If you wake up Thanksgiving morning slightly hungover in the Chinese quarter of a Tokyo suburb, then wander into a noodle soup joint that’s blaring midi versions of Christmas tunes, it can be easy to forget who you are.
If that sounds confusing, well, it was; these existential mini-meltdowns are a regular part of expat life. Don’t get me wrong – living abroad is gas for the most part, but anyone who has spent a significant amount of time away from home is all too familiar with this feeling. First, the doubt creeps in, and then you start asking yourself questions - Why was I so desperate to leave home? Why is a Filipino woman serving me Chinese food in a Japanese town? Who is in charge of the fucking music? For whatever reason, most major life epiphanies strike me over a bowl of soup. Good thing soup cures everything.
Anyway, this particular moment took place around the end of my first year in Japan, and while I don’t generally get homesick, something about the midi Christmas tunes set me off. I grabbed my phone and messaged an old friend from university. After telling him of my predicament he replied with a simple solution: make fun of Andy.
And so I did. Only it didn’t stop after the first week or even the first month. For the last four years, I have been trolling the shit out of my friend Andy. His close friends, relatives, and even girlfriend (if she’s actually real – I’m pretty sure he just set up a bogus account and then catfished himself) have gotten in on it, and the joke continues to build momentum. I don’t even know if it’s a joke anymore. Sorry Andy, but this thing is bigger than both of us now.
Without further ado, I present to you the past four years of Andrew Sux: A Memoir.
And there you have it.
Fast forward a few years and I'm sitting in McDonald’s in a crappy part of town on my lonesome stuffing an Egg McMuffin in my face, and “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now” is playing on the radio. Only it’s not The Smiths – it’s a weird funk version and it sucks and I hate it.
But it’s all good. You suck, Andy.