This is from the beginning of Dave Lundy’s new novel (still in development) called “Zero F*cks Given”, a prequel to the best-selling comedy “Squish the Fish: A Tale of Dating and Debauchery”.
Chad Stanwick had the type of face you wanted to punch — handsome, yet with a permanent smirk that screamed “douchebag.” He was also the type that never missed an opportunity to tell people he was from Newton, Massachusetts — an affluent Boston suburb.
The previous spring, he won the Sigma Alpha Mu presidency by mercilessly berating the incumbent, Billy Schmear. “Do we still have the best parties?! Do we hook up with the hottest chicks anymore?!” he yelled to his fraternity brothers during his campaign. “The answer is no! And who’s fault is it?” He pointed at Billy Schmear. “Mrs. Pap Schmear’s, that’s who! He’s to blame! And only I, Chad Stanwick, can fix it!”
Chad was standing inside his fraternity house, a few weeks away from the start of the fall semester, and the place was in shambles — warped hardwood floors, cracked ceilings, and walls soiled with who knew what. It was his duty to ensure the house was impeccable before for the Sammies’, the name they called themselves, had their first party of the year.
There was a double-knock on the front door. Chad popped the collar of his pink Polo and turned his New England Patriots hat around backward. He walked stiffly, like a lobster-tail was lodged up his rectum, to the door and pulled it open. Outside, there was a man holding a clipboard, and Chad said to him, “Hello, what can you do for me?”
“Hi, I’m John. We were hired to fix up your house. I’m the foreman.” He glanced at his paperwork. “Are you Chad?”
“Yes, I am indeed Chad — the president of Sigma Alpha Mu. I’ll be telling you and your crew what to do.”
The foreman raised an eyebrow. “Uh, it doesn’t work that way.”
“The fuck it doesn’t. I’m from Newton and know better than anyone how to get this place into tip-top shape.” Chad looked at Pablo, Miguel, and Jose, who were leaning against a big white pickup-truck and smoking cigarettes. “Round up your hombres,” he circled his finger in the air, “and let’s get to work.”
What a fucking prick, thought the foreman.
“The hardwood floors are the most important, so start by tearing them out. Then paint the walls and patch the ceiling. Got it?”
The foreman shook his head. “I recommend we do the opposite of that — work top-down. The reason is…”
Chad cut him off. “Listen, do you want this job or not? There are plenty of other contractors that would be happy to take my business.”
The foreman looked at Chad sideways and seriously contemplated punching him square in the nose. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “Doing it your way will add an extra week.”
“I don’t think so. You’ll get it done on schedule like we agreed or you can vámonos the hell outta here.”
The owner of the contracting company reminded the foreman of Chad — obnoxious, arrogant, and stupid — and he wouldn’t think twice about firing someone that lost him a job. Knowing this, the foreman caved and agreed to Chad’s demands. He stuck two fingers from each hand in his mouth and blew an ear-piercingly loud whistle. The workers grabbed their tools and walked to the house.