A couple of months ago I went to one of those local internet happy hour thingys. I enjoyed myself and liked the company. I was insulted by people whom I like, which is always fun. I insulted people whom I like, which is even more fun. But this isn’t really about that.

Mike and his wife were playing the role as hosts. Both were really enjoyable, engaging, charming, etc... They are actually an unusually attractive couple as well, especially for the internet. I typically assume that everyone on the internet is butt-ugly, like Neckbone, for instance. Good God, how does that man’s poor wife face him every morning? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone who looked more disturbingly Teutonic. Give that guy a monocle and German officer’s uniform, and he would be the spitting image of Colonel Klink. Neckbone, seriously, the dueling scar is a little much. But this isn’t really about that.

As part of their preparations as hosts, they had chosen to hand out door prizes; a.k.a., they cleaned out all the crap from their basement they didn’t want anymore and called the crap “door prizes.” I received a Tie Fighter that looked like this (sans pilot):

For one reason or another, receiving this Tie Fighter (a.k.a., crap from their basement they didn’t want anymore) made me feel unusually happy. I suspect this had something to do with a childhood issue of mine. I never had a Tie Fighter and always wanted one. My parents felt a single X-Wing Fighter and and two Star Wars figurines (one of Luke Skywalker and one Darth Vadar) was more than enough Star Wars crap for a single household. How the hell was I supposed to have a decent battle between Luke Skywalker and Darth Vadar without a fricking Tie Fighter?! My friends all had Millennium Falcons, Imperial Star Cruisers, Sandcrawlers, entire fleets of Tie Fighters, and all I owned was one God Damned X-Wing?! Not even to mention that Luke Skywalker was so obviously a giant fag, but I don’t even want to go there right now, it’s too painful. Besides, this post isn’t really about that.

Later that night, after I returned home from the Geek Meet, I did what any other 33 year old man would do; I took my new Tie Fighter out of the box and chased my cat around the apartment with it for the next 3 hours. Fuck you, I live alone. But this post isn’t really about that.

Of course, this was all a couple of months in the past. Last week, as I mentioned in the last post, I gave my apartment a serious cleaning. After I had finished throwing away all the junk I had collected over past year or so, I realized that I had forgotten to throw away the box my Tie Fighter had come in, which at this point was crumpled, dusty and a little stinky from being left in a corner with a pile of chicken bones on my bedroom floor. So, with no other garbage, I took the box and headed to the elevator to throw it away in the trash room.

Unfortunately, I ended up having to share the elevator with the 35 year old bicycle courier who lives on the floor below me. He looked a lot like this guy, only much much older and not quite so cool:

“Hey” said the 35 year old bicycle courier, “You’re not throwing that box away, are you? That’s a Trilogy 3.75” Tie Fighter Box. You have to keep it. The Tie Fighter isn’t worth anything without the box.”

Annoyed and embarrassed that I, a 33 year old man, was going to have to discuss the box for my Tie Fighter with 35 year old man, replied “Um... yeah, it was a gag gift. I’m sure it’s not worth anyth..”

“No!” he interrupted, “You can’t throw that box away, man! You have to keep the box, man!”

“No, no, it was just a gag gift.”

“Keep the box, man.”

I nodded and smiled, agreed that I would, and headed straight to the trash room, where I hid for a few minutes to insure that I wouldn’t be confronted again by a 35 year old bicycle courier for committing Star Wars toy sacrilege.

35 Year Old Bicycle Courier Man, this post is about you. Thank you for your concern for the well being of my 11 dollar toy. I’m terribly sorry for taking a symbolic crap on an alter to your faith. I’m not a religious man myself, but am more than willing to be respectful of your beliefs as long as you are willing to respect the fact that I do not share your faith. After all, who am I to judge you? I myself am a 33 year old man who chases my cat around my apartment with a toy meant for 6 year olds. But, if you don’t mind, please try to refrain from judging me for, of all things, throwing away a worthless box to a worthless toy meant for 6 year olds. It is, at best, worth 11 dollars in premium condition. If I give you 11 dollars, will you never bother me again?