Douche Garden Part Deux

I was in love with a Douche Bag once. I’ve written extensively about him here on MOM over the years. I’ve talked about the numerous times I’ve paid his bills, financed his dry cleaning, brought him food, bore his baby, paid some more bills, and finally ended up in court. HE took ME to court to establish child support and visitation, if you recall. (Keep this is mind. This is key.) Through it all, I’d hoped that he would grow up, get and keep a job, and grow a pair. It never happened.

Last year was a banner year in my tumultuous relationship though. I finally accepted that he wasn’t sh*t and was never going to be sh*t. I stopped blogging about him altogether, in fact. He had really become a non-factor in my life. When you eliminate your expectations of people, there is no way they can disappoint you right? Well…that usually holds true – unless the person for whom you’ve decimated all expectations is a douche bag.

I was still reeling from last night’s ridiculousness when I got a call this morning. The caller ID said it was from Texas. It was Douche Bag calling, allegedly from Afghanistan. It’s now going on 2 years since he took me to court to initiate child support proceedings, and 18 months since I’ve received a payment. He is a few thousand dollars in the hole, and has been driving with a suspended license. None of this should matter – because he is supposed to be working on some covert government assignment in the Middle East that is going to net him a steady paycheck.

It was 9:30 am. What could he possibly want? Nadjah was in school, and I had already made it abundantly clear that he was only to call my phone during the hours she was home. I have nothing to say to him.

“Hello?” I said guardedly.

“Hey…can you talk?”

He sounded like he had been crying. Oh dear GOD. What?!?!

“Yes,” I sighed. “What’s up.”

“I need a huge, HUGE favor.”

“Uh huh. What?”

“I need you to take me off child support.”

“I’m sorry…what?”

He began to sniff pathetically.

“They said they’re going to send me home tomorrow if I don’t get my driver’s license re-instated,” he said woefully. “They talkin’ ‘bout they gonna send me home ‘cause I owe $x,000.”

“Okay…” I said, staring at the phone. “So what does that have to do with me?”

“I need you to take me off child support. I know it’s a big favor to ask, but I promise you I’m gonna send some money your way when I get it. It’s just that I CAN’T lose this job.”

That’s when his sniffles gave way to a floodgate of tears. I was unmoved.

“Douche Bag,” I said pointedly. “Look at how long it TOOK to get child support established, from the day you initiated it to the day we sat in front of a judge. What makes you think that I can get this done in a day?! It’s Friday!”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I really need you to figure it out and do something.”

When I balked, he continued.

“Just tell them that you and me worked something out and that I been sending you money on the side. Tell them it just hasn’t been added to the system. I really need you to do this for me.”

I groaned and put my head in my hand. Was I hearing what I thought I was hearing? The utter impudence!

“Look, I can promise you this,” I offered. “I will call on Monday and see what the procedure is, but I can’t make any promises. I don’t know what they are going to say.”

“Okay. Okay,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Please make sure you go down there on Monday.”

“A’ight.”

That should have been the end, but NOOOOO….

“Also, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call Nadjah lately. It’s just that it’s 6:30 pm here right now, and by the time she gets out of school, it’s like 3:30 am. I can’t really make calls at that hour…”

“Uh huh.”

He was stuttering.

I checked my world map. When she gets out of school it’s actually 11 pm in Afghanistan, and a decent enough hour for a 44 year old man to call his child “half way around the world” (if that’s indeed where he is) to at least say hello and/or goodnight. I didn’t bother to mention that he might try calling her on the weekends, or that she was home all week for spring break. Whatever!

“Alright, Douche Bag. Is that it?”

“Yeah. Just please make sure you go down to the court on Monday, okay?”

“Bye.”

*click*

I was having breakfast with M5X today and told her about the bizarre call. She was overcome by the sheer audacity.

“Why did you even entertain that call!” she exclaimed incredulously.

“Girl…I don’t know.”

“You know what you should do?” she said calculatedly, “you should call Fulton county, just to SEE how long it’s going to take to get this process completed. Why would he think this is something you can do in a day? And furthermore, why would he think that you would even oblige him? It’s not like y’all have a history of working things out and him coming through with ANY sort of payment…in the last 8 years!”

So that’s what I did. I called Fulton County Division of Child Support and asked them what it would take to stop court ordered payments for the Non-Custodial Parent. Do you know what the rep told me?

“Oh! That’s simple enough. All you have to do is send an email through your account on the system telling us you want to close the case, or you can send a notarized letter stating you want to close the case. You can do it in person as well.”

“Well, how long does that take?”

“As soon as we get the request, we can close the case.”

“Uh huh. Thank you…”

I hung up the phone.

Between him and Crispy the Coal Man, this was more douche baggery than I could handle in a 24 hour period. Clearly, he had done his research. Why he didn’t come out and say that this was all took, I can’t say. I DO know that April 15^th is tax day, which is probably what is prompting all this sudden urgency. Oh no. Not The Kid. I’m not falling for the banana in the tail pipe.

Sisters. Beautiful, 24-29 year old sisters. Do you see why you need to protect yourselves from liars and douche bags? This could be your life! Move and counter move; a consistent game of tactical insurgency; a lifetime spent uncovering a web of poorly formulated lies and deceptions. Lawd have mercy. And do you know what car Douche Bag was driving when I met him?

A Chevy.

Douche Bags come in all garden varieties, but you can usually point them out if you look close enough. The earlier, the better.

1. They have nothing to show for themselves or their accomplishments, except for a car.
2. They compensate for this for fabricating a ton of accomplishments.
3. They speak with wanton abandon about their virility.
4. They are rehearsed and repetitive.
5. They stutter (or take long pauses) when they lie

So what do you think? Should I send the email?

—->Insert unbridled,  deranged, maniacal laughter here <—–