Rebuttal Post: Have a Cow

(Candice, given the name "Jennifer" in yesterday's Have a Cow, has submitted her own version of events on that date. Candice says, "I was shocked to read Pat's story today. If it's not about me, then I don't know who else it could be about.")

Rebuttal Story Sent in by Candice:

First thing: Pat was really, really into himself, and was the sort of guy who'd twist any situation to make himself the victim or the hero. It didn't hit me until after the whole date situation. He didn't mention in his story that he had held down three jobs in less than a year, having been let go from each subsequent one because they "didn't like the way [he] did things." That's called insubordination, asshole.

We agreed on Chinese food for dinner without any of the argument that he portrayed. I hadn't even heard of Master Wok II, but I wasn't at all averse to trying it. I did ask him, "Is that a hole-in-the-wall place?" but only because I was actually curious, not because I looked down on such places. Either way, if he suggested it, I'd try it.

During that same conversation, he was, as he said, the one to inform me that Fredo's had closed. I was down about it because I had lots of great memories of Fredo's. I must have had six of my childhood birthday parties there. So yes, I might have been down about it, but I certainly didn't blame him for it closing!

At Master Wok II dinner, we sat down, and when the waters came, I drank some, did not spit it back into my glass, but did remark that it tasted like hose water. I then ordered a diet soda, and that was the end of it.

I commented on the "shoddy" table and chairs? What is this, Home Improvement? I didn't even notice! As long as the chair held me and the table held my food, they were great.

Things went downhill, actually, when Pat himself made a comment about the table. It rocked slightly, but barely enough to even notice. He shifted it back and forth, though, and asked for my napkin to stuff it under one of the legs and stabilize it. Why my napkin? I couldn't guess, but it was replaceable, so I handed it to him.

Whatever he did made the problem worse, but he sat back up and said, "There. Fixed."

I tested it out, and my glass nearly fell off the table! "It's pretty rocky," I remarked, or something like it.

"It's fine!" he snapped, way louder than necessary, "I fixed it."

He hadn't, but I wasn't in a mood to argue. I remained silent until we put in our food orders. He ordered chicken and broccoli, as he said, but I ordered the sweet and sour chicken. No salad. As for me asking if they had veal (or making that rude "Do you have that in China" comment), he's nuts.

While we waited for our food, he said, "You're mad at me. I can tell."

I replied, "I don't think that was a nice tone you used before, after... working on the table."

"Terrific," he said, then sat back as if he had me all figured out, "Now you're going to be bitchy bitch for the rest of the night. There was a problem. I fixed it. You complain about it. Reminds me of some bosses I used to have. Is this a date, or am I out to dinner with my boss?"

Realizing that nothing I could do would make the situation more comfortable, I waited for a few minutes, then took out my phone, pretended to receive an emergency text, and hurried out of there before he could even ask me anything about it.

Did I send him that stupid email about finding veal? Of course not. Why would I ever want to interact with this bozo again?


(See Patrick's original post here.)

Rebuttal Post: Hands Across Hysteria

(Ted, given the name "George" in Hands Across Hysteria, has submitted his own version of events on that date. Ted says, "This is definitely about me. Callie got a few details wrong and I want to correct it.")


Rebuttal Story Sent in by Ted:

Callie and I sat down in the union together and things went fine. My ex, Tracey, did walk in, and it was my first time seeing her since our breakup. I was a bit shaken, although I didn't "sink down nearly beneath the table."

Callie definitely noticed that something was wrong and asked me about it. I told her, being honest, "That girl over there, Tracey Pelton, is my ex."

Callie glanced over at her and asked, "Do you think there's going to be a problem if she sees you with me?"

"No. She probably won't come over, even if she does see me."

She asked, "That kind of breakup?"

I said, "It was bad. She accused me of trying to run over her pet rabbit."

Then it was Callie's turn to turn rigid and give a stare. I was quick to reassure her, "I didn't. I helped Tracey move out of her sublet and I didn't realize that she had piled a few boxes and her rabbit's cage behind my car. Maybe it was stupid of me to not check before backing up, but she screamed and stopped me in time. I apologized to her about fifty times. It was an accident, but she screamed that I would have done it on purpose. Of course, I wouldn't have."

I doubt that Tracey cheated on me, although I really have no idea. Either way, that line was fiction on Callie's part. I never said it.

Callie seemed incensed. She asked, "You didn't even check behind the car to see if the rabbit was there?"

I replied, "I didn't know that Tracey had put anything back there. The car was packed to capacity and I was just trying to help–"

"You should've checked behind the car for the rabbit!"

I said, "I'm not going to check behind my car for rabbits every time I need to go someplace, and to be fair, it was irresponsible for Tracey to put anything right behind the car, out of view, to begin with."

Callie stood up and said, "Okay, I have to go."

I did reach across the table, but not to grab her, and I didn't lay a finger on her at all. She stomped away. No tipping table, no toppling drink, no spilled food, nothing. She just left.

I wrote her an email afterward in which I again explained the situation and asked for her understanding. I didn't insult her or blame her for anything, as that would have been nuts.

Not as nuts as making up a fictitious version of actual events, but still…


(See Callie's original post here.)

Rebuttal Post: Long Day's Journey Into Madness

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(Jane, given the name "Tina" in Long Day's Journey Into Madness, has submitted her own version of events on that date. Jane says, "A friend of mine alerted me to this story, and I was astonished. I appreciate the opportunity to set things straight. I hope Steven reads it.")


Rebuttal Story Sent in by Jane:

Steven and I were hiking in the Poconos. That much is true. As for Steven forgetting the can opener, that much is also true. As for me saying, "I'm starving!" that's true as well. However, what Steven didn't figure out, surprisingly, was the fact that I meant it with 100% sarcasm. I even suggested that we break the cans open with rocks until he mentioned his knife.

He pulled out his knife and it had rust on it. Nothing tremendous, but not something I wanted to risk getting into the food. I said, "I think I'll just bang a can open with a rock."

"Suit yourself," he said, then we each opened a can our own way, and we both ate. I didn't storm off or fly off the handle, which would have been an insane act, especially given where we were.

After lunch, we continued our hike without incident until he began slapping at his face, as if bugs were attacking him.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he replied, "All of a sudden I'm really itchy. Wait here."

He took off deep into the woods, away from where I could see him. I assumed that he was going to check himself for ticks, bugs, or whatever else, or maybe apply bug spray to certain areas. I did as he said and I waited.

He didn't return after 10 minutes, and I yelled and called for him. I walked a little way into the woods in the direction I last saw him go. I shouted some more, then pulled out a trail map I had and a pen and wrote him a note, saying that I would be back at the car, waiting for him. He clearly wasn't anywhere nearby, and we had to go back to the car anyway to grab the tent. I leaned the map up against a tree and put a rock on it to weigh it down, in a place he'd be sure to spot it if he came back that way.

I returned to the car. It was gone. I tried phoning him, but there was no signal there at all. He had left, apparently, and so I didn't see much choice in the matter. I walked down the dirt road, back towards civilization.

I had been walking for a short while when his car came down the road toward me from the direction of the closest town. He rolled down his window and yelled, "What are you doing out here?"

I said, "You didn't come back! I waited for you right at that spot and you disappeared! I left you a note that I was going to wait by the car, but when I got to the lot it was gone!"

"I had to run to town. I told you to wait there!"

Stupefied that he had expected me to wait upwards of an hour, but wanting to keep the peace, I replied, "Well, at least we found each other," and I moved to jog around his car and enter it, but instead he drove off, on his own, back toward the park.

Frustrated and frightened by his behavior, I continued down the road, away from the park. Over an hour later, his car pulled up to me again. "What the fuck is your problem?" he asked.

I said, "Me? You took off, leaving me out here! You've treated me like shit all day. I'll get back on my own."

He said, as he wrote, "It's a 20-mile walk to anywhere. Let me drive you."

I was stubborn, and possibly not smart, but anywhere felt safer than with him. I said, "I'll get a ride from someone."

He drove off, leaving me behind. As for his claim that I wrote him a nasty "You come pick me up now," text, that was fiction. I did hitch a ride with strangers, which was, admittedly, foolish. However, I made it back home after calling a few friends for help.

I bear him no ill will, but I sincerely hope that he gets himself evaluated.


(See Steven's original post here.)

Rebuttal Post: Life's a Carnival

(Jennifer, given the name "Carla" in Life's a Carnival, has submitted her own version of events on that date.  Jennifer says: "I read the story a dozen times, but there's no doubt that Ben wrote it about me.  Also, it's almost pure fiction on his part.")


Rebuttal Story Submitted by Jennifer:

Ben and I walked through the fair's midway, as he said, but he was the one who offered, "Want a prize?"

I asked him, "If you're offering to win me something, I won't refuse, and thanks."  I gestured to a stuffed monkey above the red star shooting gallery.

As he said, he didn't win, and he did say, "It's hard."

My actual response was, "We can try another game around here."

He slammed down another three dollars and tried again.  The second time, he also failed, but it wasn't a big deal.  At least, not to me.  I didn't really have to have a stuffed monkey that day.

After his second try, I asked him if I could give it a shot.  I never said, "Pay the man."  I took out my wallet, but Ben headed me off at the pass and gave the guy three of his own dollars.  I thanked him, then took my aim at the little card.

I failed at it that time, but when I turned back to Ben, he was gone.  I decided to go all for broke on one last try, and I gave the vendor three of my own dollars for my second pass.

I'm not sure why Ben wrote "She put down another three, same result."  He wasn't even there for my second try, which I took slowly and won.  I put the gun down, accepted the monkey (and the card with the shot-out star) from the vendor, and went off to find Ben.

I walked up and down the area, searching for him.  I tried his phone, but he must have had the ringer off.  Finally, I found him not too far away, watching a group of girls play a game of skeeball.  Another stuffed monkey was tucked under his arm.  I said, "Why'd you take off?  I was looking for you."

Barely looking at me, he replied, "While you were busy wasting my money, I went ahead and got you this."  He handed me the monkey.

I showed him my card with the shot-out star, held up my monkey, and said, "Thanks, but I won this one, myself.  And you were the one who gave the guy your money.  I was ready to pay for my turn."

He said, "I paid for our first three times."

I replied, "I didn't force you to do that.  You asked me if I wanted a prize."

He said, as if he was talking to a six-year-old, "Wow!  Now you have two monkeys!"

I said, "I don't think I deserve this attitude."

"What attitude?"

We were right next to the food court, and we were both hungry.  It was a hot day, and I figured that we'd be less cranky after eating something.  I said, "Never mind.  Let's get something to eat."

He didn't say anything at all to me as we ordered food, sat down, and ate.  As Ben wrote in his post, a family sat near us, but what actually transpired was a bit different from the crap he spun for you.

The little boy (whose name might have been Tim, or Joey, or Billy... there's no way to know, because we never found out what it was) saw the monkeys that Ben and I had put on the table, and he pointed at them, reached for them, and cried for them.

I leaned in and asked Ben, "Do you think we should give him one of the monkeys?"

I asked because sometimes parents can be sensitive about strangers giving gifts to children, be it a child safety issue or the idea of a child being given presents without doing something to earn them.  I've worked with parents before and they can be touchy about it, so that's why I asked Ben for his thoughts.

Ben's response?  Loud enough for the family to hear, he said, "You were the one who wanted a monkey so fucking badly.  Your choice."

A second later, I handed my monkey to the little kid.  The parents thanked me.  I turned back to Ben, who gave me such a sneering, judgmental look, that I felt compelled to lean in and say, "You're being an asshole."

As he said, we definitely had different life priorities.  Mine is being a good person, while his seemed to be, "How long can I act like a five-year-old and get away with it"?  Good riddance.


(See Ben's original post here.)

Rebuttal Post: Someone Skipped Chemistry Class

("James," the subject of Someone Skipped Chemistry Class, has submitted his own version of events on that date.  James says: "Please keep our names to the pseudonyms written in the original post.  I have no desire to humiliate anyone: only to clear the record.")


Rebuttal Story Submitted by James:

Rachel and I met, much as she says.  "Quiet and a little awkward" is one of her many generalizations and uninformed statements.  Contrary to her belief, I am gregarious.  The fact that we don't travel in the same social circles does not force the conclusion that I am "quiet and awkward," much as her own behavior does not necessarily imply that her friends are boisterous shocks of screaming excitement.

As she has said, I asked her out after a philosophy class.  In her defense, she was charming and seemed very interested in learning more about me, as I also felt about her.  We did indeed go to a local Mexican restaurant for our date, and I did offer to pay, but here the tale diverges.

She thanked me, and I picked up a menu.  She then asked, "Were you just staring at my breasts?  Please don't."

I put the menu down and said, "I did not just look at your mammaries," and I said it in a very obviously joking tone, despite the statement's truth, "And if I had, then I'm sure I would have meant it as a compliment."

I smiled at her, but she said nothing to that and picked up her menu.  I said, "I'm just kidding around.  I didn't look at your breasts, and I'm sorry if it seemed that I did."

"Can we stop talking about it?" she asked.

She came off as touchy, and so I changed the subject.  "Have you been here before?  Do you want some recommendations?"

She said, "Sure," and so I pointed out a few items on her menu.  More silence on her end.  I wasn't sure what to say until after our orders were taken.  I asked her what she wanted to talk about.

"How are you doing in philosophy?" she asked.

I said, "I'm looking forward to the upper-level courses."  She nodded and didn't volunteer anything further.  I asked, "And how is it treating you?"

She sighed loudly and said, "Fine, okay?"

Clearly I had hit a nerve, but I had no idea how.  I asked her, "Is everything okay?  We could talk about something else.  Endangered species, if there's ever such a thing as a benevolent dictator, Venezuela..."

"James, I–" she stopped herself.  Something was very obviously amiss.

I asked her, "Rachel, please tell me what's wrong.  Did I offend you?"

She gave me more silent treatment.  I volunteered, "I'm planning to go to the Middle East this summer."  She laughed dismissively to herself, as if she thought me stupid for even having the audacity to be breathing near her.  I asked her, "What will you be doing over the summer?"

A shrug.

I said, "Have you been to the Middle East?  It's safer there then the media would have you believe."

"I haven't been," she said, looking away.

Our food arrived, and I told her, "I'm glad to be here, with you."

No response.  I gave up and tried my best to enjoy dinner, for which, as we seem to agree, I did pay.

Once we left the restaurant, I asked her if she wanted to take a walk (it was November, so I guessed that she wouldn't go for the plan) or if she wanted to go to a cafe, or if I could walk her back to her residence.

She said, "I'm just going to go," and left me there, without explanation or goodbye.

The e-mail, which I won't quote again, was correct, verbatim.  Perhaps it was immature of me to send it, but she only had to sit through five seconds of reading it.  I had to sit through over an hour of her behavior, and I wouldn't have felt right unless I told her what was on my mind.

Grade-schooler indeed.


(See Rachel's original post here.)