The Odd Couple

He penetrated my defenses easily. There was an introduction, handshakes, smiling and laughing. There were beers. Coronas and limes, rings of condensation scattered about my apartment. Boisterous toasts, bottles clinking. Foam on the carpet.

Something incredible had happened. My roommate had been trying to finagle his way into the LA porn scene.

Meanwhile, an old college friend was just arriving at my apartment in Berkeley to retrieve his car, a Subaru which I had been taking care of while he was in Fort Lauderdale shooting a documentary. He pulled up with his filming associate in the passenger’s seat of a teal El Camino, and a crumpled mole-hill of Wall Street Journals in the back. I needed a roommate for two months. They needed a place to edit their footage. A perfect fit.

Only later did I discover that I had just let one of the GOP’s Frankenstein poster children into my home.

His name was Abel and he was the subject of my friend’s next documentary. He didn’t wear wing-tips, he wore sandals. His hair was longer than mine. There was no tiny metal American flag pinned to his shirt, no “Save Terry Schiavo” bumper sticker on his car. But despite appearances, this friend of a friend was as conservative as Strom Thurmond.

A conversation about Social Security awoke the sleeping Cheney in him.

“I think it’s ridiculous that the Republican Party expects Americans to invest their own retirement money. It’s unfair to thrust this type of responsibility on uneducated people.” I remarked off the cuff.

Abel voice transformed into a high shrill when he responded.

“You liberals have no faith in the common man!”

I was immediately taken aback. You liberals? My beer slipped from my hand and shattered against the false oak tiles. I excused myself to go get some paper towels, quietly retreated into the bathroom, and then locked the door. Panic sweat stung my eyes. Did I hear correctly? The kid was a Republican! And he’d be living with me for the next three months!

I grabbed a disposable razor that had been discarded in the bathroom trashcan and began to work the blade out of the casing. This situation could only end in violence, and I wanted to be prepared.
But the voice in my head stopped me. Murdering this bastard will get you nowhere, I told myself. Chill out. Chill out.

Tolerance is a virtue.

I put the blade down. The conservatives have already taken over anyways. I’m gonna have to learn how to talk to these guys.

Liberals have no faith in the common man.

What’s the correct response?