…a few weeks back. I was trying to think of songs to upload. While I was out one day, I thought of Rod Stewart’s Maggie May. So I sent myself a text, reminding myself to download Maggie May when I got home.
A few minutes later, I got another text from an unknown number. It reads – WILL B WAITIN 4 U WHEN U GET HOME. – ROD. Confused, but writing it off as a simple wrong number, I thought nothing of it. Later that night I arrive home, weary from a long day at work. I haphazardly toss my keys onto my desk and turn on the TV. As I begin to zone out, I feel a presence in the room I had not felt before…
I whirl around, shocked. It’s….Rod Stewart?
In my living room. Clutching a maple baseball bat.
I have to rub my eyes. “Rod? What are you doing here?”
“Mike…I’m here to beat you.”
He wears a wifebeater and sweatpants, and his hair is askew. “This is so damn hard to explain,” he says, pacing the room. “Got anything to drink?”
I pour him a vanilla coke zero, and he explains it all. Explains about a secret society, dedicated to annilihating people who enjoy Rod Stewart’s music. Explains how they abused the Freedom of Information Act to monitor cellphone records and text messages. Explains how this group dispatches its agents to give Rod Stewart fans the beating of a lifetime. And he explains to me about how he’s fallen on hard times, and how he took the job because they were desperate for people and he was desperate for food.
Rod whispers apologetically to me as I take all this in. “Don’t you see? You texting yourself to download this song was such a flagrant show of Rod Stewart support that they had to punish you. I’m really sorry, Mike.”
I lean back in my chair, trying not to look nervous. “So how long have you worked there?”
“Four years. Do you want to do this outside or in here?”
“How are the benefits?”
Rod half smiles. “Mike?”
I’m stalling. He knows it.
We get up to go into the backyard, where he will pummel me with a Louisville Slugger. As I brace for impact, Rod grimaces. It isn’t easy for him, but the man has to eat…the man has to eat….
“Wait – what if I gave you some cake?”
Rod stops, mid-swing. He’s thinking about it. “Ya got any german chocolate?”
I smile. “German Chocolate, angel food…whatever you want dude!”
Rod’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Dude, I could totally go for a slice of german chocolate right now….but I have to do this job!”
He begins to swing again, and again I brace. But he doesn’t finish. “Allright…how about you give me half a cake…and a shirt? I’m cold.”
An hour later, Rod Stewart left my house with half a german chocolate cake, a baseball bat, and a faded “Stone Cold” Steve Austin shirt I bought back in 1997. I haven’t heard from him since that day.
And I hope I never do again.