April 13, 2019

Chapter 12 - The Dirk Diaries

The Dirk Diaries

It occurred to me soon after I started writing stories about my family that I had a ton of wickedly funny, obscenely stupid and terminally embarrassing tales to tell. I enjoy relating the less glorious achievements while fondly recalling the pitfalls and adventures we experienced that, upon reflection, illustrate the extraordinary capacity for breathtaking feats of idiocy Cannatas possess. It could cause some serious feelings of humiliation if I were to use their real names while revealing the details of such inspirationally dumb stories. So, in an effort to hide the identities of the innocent and ignorant, I have created the persona of a pseudo-brother.

A composite character that will be used to represent the real brother who was the actual Cannata involved. He will represent the Cannata that got bagged doing something so classically stupid that the tale gets passed down as family legend. He will play the role of the hapless brother who got caught red-handed during some indescribable act in a no-way-out situation. Through his eyes we will re-live some of the greatest miscalculations we remember from those moments in life when we suddenly are in the focus of the Idiot Spotlight. He will be the feature star during those moments feeling complete humiliation would be an improvement to the way you look at that instant. His life will be a compilation of the incredibly stupid, legendary experiences of all my brothers who will go by the name of Dirk.

Dirk “Dangerous” Cannata.

This is the first story from “The Dirk Diaries”

The Wise Words of Drunken Dirk
What not to say when your father asks if you’ve been drinking.

On one of those late night, teen-age adventures where alcohol is almost always involved my brother Dirk came home late and had the misfortune of running into my father as he crept up the stairs with the usual grace of a teen ager stewed to the gills. My father usually tried hard to ignore our comings and goings avoiding any reason to engage in unnecessary conversation with his wayward children. But Drunken Dirk’s stealth like stumbling up the stairs as he ping-ponged off the walls made enough suspicious noises that it attracted his attention in the worst possible manner... it woke him up.

Dirk made it to the top of the first flight of stairs and had safely rounded the corner past my parent’s bedroom. He had a stupid smile on his face that looked even more stupid when it froze in place at the sound of my father’s voice behind him.

“Hey you... come back here!” My Dad called to Dirk. Anytime my Dad pointed his finger at you and said “Hey you!” it was never a good thing. I knew something cool was going to happen and knew it was probably not a good thing for Dirk. I remember thinking that Dirk was swaying very gracefully for a blind drunk and smiling very casually in a pleasant stupor. Dirks booze drenched stink reached my room and he was breathing straight into my dad’s face. My father stood facing Dirk trying to stay sober despite inhaling the alcohol fumes emanating from Dirk. Never one for idle chat he went right to the question that had a really obvious answer.

“Have you been drinking?” my father asked. Dirk gave the question some serious thought and decided to stall while he came up with a clever lie that would sound like an honest and truthful reply.

“No!” slurred Dirk, “I was just patta arty!”

It was a brilliant answer for a brain dead drunk, but not the correct one. Predictably my dad asked the obvious question follow up question... which again had only one possible correct answer.

“Well, then why do you stink like a stale party drink?” my father asked and waited with an expectant look on his face. A look that suggested trouble if the answer wasn’t the one he expected. Having problems remembering who he was, let alone who he was talking to, Dirk somehow missed getting the right answer; Even though it was a multiple choice question with only one answer to choose.

Having considered all reasonable circumstances that would explain how you can stink like a bowery bum and not be drinking, Dirk had settled on his answer. He had come up with the best plausible scenario. It was exquisitely simple and completely explained how he could really be sober and yet sport a stench on his breath that would burst into flame if it came in contact with a cigarette.
“Oh yeah... somebody spilled some wine on my nose!”

The crack of my dad’s hand on the side of Dirks head was as loud as a firecracker. It was a slap that I can still hear today every time I think about it. Dirk would brag about the whack later in life. “You didn’t get that slap for being drunk, you idiot”, my father snarled! “That was for thinking I would be stupid enough to buy that dumb shit story. That was fun... now get upstairs before I do it again!”

I dove back to bed doing a poor job at suppressing my laughter as my brother Dirk, still staring at the stars floating around his head, went up to the third floor taking a lot more steps than there were stairs to get there. My father walked back to his room with his famous, “How stupid do these kids get anyway?” look on his face.

Dirk was so cool that way.

No comments: