Post by dadbod on Mar 24, 2022 23:59:38 GMT -5
The sun beats down on David Barker, hard at work in the backyard. No big deal. To the man known around the world as Dadbod, hard work comes easy. Especially working on the house. Building. Doing repairs. With tools. Hammers. Nails. Screwdrivers… Screws. You know, tools. Don’t get him started with a saw, he may never stop. Straight through the Earth’s crust. And he’s got a deadline to hit. This house better be ready by sundown, or else the foreman will really let him have it. Oh no, here she comes…
Quinn: Looks good, daddy! Can I go inside?
David hammers one last nail into the roof of a small playhouse he has assembled for his daughter. He takes a step back and admires his handiwork, letting out a sigh of relief equal parts ‘job well done’ and ‘I’m glad your mother didn’t follow you out here.’ Trina won’t appreciate it until the painting is complete.
David: Sure! Let me know how it looks in there. I’ve got a couple extra screws here, but I can’t figure out what they go to…
Quinn grabs the doorknob and gives it a turn. It pops off in her hand.
David: Ah, you found my trick already! Good one…
Now, I don’t know if you need to be told this or not, but it wasn’t a trick. Just an honest mistake by the hardest working man in wrestling. He’s a wrestler who also works in accounting. Sure he’s got a chiseled frame most men of a certain age only dream about, he definitely looks like he’d be a construction expert, but he may be more brain than brawn if you can believe that. On second thought, equal parts brain and brawn. A double threat.
David: Let me get that taken care of for you real quick sweetie. It’ll be a quick fix.
David replaces the doorknob and begins fastening it to the door.
Quinn: Daddy?
David: Yeah?
Quinn: Are you gonna do better this time?
David: Oh, I was just tricking you! I knew the doorknob wasn’t on all the way. I’ll do a great job this time!
Cannot emphasize enough, that is not the case.
Quinn: No, I mean… Wrestling… Will you win? You lose a lot.
David: Ohhhh, that.
Quinn: Like, all the time.
David: Well, I think I’ve won every time I’ve gone out there and competed. You know, in a non-traditional sense. I’m living my dream!
Quinn: Well, can you win one in a traditional sense then?
David: I guarantee it.
Yes sir, David is making a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean at this point.
Quinn: Really?! That’s great! I’m going to tell all my friends to watch it.
Little kids? Watching OCW?!
David: That’s probably not the best idea…
Quinn: Oh, okay. Well, mommy and I are going to watch it anyway. We’re going to be so proud of you!
David: I’m glad.
Quinn: Mommy says you’re due to do something right one of these days.
David: Uh huh…
David’s hand begins to shake as he tries to line the screwdriver up with the final screw. You know, the way tools work. A single bead of sweat drips down his forehead as he lines it up carefully. Quinn watches closely as her dad conquers his nerves and secures the doorknob once and for all.
Quinn: Yay, good job daddy!
David: Why thank you! All in a day's work. Now, onto the paint…
Of course, it isn’t the doorknob that caused the sudden onset of stress. He’s a man after all. He knows how to use tools. All of them. Like a man. No, it was-
Trina: What the hell is this?
David tenses up even further. He slowly turns his head to find his wife standing behind them, pointing at the ground. At her feet sit two cans of paint. Quinn giggles.
Quinn: I think that’s paint mommy! Duh!
Trina: Oh I know it is sweetie, I was just asking daddy if he knows what color of paint it is.
Of course he knows.
David: Of course I know.
He picked it out after all.
David: I picked it out after all.
Can you believe this broad?
David: Can you b… Be more specific? I feel like we’ve established the general contents of these cans. Paint. The color is on the can!
Trina: Oh, sure, sure. Well, for starters, this can here is gray-blue. Quinny and I very specifically picked out blue-gray.
David: What’s the difference?
Trina: Huge difference.
David: You’re wrong.
Trina: Unbelievable.
David: What?
Trina: You don’t hear the difference?
David: A different order?
Trina: Exactly!
David: So what?
Trina: It changes it entirely!
David: I really don’t think that it does.
Trina: Why would they make both if they were the same thing?
David: I don’t know! Let me ask you something. If I said, hey, let’s take a vacation to the Pacific Westnorth, would you know what I meant? I think you would.
Trina: That is the stupidest thing I ever heard!
David: And besides, there are a lot of colors I don’t think they needed to make. What’s wrong with the classics? Red. Blue. Green.
David motions toward the second can of paint at Trina’s feet.
David: Orange!
Quinn: What?
Trina: Oh here we go. Exhibit B. This is the paint for the door I assume?
David: Yes, obviously. Exactly like the picture you sent me. Orange.
Quinn: What?!
David: What?
Trina: What were you thinking?! I most certainly did not send you an orange picture.
David quickly retrieves his phone from his pocket and flips that baby open. He navigates with the arrow keys to a text message from his wife and loads a picture… Loading… Loading… Loading… Trina impatiently taps her foot, arms crossed. He turns the phone toward her to prove his point.
David: See!
Trina: First thing after you get home from this latest little wrestling thing, we’re getting your eyes checked. I have never seen a clearer picture of burnt sienna in my life!
David: Burnt what?!
Quinn: Sienna! Burnt sienna!
David: Oh, burnt SIENNA.
Trina: You better get your butt up to that hardware store and exchange this paint.
Quinn: No, it’s okay mommy.
David: They’re not going to take this back!
Trina: How do you know?
David: I just… do…
Trina: Well you better try at least.
Quinn: No, no.
David: With these gas prices?! It’s not worth the trip.
Trina: You should have thought of that before you bought ORANGE.
Quinn: STOP IT!
David and Trina stop their bickering long enough to look down at their daughter, who has one hand on her dad’s hand, one on her mom’s hand. She has tears welling up in her eyes.
Quinn: Do you love each other?
Trina: Of course.
David: Of course.
Trina: We have a gorgeous house.
David: W- Uh, yeah… Well that and, we care about each other…
Trina: Obviously.
Quinn looks back and forth between her parents for a moment.
Quinn: Good. Mommy, I’m ready for my snack.
Trina: Of course sweetie, I’ll follow you inside.
Quinn nods, satisfied. She heads for the backdoor to the gorgeous home. Trina steps closer to David, face to face. They stare into each other's eyes, silently. She pecks him with a quick kiss. He reaches out and grabs her hand.
David: Thank you.
They continue to stare at each other… Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes into hours. Not really, I wouldn’t make you sit here for that long. But they do turn into several seconds… Just know that it felt like days.
Staring…
More staring…
A little more staring…
David: I’ll clean up out here and uh… Go try to exchange this paint.
Trina: Thank you. I knew I could count on you.
Trina turns and heads inside for snacktime.
Trina: As long as I’m there to push you. Sure hope nobody else is counting on you!
Trina disappears into the house leaving David alone with his thoughts… What the hell was that supposed to mean?! He starts tidying up the jobsite. Yeah, that’s right. It’s a jobsite.
David: I… I carry this family on my back! I’m a workhorse. In the office. Everyone dumps their extra work on me! I haven’t got off work at 5 in months! At home. Look at all the stuff I do around here. I built this bad boy from the ground up! Not to mention the fence. Hell, in the ring!
Eh…
David: Well, maybe not the ring yet. But it’s coming. My feet are wet. I’m warmed up finally. I’ve lived the dream. Now I’m ready to WIN one of these! And the stakes are higher than ever now… I still want to make my family proud, earn their respect. Prevent my daughter from seeing me as an unreliable loser. But beyond that, I’ve got another man’s career in my hands!
David picks up the freshly loaded toolbox as if it were empty and begins to haul it over to the garage.
David: I didn’t ask to be put in this position. I didn’t expect to have this responsibility thrust upon me. But I assure you, I take this task very seriously. I don’t intend to let Mr. Zybala down. If I lose one more time, it’s hard to imagine myself being kept around this place. I basically have two fates in my hands this time around…
David reaches the half-open garage door. He dips under it with great flexibility before sidestepping a pile of toys with the agility of a cat. The man is ready to compete.
David: No worries. I’m in the best shape of my life right now.
Best shape of his life. When an athlete says they’re in the best shape of their life, you best believe them. It’s never lip service. David hoists the toolbox with EASE up onto the shelf and begins digging around on the next shelf over.
David: And I’m not stupid. I know exactly why I was put in this position. I get it. I’m a loser.
No you’re not!
David: Statistically, I’m a loser. Haven’t won a single match. And somebody thought it would be hilarious to put Mike Zybala’s future in the hands of the guy who can’t seem to win even one measly match. Well the jokes about to be on you! According to my wife, I’m due to do something right one of these days, and apparently it wasn’t ‘pick out the fucking paint,’ so on to the next thing on the list. Luck of the Violent. Bob Grenier. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to walk away with this win. I may even climb to the top rope, if it feels sturdy enough. It’s time to throw caution to the wind. You see Bob, I want everybody watching this event to at least walk away knowing what my coworkers already know: David Barker is Mr. Reliable.
David finishes digging through the shelves and pulls his hands out with a sleeping bag, which he tucks underneath his arm. He heads out of the garage and begins making his way around the house back to the playhouse area.
David: Last quarter, I had four colleagues who hadn’t done their expense reports. They were due that day. Who do you think they went to for help? Jack? Hell no. He’s a slacker. Nobody could count on Jack. No, they came to ol’ David B. The man you can count on. I was there until eight-thirty that night finishing my own workload. Even missed out on happy hour. But we all had our expense reports done in time. You get it?
You’re on a roll, Dave!
David: You seem like a nice enough guy, relatively speaking. But I can’t worry about that anymore. It’s the bottom of the ninth for me, I need to score. Zybala has his rally cap on. It’s time for some vintage, clutch, David Barker. The man you can trust.
Put that on a campaign button! David reaches the playhouse once more and gives the doorknob another test. Works like a charm. He tosses the sleeping bag inside before poking his head in the door and taking a glance around the space. Open floor plan. A wood stove. No bathroom. Loaded with potential. Maybe put a plant in the corner, some curtains. Definitely going to need AC for the summer. He withdraws and closes the door behind him.
David: Hmm, cozy. It’s a nice afternoon… I think I’m sleeping in there tonight if I don’t take care of this whole paint debacle. Screw the couch! Not that it even matters. You know why? Because my wife and kid, just like my coworkers, and just like Mike Zybala, can count on me.
David nods, satisfied. He walks over to the two cans of paint. One orange. The other, part gray and part blue, but apparently the wrong parts. He rolls his eyes before lifting them up with his secret dad muscles, and trotting back around the house, toward his car.
David: This is the moment I have been waiting for since I debuted. No tag team partners. No twelve other people to worry about at any given time. No gimmicky cubes to be locked inside. It’s me and one other man, in the ring, one on one. My chance to finally show what I can do as a wrestler. The time for my skill set to shine! I will tie Bob Grenier in a pretzel. Overpower him. Show him the strength it requires to open a forgotten jar of pickles from the back of the fridge. No grippy gimmicks required, unless you count these hands. Yes sir, we are on the eve of Dadbod’s finest moment in OCW competition. After Luck of the Violent, it will be time for a little respect to be put on ol’ David Barker’s name. At home and in the ring.
David approaches the car. He retrieves his keys and presses a button to pop his trunk open. That’s right. If it wasn’t clear already, this man lives in the lap of luxury. He stares down at the content of the trunk, letting out a sigh. Six other cans of paint sit inside. The charcoal can of paint, that was supposed to be ‘slate’ for the trim. The lavender can for the bedroom? Lilac. Bubble gum for Quinn’s room, that was supposed to be carnation. Lime green for the shed, that was supposed to be pistachio. That one really got Trina heated. Who fuck likes lime green?!
David: Got a couple more for the graveyard, fellas. Make room.
David rests two more cans of paint in the trunk of his powerhouse of a Ford Taurus and makes his way over to the driver’s seat.
David: I’m feeling good about this one, Bob. I’m getting a chance to make a name for myself off of an OCW Hall of Famer. A much deserved first victory. I’m ready. I’m motivated. All that I have left to do is take care of business. Just like Gonzaga is doing against Arkansas right now. Easiest thousand dollars I’ve ever made!
David smiles proudly and pops open the door, taking his seat at the wheel. He turns the key in the ignition, and his favorite sports radio station fires up along with the car.
Announcer: And that does it! Down goes Gonzaga! Arkansas wins 74-68! Hope you didn’t bet the farm on this one!
David stares ahead, blank in the face for a moment.
David: Son of a bi-
Quinn: Looks good, daddy! Can I go inside?
David hammers one last nail into the roof of a small playhouse he has assembled for his daughter. He takes a step back and admires his handiwork, letting out a sigh of relief equal parts ‘job well done’ and ‘I’m glad your mother didn’t follow you out here.’ Trina won’t appreciate it until the painting is complete.
David: Sure! Let me know how it looks in there. I’ve got a couple extra screws here, but I can’t figure out what they go to…
Quinn grabs the doorknob and gives it a turn. It pops off in her hand.
David: Ah, you found my trick already! Good one…
Now, I don’t know if you need to be told this or not, but it wasn’t a trick. Just an honest mistake by the hardest working man in wrestling. He’s a wrestler who also works in accounting. Sure he’s got a chiseled frame most men of a certain age only dream about, he definitely looks like he’d be a construction expert, but he may be more brain than brawn if you can believe that. On second thought, equal parts brain and brawn. A double threat.
David: Let me get that taken care of for you real quick sweetie. It’ll be a quick fix.
David replaces the doorknob and begins fastening it to the door.
Quinn: Daddy?
David: Yeah?
Quinn: Are you gonna do better this time?
David: Oh, I was just tricking you! I knew the doorknob wasn’t on all the way. I’ll do a great job this time!
Cannot emphasize enough, that is not the case.
Quinn: No, I mean… Wrestling… Will you win? You lose a lot.
David: Ohhhh, that.
Quinn: Like, all the time.
David: Well, I think I’ve won every time I’ve gone out there and competed. You know, in a non-traditional sense. I’m living my dream!
Quinn: Well, can you win one in a traditional sense then?
David: I guarantee it.
Yes sir, David is making a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean at this point.
Quinn: Really?! That’s great! I’m going to tell all my friends to watch it.
Little kids? Watching OCW?!
David: That’s probably not the best idea…
Quinn: Oh, okay. Well, mommy and I are going to watch it anyway. We’re going to be so proud of you!
David: I’m glad.
Quinn: Mommy says you’re due to do something right one of these days.
David: Uh huh…
David’s hand begins to shake as he tries to line the screwdriver up with the final screw. You know, the way tools work. A single bead of sweat drips down his forehead as he lines it up carefully. Quinn watches closely as her dad conquers his nerves and secures the doorknob once and for all.
Quinn: Yay, good job daddy!
David: Why thank you! All in a day's work. Now, onto the paint…
Of course, it isn’t the doorknob that caused the sudden onset of stress. He’s a man after all. He knows how to use tools. All of them. Like a man. No, it was-
Trina: What the hell is this?
David tenses up even further. He slowly turns his head to find his wife standing behind them, pointing at the ground. At her feet sit two cans of paint. Quinn giggles.
Quinn: I think that’s paint mommy! Duh!
Trina: Oh I know it is sweetie, I was just asking daddy if he knows what color of paint it is.
Of course he knows.
David: Of course I know.
He picked it out after all.
David: I picked it out after all.
Can you believe this broad?
David: Can you b… Be more specific? I feel like we’ve established the general contents of these cans. Paint. The color is on the can!
Trina: Oh, sure, sure. Well, for starters, this can here is gray-blue. Quinny and I very specifically picked out blue-gray.
David: What’s the difference?
Trina: Huge difference.
David: You’re wrong.
Trina: Unbelievable.
David: What?
Trina: You don’t hear the difference?
David: A different order?
Trina: Exactly!
David: So what?
Trina: It changes it entirely!
David: I really don’t think that it does.
Trina: Why would they make both if they were the same thing?
David: I don’t know! Let me ask you something. If I said, hey, let’s take a vacation to the Pacific Westnorth, would you know what I meant? I think you would.
Trina: That is the stupidest thing I ever heard!
David: And besides, there are a lot of colors I don’t think they needed to make. What’s wrong with the classics? Red. Blue. Green.
David motions toward the second can of paint at Trina’s feet.
David: Orange!
Quinn: What?
Trina: Oh here we go. Exhibit B. This is the paint for the door I assume?
David: Yes, obviously. Exactly like the picture you sent me. Orange.
Quinn: What?!
David: What?
Trina: What were you thinking?! I most certainly did not send you an orange picture.
David quickly retrieves his phone from his pocket and flips that baby open. He navigates with the arrow keys to a text message from his wife and loads a picture… Loading… Loading… Loading… Trina impatiently taps her foot, arms crossed. He turns the phone toward her to prove his point.
David: See!
Trina: First thing after you get home from this latest little wrestling thing, we’re getting your eyes checked. I have never seen a clearer picture of burnt sienna in my life!
David: Burnt what?!
Quinn: Sienna! Burnt sienna!
David: Oh, burnt SIENNA.
Trina: You better get your butt up to that hardware store and exchange this paint.
Quinn: No, it’s okay mommy.
David: They’re not going to take this back!
Trina: How do you know?
David: I just… do…
Trina: Well you better try at least.
Quinn: No, no.
David: With these gas prices?! It’s not worth the trip.
Trina: You should have thought of that before you bought ORANGE.
Quinn: STOP IT!
David and Trina stop their bickering long enough to look down at their daughter, who has one hand on her dad’s hand, one on her mom’s hand. She has tears welling up in her eyes.
Quinn: Do you love each other?
Trina: Of course.
David: Of course.
Trina: We have a gorgeous house.
David: W- Uh, yeah… Well that and, we care about each other…
Trina: Obviously.
Quinn looks back and forth between her parents for a moment.
Quinn: Good. Mommy, I’m ready for my snack.
Trina: Of course sweetie, I’ll follow you inside.
Quinn nods, satisfied. She heads for the backdoor to the gorgeous home. Trina steps closer to David, face to face. They stare into each other's eyes, silently. She pecks him with a quick kiss. He reaches out and grabs her hand.
David: Thank you.
They continue to stare at each other… Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes into hours. Not really, I wouldn’t make you sit here for that long. But they do turn into several seconds… Just know that it felt like days.
Staring…
More staring…
A little more staring…
David: I’ll clean up out here and uh… Go try to exchange this paint.
Trina: Thank you. I knew I could count on you.
Trina turns and heads inside for snacktime.
Trina: As long as I’m there to push you. Sure hope nobody else is counting on you!
Trina disappears into the house leaving David alone with his thoughts… What the hell was that supposed to mean?! He starts tidying up the jobsite. Yeah, that’s right. It’s a jobsite.
David: I… I carry this family on my back! I’m a workhorse. In the office. Everyone dumps their extra work on me! I haven’t got off work at 5 in months! At home. Look at all the stuff I do around here. I built this bad boy from the ground up! Not to mention the fence. Hell, in the ring!
Eh…
David: Well, maybe not the ring yet. But it’s coming. My feet are wet. I’m warmed up finally. I’ve lived the dream. Now I’m ready to WIN one of these! And the stakes are higher than ever now… I still want to make my family proud, earn their respect. Prevent my daughter from seeing me as an unreliable loser. But beyond that, I’ve got another man’s career in my hands!
David picks up the freshly loaded toolbox as if it were empty and begins to haul it over to the garage.
David: I didn’t ask to be put in this position. I didn’t expect to have this responsibility thrust upon me. But I assure you, I take this task very seriously. I don’t intend to let Mr. Zybala down. If I lose one more time, it’s hard to imagine myself being kept around this place. I basically have two fates in my hands this time around…
David reaches the half-open garage door. He dips under it with great flexibility before sidestepping a pile of toys with the agility of a cat. The man is ready to compete.
David: No worries. I’m in the best shape of my life right now.
Best shape of his life. When an athlete says they’re in the best shape of their life, you best believe them. It’s never lip service. David hoists the toolbox with EASE up onto the shelf and begins digging around on the next shelf over.
David: And I’m not stupid. I know exactly why I was put in this position. I get it. I’m a loser.
No you’re not!
David: Statistically, I’m a loser. Haven’t won a single match. And somebody thought it would be hilarious to put Mike Zybala’s future in the hands of the guy who can’t seem to win even one measly match. Well the jokes about to be on you! According to my wife, I’m due to do something right one of these days, and apparently it wasn’t ‘pick out the fucking paint,’ so on to the next thing on the list. Luck of the Violent. Bob Grenier. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to walk away with this win. I may even climb to the top rope, if it feels sturdy enough. It’s time to throw caution to the wind. You see Bob, I want everybody watching this event to at least walk away knowing what my coworkers already know: David Barker is Mr. Reliable.
David finishes digging through the shelves and pulls his hands out with a sleeping bag, which he tucks underneath his arm. He heads out of the garage and begins making his way around the house back to the playhouse area.
David: Last quarter, I had four colleagues who hadn’t done their expense reports. They were due that day. Who do you think they went to for help? Jack? Hell no. He’s a slacker. Nobody could count on Jack. No, they came to ol’ David B. The man you can count on. I was there until eight-thirty that night finishing my own workload. Even missed out on happy hour. But we all had our expense reports done in time. You get it?
You’re on a roll, Dave!
David: You seem like a nice enough guy, relatively speaking. But I can’t worry about that anymore. It’s the bottom of the ninth for me, I need to score. Zybala has his rally cap on. It’s time for some vintage, clutch, David Barker. The man you can trust.
Put that on a campaign button! David reaches the playhouse once more and gives the doorknob another test. Works like a charm. He tosses the sleeping bag inside before poking his head in the door and taking a glance around the space. Open floor plan. A wood stove. No bathroom. Loaded with potential. Maybe put a plant in the corner, some curtains. Definitely going to need AC for the summer. He withdraws and closes the door behind him.
David: Hmm, cozy. It’s a nice afternoon… I think I’m sleeping in there tonight if I don’t take care of this whole paint debacle. Screw the couch! Not that it even matters. You know why? Because my wife and kid, just like my coworkers, and just like Mike Zybala, can count on me.
David nods, satisfied. He walks over to the two cans of paint. One orange. The other, part gray and part blue, but apparently the wrong parts. He rolls his eyes before lifting them up with his secret dad muscles, and trotting back around the house, toward his car.
David: This is the moment I have been waiting for since I debuted. No tag team partners. No twelve other people to worry about at any given time. No gimmicky cubes to be locked inside. It’s me and one other man, in the ring, one on one. My chance to finally show what I can do as a wrestler. The time for my skill set to shine! I will tie Bob Grenier in a pretzel. Overpower him. Show him the strength it requires to open a forgotten jar of pickles from the back of the fridge. No grippy gimmicks required, unless you count these hands. Yes sir, we are on the eve of Dadbod’s finest moment in OCW competition. After Luck of the Violent, it will be time for a little respect to be put on ol’ David Barker’s name. At home and in the ring.
David approaches the car. He retrieves his keys and presses a button to pop his trunk open. That’s right. If it wasn’t clear already, this man lives in the lap of luxury. He stares down at the content of the trunk, letting out a sigh. Six other cans of paint sit inside. The charcoal can of paint, that was supposed to be ‘slate’ for the trim. The lavender can for the bedroom? Lilac. Bubble gum for Quinn’s room, that was supposed to be carnation. Lime green for the shed, that was supposed to be pistachio. That one really got Trina heated. Who fuck likes lime green?!
David: Got a couple more for the graveyard, fellas. Make room.
David rests two more cans of paint in the trunk of his powerhouse of a Ford Taurus and makes his way over to the driver’s seat.
David: I’m feeling good about this one, Bob. I’m getting a chance to make a name for myself off of an OCW Hall of Famer. A much deserved first victory. I’m ready. I’m motivated. All that I have left to do is take care of business. Just like Gonzaga is doing against Arkansas right now. Easiest thousand dollars I’ve ever made!
David smiles proudly and pops open the door, taking his seat at the wheel. He turns the key in the ignition, and his favorite sports radio station fires up along with the car.
Announcer: And that does it! Down goes Gonzaga! Arkansas wins 74-68! Hope you didn’t bet the farm on this one!
David stares ahead, blank in the face for a moment.
David: Son of a bi-