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2014 July

If I were African-American I would be in jail, or dead.

We are well in to the 21st century and racism is still alive and kicking. There would be no doubt that progress has been made but, pretty much on daily basis, you hear about racial profiling. Black men have an especially hard time hailing a cab, they get followed in stores and they get pulled over for DWB (“Driving while black”). I can’t take credit for the last statement, nor do I know who first said it but it really stuck with me. I have been followed in stores, numerous times, while shopping.I would be lying if I said this was a frequent occurrence but nonetheless it was most disconcerting. I was in a grocery store, a chain store not a mom & pop deal, buying for one night. I didn’t have a cart and I picked up some filet mignon. I’m walking around trying to figure out what else to cook as this was special, trust me, I don’t have a filet paycheck. I look up and the fucking meat guy, in a bloody apron, is following me around shuffling stuff around and probably spreading blood. I actually hope he did spread blood around so future customers would wonder if they are actually pulling a “Hostel” situation here. I bought my stuff but I was fucking LIVID! How fucking dare this grocery store butcher follow my ass around? Who the fuck did he think he was? Who did he think I was? I wanted to go back in grab a butcher knife create a larger opening in this assholes asshole and shove those filets straight up there. I was followed in a beach shop and in a rinky dink “antique” store. I just wanted to blow their shops up. What must that feel like on such a frequent basis that when you’re pulled you don’t really have to try to figure out what you did. You were born black. You fucked up and picked the wrong color. It’s so hard to imagine that happening so frequently that it is the norm. If I were black and this shit happened to me? Bodies everywhere. You talk “Black Attitude”? Try being treated, as you walk through the door, that you need to be watched because there is no way you could possibly afford THIS merchandise. Next time you grab your purse when you see a black man get on the elevator, be glad it’s not this white woman.

My Most Expensive Meal.

     One of my first jobs as a teen was working in a grocery store. This grocery store (now defunct) was located next to a Kmart, which as I understand is almost defunct as well. Wal-Mart certainly has eaten up its competition much like a tornado through a trailer park. Across the street from my store was a huge, beautiful mansion that I can only compare to Tara from Gone with the Wind. I saw that beautiful mansion every day that I worked. It stood alone among various businesses sprouting up in that area. I finally asked one of the older ladies that I worked with what the deal was with that house. I was told the mansion, and a good bit of the surrounding area, had once been owned by a very wealthy family who not only handed down their wealth from generation to generation they also passed down monstrous addictions. As the years passed the acreage was depleted in an effort to feed the various vices and unrelenting habits of each family member until the majority of the family either moved or they were called to an early grave. I was told the only remaining family member, at least who was known in this area, was named Jim. If I was ever given Jim’s last name I don’t recall it. The once wealthy and well regarded family now didn’t even own their beautiful home. I was told that surely I’d seen Jim come in the store, he has “just one of those bums, you know the drunks that come in here”. There was still some land that had not been razed and some more unfortunate men were known to camp out there.
One day a tall, prematurely gray, very malnourished looking man came in, the lady I had spoken with was quick to point him out. She was correct, I did recognize him and I would never have associated this man with great wealth and he most assuredly he didn’t posses great health. This man went through my co-workers line, he was looked at and treated with open disdain. He never looked up at her, he just paid for his bottle of MD 20/20 (an inexpensive, high alcohol content wine). He paid mostly in change, he was hunched over and his hands were shaking. I was horrified to see someone treated so poorly. I almost felt like I had seen someone kick a puppy and laugh. As he walked past me to leave, still looking down, I said something like “Have a Good Day” and he stopped and turned around and looked at me, I believe he wanted to see if I was genuine or just another “Christian” like these women claimed to be. He kinda did a head nod and a grunt.
I don’t know if Jim started to come in to the store more frequently or if I was just more aware of him now. I. Noticed he would go out of his way to go through my line. He was never much of a talker but he would always ask how I was. One night I had a large order come through and Jim was 3rd in line behind this behemoth of an order. One of my co-workers told him to come down to another register because he only had one item. He wouldn’t budge. He said “he had no other pressing engagements”, giving me a glimpse of humor and a sarcasm that I totally appreciated.Every once in awhile he would come in with some of his friends one I just called “Captain” as he wore a captain’s hat. Jim’s friends would wait to go through my line and of course my co-workers would pick at me asking me about my boyfriend. I just ignored them. Jim’s orders were almost always the same thing MD 20/20 and sometimes a loaf of bread and a can of dog food. I felt pretty certain Jim had no dog. When spring would come he would always stop and pick me wildflowers in the field and bring them to me. He would always look down when I thanked him. I’d get a cup and put them by my register. Jim was never inappropriate, crude or rude. He was very shy, kind and proud. On the days he bought bread and dog food we would both laugh when he talked about his “dog”. He knew that I knew he was eating that. Jim probably owned 2 or 3
T-shirts and only had one pair of pants (that I could tell). The belt holding up his pants had many hand punched holes as they quite literally sat on his hips, all t-shirts hung on him like a cadaver. He looked like a walking skeleton. I was really worried for him and he disappeared for a few months and I thought the worse. One day he just walks back in, I don’t know where he went he didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. He came through my line with his regular order and asked me what was my favorite candy bar I wasn’t really thinking and told him,he turned around picked up my choice and put it with his order. I felt horrible, I wasn’t thinking when I told him. When I told him I couldn’t accept that he look deflated. He was so proud to do that. So I accepted the candy bar and when Jim left the store that day he smiled at me and walked as straight up as any man. That’s the day I received the gift of a candy bar from a man who ate dog food.

The Bagina Monologue

I used to have a friend that worked for the department of health. In this state the department of health is where people of meager finances get their healthcare. I went to the department of health to get a PAP smear so I could get birth control pills for free. I can not swear to it but I strongly believe that if Joseph Goebbels had offspring his grandchildren would work at the women’s section of this Department of Health, herein referred to as (DOH) just for ease. I do realize that the Docs they have working there are only doing a rotation to fulfill med school credits and they don’t want to be there, blah blah blah. I believe that someone neglected to inform these future “God’s in their own mind” that they were now working on real people and not cadavers. The exam was really abusive and the dude wasn’t paying attention so I was basically assaulted by a speculum and a q-tip. The reception area had the look of an upscale crack den, except everyone appeared to have lost their buzz. My friend, let’s call her Clitoris, was responsible for answering phones and setting appointments which, uncannily, is why she got an art degree. The stories shared with me which could make you both laugh and/or cry depending on whether your cynical or empathetic. There was the story of the woman who got a PAP smear and during said smear a hairball the size of an adult fist was found way on up in there. Never was this State Fair, Blue Ribbon size hairball ever explained. This makes me sad that Rod Serling is dead, imagine what he could have done with that. Okay. The BEST story to come out of this job, in my opinion anyway, is the Bagina story. One day a woman called the DOH (see above) and stated:


Now this sentence had my mind racing. What in God’s name is a fucking Bagina and why was it stanking WORSE than USUAL? I know you’re wondering what kind of lame ass town this must be to not have a Bagina Salon. Should said Bagina be reported to Animal Control? If this Bagina is just loose in the town should there be an APB put out on it? Does it spray like a skunk? I was terrified and like anyone else who was aware of this possibly rabid, roaming, Bagina I got in my car and ran to the store and purchased all of the tomato juice they had just in case I ended up in the path of this Bagina and it’s squirting caustic fluid. I also found that a Bloody Mary might be called for, just for my nerves which were now shot. Is the stench of a Bagina a recognizable one? Would the normal Bagina smell like say a can of tuna, or would it smell more like a Red Lobster after a zombie attack and all of their stock had rotted? I waited at home, totally blitzed out of my mind with bloody Mary’s and watched CNN waiting to see how this situation would unfold. Nothing. I heard absolutely nothing of this “Stanking Bagina” situation. This, my friends, leads to only 2 possibilities: “The Stanking Bagina” is not as rare as I feared it to be or as Fox Mulder might say “The Truth is Out There”.

Mothers and Other Creatures.

Human-Skeleton-Outline--10235-medium“NO MORE WIRE HANGERS!” I believe even if you haven’t had the grand experience that is Faye Dunaways performance as Joan Crawford, you probably have still heard this quote. Which bring me to a subject that will make good old Dr.Freud’s skinless corpse smile. Mothers. From Norman Bates and his 4 star rating from to Ed Gein (He was such a good boy). History,in the form of books, poems,and cinema have, mostly, held “The Mother” in high esteem.Until I started this particular stream of consciousness I didn’t realize how many mothers there are. There are Grandmothers, Godmothers, Stepmothers,Mothers you’d like to fuck, “My Sainted Mother”, Mothers Finest (great R&B/funk band), The Mothers of invention (RIP Mr.Zappa), motherfuckers and Mother Mary. Please forgive me if I’d rather hang with a motherfucker than a Mother Theresa, but that’s just me.

I jest in the previous paragraph but, to me, the mother thing is both interesting and terrifying. I have found out through my years of kicking around on this pile of dirt that “The Mother” is the most influential person in the vast majority of humanity. That is some powerful shit right there. You have to fill out a questionnaire to get a “Rewards” card from you grocery store but pretty much any woman can fuck some one night stand, get knocked up, give birth to some sludgling that is pulling DNA out of two different stagnant gene pools, and no one says/does anything. I think there should be SOME kind of process, or test that women should have to take before conceiving. You can make it an app. If you can’t pass this minimal psychological/stability/IQ/sobriety exam, lasers will shoot out of your phone and temporarily seal your twat, making it impenetrable for 24 hours. I have not forgotten Johnny Rotten-Appleseed either, let us just say this would be a less than happy ending. I realize this may not be the most popular opinion, but it is mine.

I will now accept my award. Thank you.