What pisses me off worse than anything in the world is the blinding rage I feel when reading something really good that was written by someone who is a better writer than I am. This invariably brings on alternating bouts of uncontrollable temper, insomnia, and abject teeth gnashing depression. Recently, our very own John of Eventing Nation fame and fortune (not) wrote an “interview,” Montana FAQ, that had me howling with laughter. After wiping up the coffee I’d sprayed all over my keyboard and thanking God that I do my own laundry, my Scorpion nature kicked in, the gist of which is “I don’t want to get ahead. I just want to get even.” Today, the opportunity to so so presented itself and went something like this.
A horse belonging to a good friend of mine was competing in a Hunter Derby at a quadruple (or whatever the Hell) A summer H/J show in the neighborhood. I was told that the class would run “around 11 A.M.” Now I was raised doing the hunters – indoors, outdoors , you name it – and to this day, I still love watching a good hunter go, but midway in my competitive career, I crossed over to (cue the Twilight Zone theme music) The Dark Side, eventing, where I have since been in ever evolving capacities. In the time that has elapsed, I’d managed to forget the number one thing that really annoyed me back then – waiting endlessly for Susie Creamcheese to get her ass to the in gate and ride instead of dicking around in the warm up ring waiting for her trainer to appear and earn his or her day fee bellowing inanities at her. I was painfully reminded today!
Anyway, I digress. 11 AM oozed on glacierlike to 1 PM, and in the meantime, I watched (sort of) a 2 hour, six horse Medal (or Maclay, never could tell the difference) qualifying class. I sat and sucked on a cup of pretty bad coffee and amused myself by covertly studying the father of one of the riders who alternated bellowing into his mobile phone with twitching and groaning while watching his offspring’s rivals crawl around the ring. All of a sudden, John’s Montana FAQ interview, the object of my rageful envy, popped into my consciousness. Why not a fantasy interview with a teen aged hunter equitation rider, I asked myself. It could be pretty funny – and it would give me something to do besides becoming over caffeinated, studying the backs of my eyelids, and reorganizing my life yet again. The result of this fantasy trip follows – and yes, John, I plagerized the Hell out of your piece. Sue me for all my back pay!
July 30, 2010 – Equifantasy Horse Show, Somewhere in the hot Middlewestern Boonies.
I approach teenaged girl who had earlier won a class and is now busy texting. She is dressed in the prerequisite white pattern on pattern shirt, choker, low slung baby barf colored breeches, black boots, helmet, and side buckled, bling encrusted belt. I had done some research from her show number (clever reporter that I am). Her name is Britiffuffy Loganthorne. (Note first name that combines the best of Brittany, Tiffany and Buffy, and the last name which I earlier learned was changed from Madoff four years ago by her hedge fund managing father. You get the drift – the same drift that the SEC evidently missed ….)
Me (perkily) : “Hi. I’m (mumble name) a free lance writer doing an article for (mumble unintelligible equine magazine name) about your win. May I have a word with you?”
BL : (never missing a beat of her texting) “Huh?”
Me : (repeat opening sentence slower)
BL : “Oh yeah. Like OK.” Still texting.
Me : “You must be quite happy with your blue ribbon today. Any thoughts?”
BL : “Yeah. It was good, but it’s like a crappy ribbon. Hihowzitgone?” (the last to a passing contemporary clone)
Me : “Your horse, Out Until Dawn, was brilliant. Does he have a stable name?”
BL : (looking up from her tiny keyboard) “Name? Oh yeah I guess. Like Hank.”
Me : “I’d like to get some pictures of him relaxing. What stall is he in?”
BL : “Stall? I dunno. I’ve never been there. My Own like brings him here to the ring for me.”
Me : “My Own?”
BL : “Yeah. My Own Groom. Everyone has one.”
Me : “What’s his name? Maybe I could get a quote from him.”
BL : “Name? Dunno. We like call them all Juan.”
Me : (rapidly changing the subject) “Was your trainer pleased with your win?”
BL : “I guess. She told my Dad he had to buy me another practice horse if I’m going to like win at the indoors this fall. He got pretty hacked off. Everyone has at least two practice horses. I don’t like see why I can’t.” (This in an especially unattractive whiney voice). “He’ll come around.”
Me : (anxious to get some kind of usable quote out of this brain dead child) “Do you find it difficult to combine school work with your riding career, especially if your goal is doing the Indoors?”
BL : “Huh? Wadyamean?”
Me : (suddenly too tired to go on and longing for a gin and tonic to ease the pain) “Forget it. Thanks for your time.”
I exit stage left and find the nearest dark and soothing bar where I still sit depressed because John still writes better than I do and probably always will.
