Here I was, actually working on my latest post when I received a rare—and utterly delightful—call from the main antagonist in this little melodrama: Big John Swoap. I got butterflies. Really, it was spectacular: I started out a muthafucka and ended up a son of a bitch. Not sure how my mother would feel about that last one but to say I am honored is an understatement. Who knew they read my blog?
I’ll give you a quick rundown of that call (this is like late-breaking news) but then I have to get back to the story (this jackass is screwing up my continuity). So I’m minding my own business, going over the next batch of emails that I want to share with the world when Amanda’s phone rings. “Look who’s calling,” she says. “It’s Blue Sky Journeys!”
“Why could they be calling me?” I’m thinking. “It’s like 10 o’clock on Saturday night for them.”
I grab the phone, put on my bravest voice (because I am so excited), “Hello.”
“It’s John Swoap. How ya doing, motherfucker?” This, by far, is the best opening I have ever had to an argument. Ever. It was nice, cordial, and ended with a cut.
Me: “I’m grand.”
BJS: “Grand, huh? You’re not gonna be. You’re not going to be able to put food on your table when I get finished with you.”
Me: “We can’t eat? Why can’t we eat?”
BJS: “I am going to break you! You’re not going to be able to eat, muthafucka. You’re going to have to come to Tennessee, which I know you can’t afford (because my bank statements are routed to Tennessee), and then, while you’re here, we’re going to continue to case so you’re going to have to come back. Which I know you can’t afford. Five Hundred Grand, you sack of shit!”
I have never actually been called a sack of shit. I’ve been told I wasn’t shit but never been a whole sack of it. Is that the preferred quantity for purchasing and/or moving shit? In sacks? And here’s where I would offer a note: if you want me to stop saying stuff, to actually stop repeating the shit you say, perhaps you should stop talking. Just sayin.
Anyway, I’m just going with it, trying to be as nice as possible (cuz I’m so boosted that he called! Now I know how teenage girls feel…). The deal is that I threatened him that I was going to publicize everything (which should be a clue to stop talking), that I threatened him when I said I wanted to kick his ass (you’ll see that part below), and that there is breach of contract. Breach of contract? I never actually worked for Blue Sky Journeys. Suffice it to say we’re not going to be BFFs. And I am really broken up about it.
But I gotta get back to the story.
And there is actually more. I know…I couldn’t believe it either.
Quick recap (because I have even more stuff today): Amanda was working for a Disney vacation planning agency called Blue Sky Journeys when she received a Cease and Desist letter from an attorney regarding a trademark issue. Between that and some other unsavory business practices, she decides to cut her losses and move on to another agency. This doesn’t go over well. At all. The owners, Melanie and John Swoap kick out a series of fucked up emails (where they call my wife a pill-popping alcoholic, a bitch and a thief) and then do a drunk Captain and Tennille routine on her voicemail.
These folks are freaking awesome. But not so bright. Because, despite numerous requests to simply shut the fuck up, they keep the party going and here we are.
Now, everything you’ve read so far is from DAY ONE. One day! All that nonsense in one day. When Amanda sent her last email copying her business attorney, everybody shut up for the night. The next day, there’s this brief exchange:
What? Somebody wants to play nice? It’s about time, right? Add a little civility to this conversation and everyone can go back to their respective corners and be done. So Amanda sends her conciliatory email as well and we go about our day.
And if that was all, this would suck for a Part 3, wouldn’t it? Instead, she gets the email below. For the record, because this was a response email, I changed the font color to red for everything from my man:
Amanda wasn’t actually supposed to get this email. If you are going to talk shit about somebody via email, someone who used to work for you, you should probably TURN OFF THEIR EMAIL! Seriously. Amanda got this email because they sent a message to all the planners and copied her on an email about her because folks can’t figure how to disable an email address.
But nobody responds and Sunday proves to be largely uneventful. Monday, December 10, though, is an entirely different thing. On Monday, Amanda was awakened by a call at 7am from a client, talking about “Why are these people calling me?” Then another client. Then an advertising partner. They were calling her clients and advertisers disparaging her to them. Actually calling her a “fuck up.” You stay classy, San Diego.
At some point, this nonsense has to stop, right? My wife has gotten a plethora of emails from the Great State of Tennessee (center of America), she’s getting copied on emails talking about her, her clients are getting calls, Disney is actually calling here…and again, this is because she quit her job. I can’t imagine why… So I finally break my own silence and script this PHENOMENAL email:
The initial response is to be reminded that “hey, I decided to be good.” I remind him that he wasn’t:
Then he encourages me to test him. That wasn’t smart…
Well, there it is. The rubber has met the road, folks. Because now John and I are talking man to man and there are legal threats flying and everything else. And we would have been good if he wouldn’t have asked me not to publish ONE THING. That’s actually how we got here: it was a dare, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what you saw?
Since that lovely conversation, things were quiet. Until today. Apparently there is internet in Tennessee and folks saw my little blog today. To say they are unhappy is an understatement. Livid is probably the best word. I gave you the recap earlier and tomorrow, we’ll be doing a greatest hits album! I have:
• The comment that just got posted to my blog
• The argument currently ensuing on YouTube
• Remember that planner that got fired for posting about who she was voting for? She’s “despicable” and you get to see the Facebook post
And you better check all this stuff out now because when Big John secures his attorney my blog is coming down…at least that the latest threat.
“This shit’s chess, it ain’t checkers!” – Training Day