The Schwann's Man: A Tale of Heartbreak

There are a lot of things that really bother me in life, but I hold a special hatred for a chosen few punk ass irritating things like Hornets, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Roundabouts, Jimmy Fallon's monologue, muumuus, crocs, not being able to see your own butt without a house of mirrors, you know stuff like that.

I also reserve a special hatred for the Schwann's guy. Now most of my hatred I've come up with on my own, but the Schwan's owns a special place, for this is an inherited hatred, one I picked up from my Dad, and low and behold, I've found that this animosity is well deserved.

Let me take you back to 1986, when I was a fresh faced youngster, happily naive, with no trace yet of any of the sarcasm and cynicism I would later develop keenly. The Schwans man would come by and although we didn't have a lot of money, sometimes my parents would indulge me with some little circular pizzas, or dreamsicles or something. It was a happy time.

The Schwan's man's name was Brian too, and although it was likely that he was a recovering crackhead with an eye for young boy butts, because we were both Brian's, we had a bond.

Everything changed one dark and stormy night. Brian came over, and was being sort of insistant that we buy some goods from him. We had just gone shopping and we didn't need anything. Come back another time right? Nope, instead Brian fired off this query which altered the course of history.

"Whatsa matter Mr Jensen, can't afford a few treats? Having job problems?"

The nerve of this idiot to pry into other people's personal business. We just didn't want your food. My dad told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave, and I never saw Brian again. I would assume that he drifted into a life of rampant drug use and gay prostitution, but who knows; he could have become a clergyman.

Fast forward to 2005. I am now a grown man (in age, not in maturity) with a wifey, a house, a dog, and a baby girl. The American dream right, except that I don't drive around in a big van solving mysteries. I guess you can't have everything. Anyway, the Schwann's man reappeared into my life. I was a little apprehensive after how badly I'd been burned 19 years earlier, but decided to give it another shot. I was happy. I had my little circular pizzas that always burn the roof of your mouth no matter what again.

But, as it always is with the Schwann's man, the relationship went south faster than a preppy white kid who kills his wife. First he just stopped showing up. This was odd. After about 3 months of no-shows, he finally appears again, like nothing had happened. This is akin to a relationship where a dude disappears on his girlfriend and goes and humps everybody for a while and then comes back and tries to pretend she's the only one for him because he needs money.

I am not fooled. I tell him I'm not interested in his little pizzas anymore. Unbelievably, I get nearly the same response as my Dad had gotten 19 years earlier.

"Whatsa matter Mister Jensen, little short on funds this month?"

What the fuck is up with these people? Is this like, a strategy they teach at the Schwann's Institute?

Rule #1: If a customer refuses to pay you 7 bucks, tease him about his financial situation. It may also be helpful to insinuate that you've seen him at the welfare station

Rule #2: Have sex with his pets when he goes to the bathroom.

Seriously, to all the Schwanns people reading this, the whole issue is customer service. I can buy pizza and popsicles at Cub Foods. If you can't be conciliatory when I turn you down over 7 dollars worth of groceries, then please don't approach me in the first place. Walk back to your freezer with wheels, and go peddle your wares elsewhere. Thanks.

P.S. Don't have sex with my pets either!