For our inaugural post for Unraveler, we’ve got a treat. Guest author Mike Argeropoulous, a native of Chicago by way of Marquette, Michigan – and plenty of hilarious and creative stops in between – offers a cautionary tale. Whether you believe it or not, enjoy the tale of revenge, of the slacker variety, as Argeropoulous shoots his rock wad…
My rock and roll career was a stillborn goatchild, a sad forlorn creature, with the tiniest of nubbin horns hardly begun to form. I had no chops, no rhythm, no voice, no poise. Boo hoo. Still, I came close to creating the most grandiose, most spiteful cartoon band in the history or Rock n Roll. This band would have lit your gonads on fire. But you can’t build a band out of mockery and spite unless you have some soul to throw in, too.
One day I was riding my bike down a major street in Milwaukee and a driver opened the door of a parked car and hit me. I was scraped up a little but not too bad, but my bike suffered a busted derailleur and I couldn’t ride it any further. The girl who hit me was apologetic and agreed to pay for the cost to repair my bike. Two days later I called her with a request for $24.
‘Um, my boyfriend says I don’t have to pay for that,’ said Chris, the girl who doored me.
‘You hit me on my bike. You said you would pay for the repairs.’
‘My boyfriend says I don’t have to.’
She hung up.