Peter Perfect, Part 1

“Gregg, Peter (FA),” was filed between “Greenwood, John” and “Gregory, Masten.” The file, dog-eared and stained with the outline of a coffee cup, showed its age; it dated back to 1970. I recognized the handwriting, it was mine; the (FA) did not stand for Formula Atlantic. This brought a smile to my face, and I thought if Gregg could see it he, too, would smile, for he relished and took delight in being an asshole. After one of the times he pissed me off I called him a “Fucking Asshole,” said more as a statement of fact than an expression of anger. I had turned to walk away when I thought, “I can do better,” and turned back around to tell him that in fact he was almost a perfect asshole, knowing that it would bother him that I did not consider him a completely perfect one. You see, Peter wanted to be perfect at everything, thus the moniker, “Peter Perfect.”

“He’s a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction. Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home.”