This time of the year, my street in Brooklyn always gets infested with mosquitoes. Since I usually sleep in the nude, it’s important that I remember to keep my windows closed. A mosquito must’ve somehow gotten in last night, because when I awoke I had mosquito bites everywhere. Two on my thigh; one on my elbow; and for some odd reason…I even ended up with one on my taint: which in case you didn’t know, is that tiny little area directly between a man’s testicles and his bum. Basically, it’s a little one inch strip God put in to keep us from crapping on our balls. Now for the life of me, I can’t even begin to imagine what position I was sleeping in, that left that particular area so “vulnerable” for attack. But it probably had something to do with that weird dream where I was armless again, and the base player from Earth Wind & Fire is changing my diaper. But naturally I just assumed everyone had that one.
On Sundays I always go out to the Bronx to visit my 89 year old Aunt Virgie, who lives in a nursing home. Aunt Virgie suffers from a very unique condition, where she not only thinks that the people on her TV set are really in her house: she’s also convinced that they all desire her sexually. In her mind, she’s still “a real looker” as she refers to herself; and quite the heart-breaker too. This year alone she’s been in relationships with Regis Philben, Anderson Cooper, the Black guy from the Allstate commercials, and Sherri Shepherd. Yes, that last name threw me as well. Apparently not only is Aunt Virgie a little Jezebel; she’s obviously a chubby chaser too. It’s sometimes a little difficult to have a conversation with Aunt Virgie because she constantly blurs the lines of reality and TV. Throughout the entire Haitian ordeal, it took me weeks to explain to her that her room wasn’t being invaded by thousands of “little nappy headed n*gaz”, as she put it. She accidentally pepper sprayed herself 3 times in the middle of the night, trying to fight them all off.
Today was a little harder than usual to focus on Aunt Virgie’s conversation, due to all the itching going on inside my pants. It was driving me crazy. No matter how much she went on about the big fight that she and Michelle had just gotten into over Barack; the only thing I could concentrate on was –scratching the mosquito bite on my damn taint! Finally, not able to take it another second, I asked if I could use her restroom. Her entire facility is set up like dorm rooms, in the way that there is only one bathroom for every two patient rooms, with a door on each side; which for obvious safety reasons have no locks. To my surprise, when I opened the bathroom door the old woman from the other side was just heading in for a shower–a sight I wouldn’t even wish on Osama Bin Laden. I quickly shut the door, and headed down the hall in search for another, fighting every urge I had to scratch my balls along the way. The public restrooms were a little far, but as luck would have it, I passed another patient room that was completely empty. So I popped in, opened the bathroom door, and this time I was in luck. I immediately closed the door behind me, unzipped my pants, and began ferociously scratching my taint. Relief FINALLY…and nothing EVER felt so good. It felt so good to finally scratch; I actually just threw my head back and groaned “ughhh!”
Just then, the door to the other side opens, and in scoots an old lady with her walker, wrapped in a way too small towel. Meanwhile, I’m standing in the middle of her bathroom with my hands in my crotch, vigorously moving them back and forth. This did not look good. Panicked, I immediately shouted “Wait… it’s not what you think! There’s a bite on my taint! Here…look?” She then began screaming at the top of her lungs. Within seconds, nurses and orderlies came running in from both sides. Before I could even say a word the old lady yells out, “I caught him in here jacking off! And then he was going to rape me!” As mortified as I was at the accusation; I realized…me standing there with my “Johnson” hanging out, didn’t exactly help matters at all. So naturally I did what anyone else would do in that situation. I ran.
Cut to: my Black ass running down Fordham Road in broad daylight, still scratching my balls like crazy, with two old orderlies chasing after me. It was like a scene from Benny Hill. I could barely even run for scratching my balls. I guess all the adrenalin was making them itch even more. I was literally running on a 6 to 2 ratio. For every six steps I ran, I scratched my balls twice. Eventually the two orderlies gave up and turned back. I ran another few blocks, dipped around the side of an old warehouse, unzipped my pants once again, and began scratching my taint like there was no tomorrow. In the midst of all the scratching, I guess I failed to notice that a squad car had pulled up behind me. Luckily for me they were nearing the end of their shift, and were too lazy to make an arrest. However, I did receive a citation for indecent exposure, and another one for masturbating in public. My court date is in 30 days, and for my sake…I sure hope the judge lives on my street in Brooklyn.
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This week I flew back to Grand Rapids Michigan to attend the funeral of my old high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Heidelberg. Aside from that time I accidentally bumped into him and Mrs. Heidelberg, sneaking out of the adult section of Hollywood Video, with a VHS tape titled Big Black Bitches in Heat (Volume 16), he was always a pretty nice guy in my book. And from the look in both of their eyes that night, they must’ve really seen something they liked in volumes 1 thru 15. Because of my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s, and her somewhat aggressive temperament, someone has to be with her at all times. She goes into a cursing fit if you don’t feed her every hour. It’s not that she’s hungry at all; she just simply forgets that she just ate. Since her last day-nurse quit after being whacked in the back of the head with an IKEA catalog, for apparently not making her grilled cheese fast enough; and everyone else in the family was conveniently “busy” that day; I was stuck babysitting. As a result, I had no choice but to take her along to the funeral with me. I was not happy with this arrangement.
By the time we arrived at the funeral home it was already extremely crowded. I had no idea old Gabe knew so many people. There was even a news van. It was like he and Mrs. Heidelberg were the Jay Z & Beyonce of their synagogue. There was no way that I could navigate my grandmother’s walker between those long narrow pews, so I left her in the back of the room in the space designated for handicapped patrons; then I took the only available seat about 20 rows up. By the time I excused and pardoned myself to the middle of the pew, the service was just beginning. A last, I would be able to pay my final respects to my favorite teacher.
I had never been to a Jewish funeral before, and I can honestly say it was like none I’d ever seen. Looking around the room I thought, “Where are all of the crazy cousins hollering and screaming, and the fat aunt trying to hurl herself inside the casket? Where is the smell of burnt macaroni & cheese coming from the basement, and all the family members from Mississippi outside taking pictures in front of the Limo?” Instead it was very quiet and professional. Sort of like an Amway conference at the Comfort Inn. Even the rabbi spoke just above a whisper, which confused the hell out of me; I mean after all I thought, “What were we going to do… wake him?”
About 20 minutes into the service I could not believe my ears. In an all too familiar raspy voice, I heard someone call out…”Brett” from the back of the room. “Oh no…this can not be happening” I thought. There is no way in hell my grandmother is back there calling out my name in the middle of a funeral. “Maybe it’s just my imagination” I thought. After all, it had been an extremely exhausting morning, spending nearly 45 minutes trying to convince her that she would –surely– be arrested, if she didn’t come in from out on her 5th floor terrace with no panties on– doing the Soldier Boy. Her building has horrible reception and BET is the only station she gets. With that said, I was sure that I was just hearing things. Then, about 3 minutes later in the middle of the rabbi’s sermon I heard it again, only this time a little louder… “Brett.” I could’ve just died right there. “Why in the hell is she calling out my name?” By now I could hear the murmur in the room as people literally stopped mourning to figure out what was going on. I just wanted to melt under my pew, and at the same time I was conflicted. From where I sat, there was no way possibly for me to get to her without stopping the whole service and bringing attention to myself. Since the funeral would be over shortly, I figured if I just ignore it she’ll stop. When the lady beside me asked what all the commotion was I just replied, “I don’t know…I think it’s some crazy Black lady back there” and then began nervously studying the obituary, as if there was going to be a pop quiz when we were done.
Moments later, the rabbi asked that we all bow our heads as he led us in prayer. Suddenly, in the middle of the prayer, at the top of my grandmother’s lungs she yells…“BRETT!!! Nigga you hear me calling you!!” I completely shrieked. When I opened my eyes everyone in the entire room was looking directly at me. Since we were the only two Black people there, I guess they eventually put two and two together. The rabbi then looked directly at me and said into the microphone, “I take it you’re Brett? I think someone back there wants you.” Stuck in the middle of the crowded pew, I had no choice but to respond to her from my seat. Yelling back and forth across the crowded room, the following is the exact transcript of our conversation:
Me: Yes Grandma…what do you need?
Grandma: I’m ready to go!
Me: Uhm…okay Grandma. We’re almost done…can you wait a few minutes?
Grandma: Wait my ass! I want a hamburger!
Me: Grandma, we can get you a hamburger as soon as we leave. But do we really have to talk about this now. We’re at a funeral!
Grandma: I don’t give a damn where we at. These honkies ain’t talkin’ bout’ sh*t…up in here no way! I said I want a hamburger!
Not being able to take it anymore, the rabbi finally interjected and said, “Brett, I think she really does want that hamburger.” The next thing I knew, they had paused the entire funeral service to let me out, so that I could get my grandmother out of the building. Never in my life have I been so damn embarrassed, including the time that client caught me butt naked on his toilet playing Ms. Pacman. And can you believe that on the way back to the car, with all the news cameras flashing at us, she had the nerve to say to me “Uhh… Brett, what was the name of this place? That really was a nice funeral”.
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This past weekend I flew home to Grand Rapids Michigan for a family event. Boarding my flight, we were all greeted by two very wholesome looking flight attendants. They both had perfect blond hair, pearly whites, and smiles that went from ear to ear. As I headed to my seat I thought to my self “What a professional looking crew”. Just then, from behind the line of passengers came rushing in this chubby middle aged black lady, dressed in a “way too tight” uniform, announcing to the crew “My bad…I know I’m late! My daughter got arrested again.” I turned to see what all the commotion was, and as soon as I saw her honey blond extensions, house shoes, and gold plated necklace that read “Niecey”; I just knew I was in for an interesting flight.
Our plane checked in full, so from the moment we hit the sky, the flight attendants appeared somewhat overwhelmed as they scrambled to assist passengers. Instead of lending a hand to help the other two ladies; Niecey “the ghetto flight attendant”, sat in the rear of the plane the entire time with her shoes off, repeatedly cracking her toes as she played Tetris on her phone. And every time a passenger walked over and asked her for something, she would tell just them “Chile…my feet hurt, you gone have to ask somebody else for that”. I had never seen anything before like it in my life. Since it was only an hour flight, there was no meal service on the plane, not even a measly bag of peanuts. However about 20 minutes into the flight, I noticed the entire cabin suddenly began to smell just catfish and greens. Curious, I leaned my head around the corner to investigate and I could not believe my eyes. Niecey had stunk up the entire plane warming up an old soul food dinner she brought in from home. So not only did we not get a meal service; we all had to sit there and smell catfish and old greens for the remainder of the flight.
About 20 minutes later I had to use the rest room. Since there was a line of people waiting to use the one in the back, I decided to walk to the front of the plane. Just as I was reaching for the door, Niecey came literally sprinting up from the rear of the plane barefooted, screaming “You can’t use that! That’s first class!” Startled, I explained to her that the other one was crowded. But by this time she had jimmied herself between me and the door, blocking my entrance. Taken aback I asked,“What’s the big deal? It’s just a bathroom, besides I’m already up here now.” But with her lips pursed sideways she just kept exclaiming, “Nope, rules are rules. This is only for first class.” It was pretty obvious that she wasn’t going to move out of my way, so I decided to fake her out. I pretended to walk back to my seat, but as soon as she turned around, I doubled back and darted into the restroom. Enraged, she banged and yelled for me to come out. But I figured, at that point there was pretty much nothing she could do. So I thought. Just as I was coming out and heading to my seat, determined for revenge, she quickly pulled the beverage cart over into the aisle and began serving drinks “again”, just so I couldn’t walk past, making sure to take even 4 times longer than usual. Talk about being petty.
About 20 minutes later, the flight attendants began walking through to prepare for arrival. I was sitting half asleep in an aisle seat, and I didn’t realize that my foot was slightly sticking out. As Niecey was walking backwards through the aisle collecting last minute trash, she accidentally tripped over my foot and fell backwards to the floor, with her bag of trash flying in the air. Completely in shock, I quickly apologized and went to help her up. As soon as she saw it was me, assuming I did it on purpose, she instantly hopped back to her feet and slapped the sh*t out of me. “WHAP!” Boy was I not expecting that. She actually hit me so hard that I went delirious. For a second I thought I was back in my grandmother’s kitchen playing scrabble with Jesus. I had never been hit that hard before in my life. It was like she had a back of rocks in her hand. Thank God, my Grandma’s chihuahua ran in when he did and told me to “stay away from the light”. Otherwise I could’ve been a goner. Just as a brought myself to and tried to explain again it was just a mistake; before I knew it she had done slapped me again with her other hand even harder. I thought, “WTF?? Is this bitch ambidextrous?” As much as I wanted to sit there and rationalize with her, it didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out that she was coming back for a third. So thinking fast, I leaned in and caught her with a quick uppercut to her stomach. I must’ve knocked the wind out of her, because she doubled over to the floor holding her stomach.
Now I don’t know exactly what was in those greens, but she suddenly got up and shook that punch off like the Terminator, and then started taking off her jewelry. I’ve seen enough Ghetto Brawl clips on YouTube to know that this was not a good sign. Although I normally would never condone hitting a woman; from the look in her eye, it was pretty clear I was going to have to fight this bitch to the death. The next thing I knew, Niecey and I were rolling through the aisle fighting like two alley cats. And I am actually man enough to say, that woman was whooping my ass. I probably would’ve had a better chance against a pack of wild orangutans. I had no idea a person could even move so fast. I began praying to myself, “Can somebody ‘PLEASE’ come break this up?” But to my surprise, the entire plane started chanting in unison, “Kick his ass… kick his ass”. I thought, “Kick ‘my’ ass? What the hell did I do to them?” Not to mention, the last thing this bitch needs is more encouragement. By the time the air marshal finally made his way over, Niecey had me pinned between the aisle in a half nelson. When the plane landed, we were both detained for questioning. As it turned out, since Niecey violated the airline’s strict policy against kicking a passengers ass, she was let go on the spot. As consolation, I was released with a formal apology and 500,000 frequent flier miles. Apparently, this wasn’t Niecey’s first time fighting a passenger. My only prayer is that the footage isn’t somewhere floating around on YouTube.
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