"Hey, Rich," I said, quietly, "you got a minute?"
"The fuck's the matter wit you?"
"You know what," I said. "Why the fuck you sayin' shit to Johnny about me not comin' to fights anymore?"
"Yeah, dude. He told me you said that."
"I didn't mean it like that," he replied.
"Then how'd you fuckin' mean it? I'd really like to know."
"What'd he tell you I said?"
"Oh, what," I asked, "I should tell you exactly what he said, so you can turn around and put your little spin on it? Like he took you out of fuckin' context?"
"Dude, if you got somethin' to say about the way I do my job, go ahead and tell me to my face, otherwise fuckin' keep it to yourself."
"Rob," he said, "I don't want any problem with you."
"Listen, Richie. I don't want any problem with you, either, but you gotta watch what you say, even if you're just fuckin' around. You think if you badmouth me, Johnny's not gonna come back an' tell me five minutes later? I talk to the fuckin' guy on the phone every day."
"You can't fuckin' do that," I said. "I'm not gonna put up with it. I been workin' here two years, an' I've taken two days off that entire fuckin' time. And I've never, ever missed a fuckin' fight call. Never. Not one. You're gonna say somethin' like that, I'm takin' it personally."
"I'm sorry, man. What else can I say?"
"Fine. Lesson learned. But next time?"
"Next time," I said, "there ain't gonna be no next time, capeesh?"
I can't believe I actually said that.