thisismostlyme calls me up a while back, and asks my help. Seems she's doing some important legal stuff involving her ex, which will result in his complete removal of parental rights to her kids. Needless to say, I was more than happy to say "yes, I'll help", seeing as how this is the jumped-up asshole wife-beater and child-molester (I considered a link to his webpage on the Washington State Sex Offender Database, but, no, I'll be professional here...for the record, he's nowhere near any of you).So, today,
dravengodvamp and I slid into the leather cycle jackets and took a little trip to the garage he works at, to serve him the legal papers. Lemme tell ya, the expression on his face was priceless, and was just the icing on the cake. I mean, OK, this schmoe is about 5'8", maybe 160# soaking wet; short, scrawny, and greying. Into the garage walks two big ol' Southern Boys in leather and black, asking for him. He came up out of the car he was working on, took a glance at the lack of exits, and admitted he was the one I was looking for. I took the "friendly" approach, shook his hand (side note: that was the weakest, weeniest dead-fish handshake I've experienced in a long time), and then he discovered I wasn't letting go. He looked over my shoulder at Doug blocking the way out, looked back at me as I told him he was served, handed him the papers. His eyes tried to go the size of dinner plates, but he managed to keep them down, just kinda shrugged it as he said "oh, yeah, thanks" (felt his hand twitch a little), and I let him go, turned around, and we walked out.Yep, served him openly in front of his co-workers. We left and managed to get about halfway to the car before he started giggling about him. Slid into the car, gave Lori the good news (she had been a bit nervous, understandably), and headed for home to sign off on the legal document.
I'd have done it for free anyway, simply because Lori's my friend and this waste-of-skin needs a(nother) severe beating, but the expression was more than payment enough. Good times.