Now imagine King Douche speaks in the most overly confident, exaggerated, fake manner that he could conjure… because he does.

Now I must preface all of this by telling you that “The Arc” is the giant gym at UCI.

After showering Attractive Studying Persian Girl (A.S.P.G.) with a bit of flattery…

A.S.P.G.: “Do you go to the arc a lot?”
King Douche: “All the time. Do you?”
A.S.P.G.: “I used to go but my gym buddy disappeared.”
King Douche: “What!? My gym B.F.F. just quit on me! Let’s set a schedule!”

I realize that it’s a bit hard to fully grasp how douchey this sounds without hearing his inflection and insincerity, but you’re going to have to trust me. Anyhow, it went on…

King Douche: “Do you have Facebook?”
A.S.P.G.: “No.”
King Douche: “Oh?”
A.S.P.G.: “Someone took pictures off of my Facebook and made a YouTube video that was a montage of my pictures and it was called “Beautiful Pictures of Persian Girls”, but it was just me. It got like a million hits and my mom called me up screaming.”
King Douche: “Oh wow, that’s very humble. “I’m a beautiful sexy genius–” ”
A.S.P.G.: “No!! I’m just telling you!”
King Douche: “Do you consider yourself attractive?”

Long pause.

A.S.P.G.: “Well I don’t think I’m ugly.”

Up until this point it was all well and good. He was just pestering a girl that seemed to enjoy the attention and he’d temporarily avoided talking about “fucking retards”, but that’s when he did something that bothered me a lot. Not even in the regular socially awkward way that I’m usually bothered. This was the first time in all of my coffee-getting escapades that I was genuinely pissed at someone other than myself.

For context, I have to explain that I wear a somewhat unique watch. Not that it’s anything terribly interesting, it’s just a brand that few people would have heard of. Because I don’t particularly care to discuss my watch, for the purpose of this story we’ll call that brand Timeco (which may or may not be a fake brand. I don’t know.)

Anyhow, King Douche’s Less Douchey Friend (L.D.F.) walks up (wearing a Tag Heuer watch) and starts to talk to him about going to med school…

L.D.F: “It’s still expensive to go there.”
King Douche: “If you need money you could just sell your fake Tag Heuer. Is it fake? Wait, you don’t have to answer that.”

Despite what he’s just said, King Douche waits for an answer anyway. L.D.F. just laughs awkwardly. Then King Douche looks directly at me (while I’m wearing headphones)…

King Douche: “You know what real men wear?”

Long dramatic pause as he stares at me.

King Douche: “Real men wear… Timeco.”

That is when I broke the act that I wasn’t listening and glared at King Douche with my best WTF face. There wasn’t much I could do. No one else had any idea what he was talking about. To the L.D.F. and A.S.P.G. it just seemed like a useless piece of opinion. To me, it was an e-vite into the world of douche to be the douche jester for his majesty. I just went back to my work. Douchebag.

Laptop Guy 1: “Did you see her on my profile?”
Laptop Guy 2: “I didn’t see your profile.”
Laptop Guy 1: “Why aren’t you accepting my friend request?”
Laptop Guy 2: “What?”
Laptop Guy 1: “I can’t believe you.”
Laptop Guy 2: “Well, were is it?”
Laptop Guy 1: “Oh, you didn’t tell me you were tangoMD2008… Alright, gooooot it. Now just click ‘yes’.”

Laptop Guy 2 clicks ‘yes’.

Laptop Guy 1: “So, did you see fatty?”

I had a flashback of having sex with a guy my sister went out with.

I don’t think you understand what flashback means. That, or you’re a whore.

“It smells like coffee in here.”

Like a good mother, she chose not to dignify his statement with a response.  Also, he might have had aspergers.

This was the case with a table full of douchebags.  I really don’t want to keep using that phrase, but I am at a complete lack for any better terms.  They all seemed to be in med school, with some of them teaching classes.  King Douche was facing away from me.

King Douche: I talked to this fucking class… They were retarded fucking special olympics type… and they would email us fucking underwear “in good condition” with pictures and shit and want us to sell them… I emailed back the cocksuckers… We’re not your fucking slaves…

That was all from one conversation.  I didn’t catch why he was talking to the class, but I’m not sure I even want to know.

King Douche’s Less Douchey Friend (LDF) then changed the topic to discuss bathroom location…

LDF: Man, I gotta take a dump but its too close to that guy in the corner for when I walk out.  Maybe I’ll go to Albertson’s.

Albertson’s, it’s your store.

A bit later, a guy that looked to have some sort of disability walked up to King Douche to ask him a question.  I’m not sure if this person was one of the “special olympics type” that King Douche was referring to earlier, or a fellow med student, but this is how part of their conversation went…

King Douche: I’m going to smash him in the face.
Guy: Why?
King Douche: Because it makes me feel good.  Preemptively smash him in the face.  Just to hear him scream.
Guy: <awkward laughter>

The guy returned to his seat at a less douchey table.

The topic of conversation then turned to a yearbook that they were apparently working with, or had some input on.  I don’t know.  I didn’t hear all of the details, but I did hear this…

Douchey Minion: I don’t want to be on page 64.  I want to be on page 69.

Some bro-laughs followed.  Douchey Minion then looked at something on his computer and said…

Douchey Minion: There’s a picture of us naked?
King Douche: We have no choice.  They do what they want to do.

Apparently yearbook committees have diplomatic immunity.

The conversation then moved on to an article on the internet (hopefully unrelated to the naked yearbook pictures)…

King Douche: There are pictures on yahoo dot com.

Minion checks out his computer for a moment, but seems to come up empty.

Douchey Minion: Yahoo dot com, you said?
King Douche: No, yahoo dot fuckingbananafuck.

In case you were wondering, that domain extension is owned by the small island nation of Fuckingbananafuck.  There isn’t a lot of tourism.

Now back to retards…

King Douche: That retard, I remember, for his fucking interview showed up with a rubix cube.  “Hey, you wanna see this fucking guy do a rubix cube in a minute?”  He said he was the fucking rubix cube champion or some shit.

And that retard was Will Smith, pursuing happyness.

As King Douche finally rose from his throne to leave, he gave everyone fistbumps and high fives.  He even snapped his fingers a few times.  I kid you not, skeptical readers.

Now if all of that wasn’t enough to secure his place in the feminine hygiene isle, let me add that he was using Internet Explorer.

Now that this has been established, I was privy to a Particularly Attractive Girl (PAG) sitting across Starbucks, directly in my eye line.   While I’m usually pretty efficient in not drawing attention to myself, I’m fairly certain PAG caught me glancing at her once or twice.  Oh well.

A bit of time passed before she stood up and started walking toward me.  Did I mention I was sitting at a table next to the bathroom?

As she walks by, I smile.  She returns the gesture, then tugs on the bathroom door.  It doesn’t open.  She waits.  This is when Less Attractive Girl (LAG) walks up.

LAG: Is someone in the bathroom?
PAG: Yeah, I think so.

For some stupid reason, this seems like the perfect opportunity for me to insert myself into the conversation.

Brad: Someone just went in a minute ago.
PAG: Ah, okay.

Now LAG goes and sits down while PAG stands near me, staring at the bathroom door from behind her bangs and over the top of her glasses.  A minute passes and I’ve already figured out the problem.

PAG: Seriously?
Brad: Huh?

PAG walks up to the door and tries it again.  Of course it opens, completely empty.

Brad: Oh, sorry.

PAG uses the bathroom then returns to her table.  Now, out of embarrassment rather than attraction, I glance over at her to find her looking directly at me over the top of her blackberry.

She packs up and leaves.  Immediately.

Nonchalant Girl: …Well, its okay because my last one overdosed on LSD and killed himself.
Guy1: Huh?
Guy2: What?

A second passes.

Guy3: Wait… what?

Roxanne: His gay brother and grandma bought him a house.
Other Girl: Oh, wow.
Roxanne: Yeah, I think I’ll date Kevin for a few months in the summer so we can use it.  It’s really nice… down in Crystal Cove.

Now I’m kinda curious how she paid for her coffee.

The best part?  The person that hit my car obviously knew how much I hated reading, thus decided not to leave a not.  Thanks.  Having to read would have been the bummer icing on the damnit cake.

I’m not sure which Starbucks this happened at because I didn’t notice it right away, but I’m about 95% sure it did happen at Starbucks.