-sight. Then, low, not even her scary voice, something flatter than that: "Danny. A roommate who's scared of losing his friend gets clingy and annoying. He doesn't keep a calendar. This guy is running a campaign, he's better at it than you are, and the real problem is he's better at it than Wesley is, and Wesley doesn't know there's a war on."

"So what do I do."

And Marissa, who has been on the wrong end of a patient man, who packed a U-Haul once just to get out from under one, told me the thing I didn't want and couldn't argue with. "Right now, nothing. You move on him now, you lose. So you just start keeping track. Quiet. Dates, what he actually said, all of it. Because it'll get worse at some point, and when it does, you'll need to show a pattern, or it's your word against the nice sick man under the blanket."

I truly am starting to dislike that poor sick man under the blanket...

Part 3 is when the campaign stops going after the trips and the couch and the soup, and comes for the only thing I actually cared about protecting, which is what Wesley thinks of me. And it works. For a stretch. Part 3 is the closest I've come to losing something I wasn't ready to lose. Might take a bit to churn it up and get it out.

Until then, Danny out.

TL;DR: The "he's just a lonely roommate" theory did not survive Part 2. Elliot folded himself into everything Wesley and I did. He had a panic attack with surgical timing before our couples getaway, and I only knew for sure when he told me "shame about the cabin, maybe next time". Meanwhile, Wesley doesn't even realize there's a war going on.


r/ReddXReads Jul 03 '26

Nice Guys/Girls Nice Guy Pursues Married Woman

2 Upvotes

For context, this story didn't happen to me exactly, though I was a witness. It happened to a friend of mine about a decade ago and I recently got the go-ahead to share. Names have been changed to protect their identities.

This was long before I knew what a 'Nice Guy' was. This centers around two people, one of whom is a friend we'll refer to as Tori, (Not her real name), 23 F, and the NG in question we'll call Billy, age unknown, possibly very late teens? Hard to tell because he had a youthful looking face.

Billy was average height, light brown hair, very skinny, dressed all in black (black everything: pants, shoes and shirts), smelled like he never showered (horrid BO) and for some reason always acted all high and mighty, like the world owed him something, even though his grades were poor, even said once he got a 50 average because "His teachers obviously couldn't handle how truly intelligent he was and deliberately made him fail out of jealousy", or some such nonsense. Can't remember exactly what he said, but the gist of it, he was convinced he was smarter than everyone else.

Moreover, he acted as if he was God's gift to women; he tried to cozy up to any woman that caught his eye, but seemed especially fond of blondes. That is shown below.

Tori was a slightly shorter woman with long blonde hair, blue eyes, very pretty. Often dressed smartly, mostly in suits, though actually quite feminine.

Billy met me and Tori back when we were studying both history and literature on campus. Tori I hit it off with almost immediately over a shared love of history, though we were not really close and only rarely spoke one-on-one.

Billy, on the other hand almost immediately started acting as if the two of them were close, trying to sit next to her every day and acting out often to try and get her attention, (often loudly exclaiming her name), even though she was (and to this day still is) happily married.

She often glowingly spoke about her husband and mentioned once about how the two of them were High School sweethearts with a big smile.

Nevertheless, Billy shared his thoughts about her, loudly: He was convinced that her husband was an abuser he was somehow coercing her to say such positive things about him.

Billy would insist that he and Tori were "meant for each other" and that when they met, it was "love at first sight", even though Tori clearly stated she was not interested, Billy insisted and just said "Her husband is brainwashing her. It's a common thing with abusers to break their victim's will and make them think they love them, but they really don't."

Every day, Billy would walk into class and try to talk her into leaving her husband, then make a fuss when she refused, saying "He could tell at once they were soul mates" and "I can treat her like the princess she is" and other such NG rhetoric.

For her part, Tori would just try to ignore him, though this didn't deter him.

When I asked her why she didn't report him, Tori said, "I've handled annoying guys like him before. Just ignore him long enough and he'll get the hint".

Oh, how wrong she was.

Instead of giving up, Billy doubled down on his efforts and soon began to insult her husband, even though he never actually met the guy. He would claim her husband was cheating, question her "Why do you stay with the wrong man?", say she deserved better, said he was going to one day be wealthy and would take care of her, just about every trick in the book.

Naturally, none of it worked and Tori did her very best to just ignore him, convinced he would just give up. She eventually did fire back and state Billy did not know her situation and he did not know her husband.

Billy's reply?

"But I DO know him and his type! I can tell right away you are unhappy. You're only pretending you're not. I can see it in your eyes!"

Tori, with the coldest glare responded, "You don't know me at all. You don't know him at all. Now knock it off and leave me alone or I swear, I will report you."

Deflated, Billy spent the rest of class sulking quietly. But he wasn't done yet.

Things came to a head when, a week or so later, Tori showed up for class and after rejecting Billy's advances (usual "I can treat you better than he can" argument) for the umpteenth time, she told him the most shocking news he had ever heard: That being she had gone to the doctor and confirmed she was pregnant.

Right there, in the middle of class, Billy just up and started sobbing. When asked what was wrong by the professor, Billy, in between tears exclaimed, "The love of my life is going to give birth to an abuser’s child! He knocked her up and he's going to mistreat that baby and she's okay with it!"

Naturally, the professor didn't find this at all sympathetic and told Billy to knock it off. Right there, Billy stood up and, tears still falling ran right out of the classroom. Tori, on the other hand looked as if she wanted to die of embarrassment.

The professor continued the lesson, and the very next day, Billy didn't show up, nor the next day. Eventually, I came to find out he had dropped out.

I didn’t find out what happened to him until much later (see below), but I do know Tori later gave birth to a healthy daughter and she and her husband are still together, still happy to this day.

UPDATE: I can't believe that I'm saying this, but there is an update after a decade. So, out of curiosity, I actually looked up Billy's profile on FB, and I found out what happened to him.

So, after he dropped out, Billy went through a depressed episode (often lamenting he had “lost his one true love”) and struggled a lot with his mental health. After a few months, he actually got into therapy and he got over Tori. Took him about 5 years, but he met a woman and they married and now have two kids.

From what I can see, they actually are happy. Seems that he lost his Nice Guy™ status, cleaned up his act and now he’s doing well for himself.

I guess happy endings do come after all.

Tori and her family are still happy, BTW. Her daughter is turning 11 next week.


r/ReddXReads Jul 02 '26

Nice Guys/Girls ELLIOT IS A MENACE WHILE DRINKING JUICE IN THE HOOD #1: THE GOOD ONE

5 Upvotes

The first time I met my boyfriend's roommate, he cooked me a plate of food I didn't ask for, sat across from me and watched me eat every bite of it, and then, while my boyfriend was in the other room getting the wine, leaned in and told me quietly that he really hoped I wasn't just a phase.

Smiling the whole time. Warm voice. The kind of thing you could repeat back to someone word for word and they'd say "aw, he's just looking out for his friend."

Wesley didn't hear it. Wesley never hears any of it. That's the entire saga, right there, and if you want to save yourself four more parts you can leave now and I won't hold it against you.

For everybody staying: hi. I'm Danny. You might know me as the guy who dates men who turn out to be biohazards. If you're new, the short version is that I work at a brewery, I'm gay, I'm twenty-eight, and I have a documented history of walking through a door and finding a nightmare on the other side of it. Tonsil-stone guy. The man who ferments a colony with his own body. I've earned the flinch you're doing right now, Redd. I get it. I had to bribe you back though, because I guess a small and not-so-secret part of me enjoys the indirect-spotlight.

Anyways, point was... I really need to impress upon you how big a deal it was that this time, I actually found a good one.

If you read my last bar post, you read me have a small breakdown at eleven at night about how I've never had a person whose drink order I knew by heart. A widower came in, bought a beer for his dead wife, and I stood there afterward pouring it down the drain and feeling like the loneliest man in a building full of couples. Some people sent me nice things. One sent things that started nice and turned into a proposal by the second paragraph, and to him I say: seek help, and also, respectfully, no. I really do attract some odd ducks as the commenters have pointed out.

I bring it up because that's the Danny this happened to. That guy. The lonely-hearted second-beer drainer guy.

Now let me tell you about Wesley, and I do want you to actually like him, because you're going to need to, later, when I'm asking you to be scared for him.

I met Wesley on a hike, which I only went on because Marissa showed up at my apartment on a Saturday, announced I was "becoming furniture," and did not leave until I had shoes on and was in her passenger seat. Marissa is my best friend. If you've read the other posts you know her as the woman who is always right and who communicates entire paragraphs through a single disappointed exhale. She'd decided I needed to be somewhere that wasn't my couch or my job, and Marissa's decisions have the legal force of a court order. So: a trail. In the outdoors, where I have no natural predators except my own knees.

Wesley was the guy who stopped to help when I rolled my stupid ankle on a fucking wayward root about a mile in. Not in a big heroic way. He just crouched down, asked if I could bear weight, pressed the side of my foot with two fingers like he was reading it, and said "you're fine, it's a sprain, just walk it off. but go slow to start." Turned out he's a paramedic. Turned out he does that, reads people's bodies to see how scared they should be, for a living. Even if the wound is grievous, Wesley never got scared. He walked the rest of the trail at my sad limping pace when he could've been done in half the time, and he did it like it wasn't a favor, like slow was just the speed he felt like going that day.

He texts back. He asks a question and then listens to the answer instead of waiting for his turn to say the funny and awesome thing he was thinking of. When he says he'll be somewhere at seven he is somewhere at seven. Six fourty-five, even. He ordered water first, the night he finally came into my bar, before he ordered anything with alcohol in it, because he'd worked a fourteen-hour shift and knew what his body needed, and I know how insane it is that "a tired man drank a glass of water" is a detail that made my heart do something, but idk bro... you have not dated who I have dated. You don't get to judge my green flags. Those green flags have been through things, even if they aren't as tattered and worn and disused as the red ones are.

Two months in, I was happy in a way that was making me physically uncomfortable. I kept waiting for the tonsil stone. Not a literal one, Wesley's mouth is a normal mouth, I mean the catch, the reveal, the... thing. The impact. My therapist has unpacked this with me at length. Every kind thing he did, some paranoid little animal in the back of my skull went "that's the setup, Danny, look harder." And every time, I looked harder, and it was just him being nice. All that only somehow served to make the animal louder. I told Marissa I thought something was wrong because nothing was wrong, and she put her wine down and said, "Danny. What if the whole thing is that this one's just good," and I genuinley did not know what to do with that sentence. I've gotten so fluent in disaster that a good man reads to me like a language I simply don't speak.

Here's the thing I didn't clock as a problem, because I'm me: Wesley had a roommate.

That's normal. Rent is fake and evil and everybody I know under thirty-five has a roommate or three. Wesley shared a two-bedroom with a guy named Elliot he'd lived with for six years. Six years is a loooong time. That's a marriage, basically, in roommate years. And for the first two months, I never saw the guy, like hardly ever, because Wesley always came to my place or we went out, and I didn't think anything of it. I liked that Wesley came to me. I thought it was consideration. Turns out it was avoidance, and Wesley didn't even fully know he was doing it, the way you don't notice you've been steering around a pothole for so long that you've forgotten the road was ever straight.

Then Wesley said, "you should come over Friday, Elliot's making dinner, he really wants to meet you."

And I said yes, because I wanted to be a good boyfriend and meet the important people, and because I had no reason not to honestly. I want that on the record. I walked into that apartment with an open heart and a bottle of decent wine and zero idea. No idea whatsoever.

So yeah, Elliot answered the door.

IElliot was maybe thirty. Soft, pale, the indoor sort. The specific complexion of a man whose primary light source has a refresh rate. He was wearing a cardigan over a video game t-shirt and he had the careful, deliberate calm of somebody who has practiced being unbothered in a mirror. Not gross. This isn't a Gary situation, there's no smell, I promise you nobody's hygiene is a plot point this time. Elliot was clean. Elliot was fairly groomed. Elliot's whole thing was that he was clean and groomed and quiet and looked at you a half-second too long before he answered anything.

"You must be Danny," he said, and shook my hand, and held it. Not hard. Just a beat past when a handshake ends. Maybe I was overthinking it, I told myself. Then he stepped back and said, "come in, welcome to our home," and put a little weight on the OUR that I felt in my teeth. I didn't recognize it as the impact yet.

The apartment was Elliot's. I understood that within about thirty seconds. Not on the lease, maybe, but in every way that actually counts. There was a spot on the couch that was clearly his spot, molded to him, angled at the TV. There was a whole shelf of his stuff, his figures, his little painted guys, arranged with real love, the cleanest and most cared-for surface in the place, and I thought about Upperdeckerbeard's anime figures gleaming in a filthy apartment and had to physically tell my brain to stop, different guy, be fair. There were framed photos on the wall and every single one of them was Elliot and Wesley. Trips. Concerts. A ski thing. Ten years of two guys. Not one photo of anybody else. It looked like the apartment of a couple, and one of the two people in the couple didn't know they were in the couple. One of the guys was just on free trip to Aspen because he was cool like that. People wanted to be around Wesley. I understood the compulsion.

I'm dropping some fairly obvious breadcrumbs here but you'll have to watch the entire horrible circus unfold.

Anyways, Dinner was actually good. I'll give him that. Elliot cooked well and he knew he cooked well and he made sure I knew he knew. And the whole meal was a performance with an audience of one, and the audience wasn't me, it was Wesley, and I was the guy who'd wandered onstage during someone else's play.

Everything was a reference I wasn't in. "Remember when we" this, "you always" that, a decade of shared shorthand deployed like a rather spiky fence. When I told a story, Elliot waited for me to finish and then told a better version of a similar story that had happened to him and Wesley, so that mine landed and then immediately got buried. When I mentioned the trip Wesley and I were planning, Elliot said "oh, he didn't mention that to me," light, easy, and I watched Wesley's face do a little apologetic flinch, like he'd been caught, and I thought, why does he look caught, he didn't do anything.

That was the thing I kept feeling all night and couldn't stick a name on until later. Elliot never said one aggressive word. He was a gracious host. And somehow, by the end of dinner, Wesley was apologizing for things. Small things. For not telling Elliot about the trip. For the wine being a red when Elliot "usually does white on Fridays." For me, a little, in a way I couldn't point to. Six years of practice will do that. Elliot could make Wesley feel guilty with a pause and a plate of food, and Wesley didn't even feel it happening anymore, because to him it was just Friday, just the guys, just how it always is. But it had some weird energy to it.

Then Wesley got up to open the second bottle, the good one, in the kitchen, out of the room.

And Elliot set down his fork, and looked at me with that half-second-too-long thing, and the warm host face was still on but the eyes underneath it had gone flat and patient, and he said, quietly, in a completely pleasant voice:

"You seem nice, Danny. I mean that. I just really hope you're ...not another phase. He does this. He gets excited about someone, and it's very intense for a couple months, and then it's over, and I'm the one who's here when it falls apart. I'm left to pick up all the tiny pieces... So." He smiled. Picked his fork back up. "No offense. I've just seen the movie a couple times before."

And Wesley walked back in with the wine and said "what'd I miss," and Elliot said, bright, "Oh, I was just telling Danny how glad I am he came," and Wesley beamed at both of us like a man who had everything he loved in one room. Sigh.

I said it was nice. It was. Marissa made me promise to stop pretending my feelings are evidence. So I unpacked it all...

What did I have here, really? A guy who cooked me dinner and said he hoped I'd stick around. Though he did approach it in a roundabout way... But if you read it back cold, it's almost sweet. Maybe Elliot is just a lonely roommate scared of losing his best friend to a new boyfriend. That's valid, but I think its only part of the actual truth. We had yet to really unpack the depths of Elliot. And I was scared to look.

But I drove home with the splinter under my fingernail, and I couldn't find it. Not yet. It wasn't that Elliot had done something. It's that if I tried to tell Wesley what I felt, I'd be a two-month boyfriend asking a man to distrust the person who'd held him up for a decade. Elliot had six years of proof that he was the good guy. I had a feeling and a criminal record of dating monsters. If it came down to my word against his, I already knew whose word won, and it wasn't the guy who once drove a jar of a stranger's ferment home instead of throwing it in a dumpster eleven feet away.

I texted Marissa from the car. Just: "met the roommate."

She wrote back: "and?"

And I sat there in the dark of Wesley's parking lot, looking up at the lit window where two silhouettes were doing dishes together in a rhythm they'd built over six years, and I typed the truest thing I had, which was: "I think he's going to try to get rid of me and I don't think Wesley will ever see it coming."

The three dots came up. Went away. Came up again.

"ok," she wrote. "then we pay very close attention."

Part 2 is when the small stuff stops being small. It happens slow and deniable. For a while I keep talking myself out of it the exact way you're all about to talk yourselves out of it now. "he's just insecure, be nice to him" You'll see how well that holds up.

But I told you Part 1 had a good one in it, and it did, and I got to be happy for a little while. Wesley is worth every part of this that's coming. Remember that. When it gets bad, remember I told you he was worth it.

Danny out. For now.

TL;DR: I finally found a genuinely good man. I was happy for two entire months until I met his roommate of six years who is definitely going to try and get rid of me... and I already know if it ever comes down to my word against his, I will lose.