The Haters by Jesse Andrews Page B

but uhhhh
    ASH: that sucks. fuck them
    WES: no they’re pretty busy. it’s not a big deal
    ASH: no fuck them
    WES: i mean i guess a little but they don’t usuall
    ASH: your parents need to get it the fuck together
    WES: well
    ASH:
    WES: i guess yeah
    COREY: uh guys
    ASH: what
    COREY: i think i just tried to update the software
    WES: you
think
you tried to update the software
    COREY: well i did try to update it
    WES: corey why the fuck would you do such a thing
    ASH: we’ve been saying this whole time not to
    COREY: just to get it to shut up but now it’s all fucked
    WES: how are you even still alive
    ASH: let’s get the fuck out of here
    We did, but there was a part of me that did not want to leave that room. For one thing, it had Internet. I was really starting to feel like I was going insane without my phone. I was reaching my hand into my pocket like every thirty seconds and then realizing yet again that there was no phone in there, and every single time that realization was unbearable. I was dead to the world minus two people, and it felt like all around me terrible things were probably happening, and I didn’t even get to know about them.
    Basically going through your life with no phone is like driving a car from inside a chicken suit.
    But for another thing, I sort of just didn’t want to be on the run anymore, with my nitwit best friend and the girl who was choosing to hook up with him and not me. I really just wanted to sit on the floor of the business center like a four-year-old until someone came to pick me up.
    Honestly, the only thing that kept me from doing that was that I still had this stupid desire to be in a band and play shows. I was beginning to realize that this desire was eventually going to destroy the rest of my life.
    COREY: what’s good about my password system is that it’s essentially unhackable
    ASH: unless you no longer have your phone
    COREY: well
    ASH:
    COREY: well yeah

15.
HOW TO TRADE YOUR REALLY NICE BUT POLICE-SUSPICION-AROUSING CAR FOR AN INFINITELY LESS NICE AND COME TO THINK OF IT PROBABLY ALSO POLICE-SUSPICION-AROUSING CAR IN THREE EASY STEPS
    Step One. Get a bunch of money from Citibank
    Specifically, five thousand dollars. If you’re not a minor, you can just walk in there and do this. The bank people might put up some resistance, like, sweetie, what do you need the money for, do your parents know about this, etc., but this resistance is easily overcome, especially if the kind but patronizing Citibank manager is made aware that you are part of a family that could remove a bazillion dollars from Citibank tomorrow in response to what feels like unfair, ageist, possibly sexist treatment, an awareness that will make the Citibank manager drop the kindness but also the patronizingness and get all thin-lipped and wounded as the teller silently fills your envelope with five thousand goddamned dollars while you try not to do a fist-pump so triumphant that it blows out your shoulder and then you have to play guitar left-handed.
    Note: Step One requires that you already have five thousand dollars and are part of a family with a bazillion dollars
.
    Step Two. Cruise around neighborhoods where cars seem to be for sale a lot and eventually buy one from a person named “Relph”
    In Knoxville, it’s not super hard to stumble onto a neighborhood where every block or two there’s a car with one of those black-and-orange FOR SALE signs taped to the side window. So get in there and start cruising around. Because you don’t have a phone, you’re going to have to knock on some doors, which will excite some dogs and confuse some old people and irritate some strung-out jobless weirdos, and when you do finally find someone who actually does have a car to sell, you will discover that the car is not running right now, and then the next one is running but it only gets six miles per gallon because there is a puncture wound in the gas tank from a