Selling copiers in New York City, literally every day is a new adventure. One moment you could be at a Fortune 500 company on Wall Street; and the next some hole in a wall organization in the Bronx, set up to teach old retired street whores how to read. There’s literally no telling where the day might lead. Once without knowing; I was accidentally scheduled an appointment with, what ended up being the New York branch of the KKK. Boy were they surprised to see my Black ass walk in. However, being the consummate professional; I actually still ended up selling them three copiers that day. In fact I gave them such a great deal, that the grand wizard himself even walked over to me and said, “Son, thank you kindly. And if you weren’t a coon chassin’ nigger…I’d actually shake your hand.” Strangely enough, I was actually kind of touched. I guess you just had to be there. Today was definitely one of those days as well. After months of trying, I was finally granted a meeting with the Permanent Mission of Nigeria; which basically is Nigeria’s embassy located here in Manhattan. From KKK grand wizards, to a room full of Nigerian diplomats: you couldn’t possibly get more polar opposite.
When I first arrived at their building, I was completely blown away. In one of the most exclusive sections of Park Avenue, was this enormous townhouse made completely of marble with two big Nigerian flags posted out front. It felt like a scene right out of Coming to America; and in any moment James Earl Jones himself, was going to answer the door wrapped in a Lion, followed by three topless women sprinkling rose pedals. As I approached the grand foyer that was carved out of gold; even with my suit on I still felt somewhat underdressed. After giving myself the standard pep talk, I eventually rang the bell. After stating my credentials I was finally buzzed in. Once inside, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Looking around the room, it was evidently clear that whatever decorating budget they had; must’ve been spent entirely on the outside. Because inside had to be one of the most ghetto offices I had ever seen in my life. The paint was chipping off all the walls; the sofa and chairs were all covered in plastic; and above the fireplace was a gigantic poster of their president, stuck to the wall with scotch tape. For Nigeria to have so much money; their décor was… let’s just say, very “apartheid-chic”. When I informed the receptionist that I was there to meet with Ambassador Obutu; he instructed me to have a seat in the lounge.
At 98 degrees, today had to be one of the hottest days we’ve had all year; and as a result waiting for Mr. Obutu, my ass had already began to stick to the plastic sofa. Across the room they had one of those old wooden floor model TV’s from the 70’s; and then propped on top of it, was a little 17 inch flat screen TV that actually worked. Apparently they didn’t have cable, because sticking out from the back of the flat screen was a stretched out hanger used as a make-shift antenna. Now you would think that in a place as official as a government embassy, the TV would broadcast CNN or the BBC all day. However to my surprise, the TV stayed locked on The Jerry Springer Show the entire time. And judging by the reaction from everyone in the room; you’d swear they were watching Masterpiece Theater. Now I’m assuming that the place also served as some sort of residential center; because sitting on the sofa I saw several pets just casually stroll by. There was an old dirty cat; a couple of mangy dogs; I even saw a little chicken run by the TV, which scared the living sh*t out of me. I thought to myself, “Now if I see a damn wildebeest run through this room, I am out.”
Ambassador Obutu and his advisory board finally came down, accompanied by one of Nigeria’s highest ranking ministers who had just flown in that morning. After our introduction, we all took a seat in the boardroom and began going over the presentation. Inside the boardroom had to be about 110 degrees easily. I had never in my life experienced such heat before. And the craziest part of all was that nobody else in the room seemed to be bothered by the heat, but me. Finally I in the middle of his speech I said, “I’m sorry to interrupt Mr. Obutu, but is someone going to turn on the AC?” To my surprise, he replied in his strong accent “We don’t have an AC. We don’t like them.” and then continued on with his speech. Now, inside my head I’m thinking, “Is he f*cking kidding me?” That room was hotter than a damn oven; not to mention without any ventilation, that strong Nigerian funk they were all giving off, seemed to be intensifying with every second. It smelt like somebody let loose a bag of angry skunks in the room; after they played 3 games of basketball. Suddenly in the middle of his speech, I interrupted again “I’m sorry…but can someone please maybe open up a window?” The head minister himself then replied, “No Window. It’s way too loud out there.”
Now cut to me sitting at a table full of powerful smelling Nigerians; my suit dripping with sweat; while everyone else at the table was basically cool as a cucumber. This was not looking good. As much as I wanted to leave, I desperately needed the sale to make quota. So with no other choice, I took off my jacket and just continued on with the meeting. Moments later, everyone at the table began looking at me strangely as I slowly began peeling off layers of my clothing one by one; anything to cool myself down. The next thing you know, I was literally sitting at the table in my white Fruit of the Loom tank top, fanning myself with some guy’s organizer. I mean, this was some serious ass heat. I must’ve lost consciousness for a second; because I was suddenly awakened by Ambassador Obutu yelling, “Mr. Sanders!! In Nigeria it is considered unacceptable to sleep during a meeting!” Now I’m not sure if deliria had set in; or if I just went loopy due to the heat-to-funk ratio in the room; but all of a sudden I just snapped. Not able to take it any longer, I stood up and shouted “Dammit I wasn’t sleep! I passed out! It’s hot as Satan’s ass in here! I don’t know what yall do in Africa; but over here in America, we use AC’s!” From then on, suddenly everything just went completely black. When I woke up, I was laying on the floor with a bunch of frantic Nigerians standing over me. I thought to myself, “Sh*t! I done died and went to the wrong damn heaven. I knew one of them mutha fka’s had a blow dart on him.” I realized I probably shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth. Now I’m gonna have to smell Nigerian funk for the rest of eternity.
I must’ve gone right back under; because the next time I woke up, I was at NYU Hospital with an IV sticking out my arm. Never in my life had I ever been so happy to see white people. As it turned out, I suffered a heat stroke and it took nearly two days for them to restore all of my fluids. And just in case you were wondering; once again, I did not get a sale. But the good news is; this morning I received an email from the President of Nigeria apologizing for my hospital stay; and stating that he would gladly reimburse me $10,000,000.00 dollars for all my medical expenses. All I had to do in return was simply email him back my social security number and bank account information.
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When we left off last week in “Part 1″, I had just gone to Starbucks to meet my blind date, who ended up being this psycho “Special Needs” super model with “Fake Down Syndrome”.
So now here I am, standing there looking bewildered while this little 4’6” women with “fake Down syndrome”, beats the crap out of herself in the middle of Starbucks, with everyone looking on. At that point I just looked up to the sky and said “Wow God, really?” Unfortunately this is all just a typical day in my world. With no other choice, I finally said to her “Alright already, I’ll go with you to your stupid event! Just stop making a scene!” At that point she literally stopped crying on a dime, and said “About f*ckin time. Look Buddy; I get that that there’s no love connection here, on either part. Obviously, I can tell buy those shoes you need cash. So, there’s five hundred bucks in it for you if you make it the end.” Appalled, I shouted under my breath “What a f*ckn bitch! You know, I can tell you don’t have really have Down syndrome. Because I watched that documentary on HBO, and they’re all much nicer than you! And for the record, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with these shoes!” As much as I wanted to call the whole thing off, I realized she had a valid point; I really could use the cash. So with minutes to spare, we jumped in a cab and headed over to Midtown Manhattan.
The cab pulled up in front of The Jacob Javits Center, and I could not believe my eyes. The Marquee read “The National Down Syndrome Awards”, and the entire place was filled with people with Down syndrome as far as the eye could see. There were literally thousands of them, in all shapes and sizes too. To be honest, at first it kind of freaked me out a bit. I don’t care how cool you are; nothing in your life ever prepares you for seeing two thousand Down syndrome patents at the same time, wandering around aimlessly in formal wear. It was almost as if we had stumbled onto the set of some weird new Tim Burton film. Some had on little tuxedos with top hats, some had on glittery evening gowns, and there was even one woman there dressed like a Down syndrome version of Lady Gaga; which to my surprise actually kind of turned me on a little. We eventually pulled to a stop at an area designated for celebrity drop offs. Sensing I was still a bit confused; Rena turned to me and said “Listen up; I don’t want to be around these freaks anymore than you. So let’s get this sh*t over with.” I kid you not; as soon as we stepped out onto the red carpet the crowd literally went berserk. Hundreds of people started running over. There were cameras flashing, teenage girls crying; I had never seen anything like it before. In all the frenzy, I even suddenly started to get excited myself. Turning to see what all the commotion was about, I said to Rena “OMG! Somebody big must be here! You think it’s Oprah?” She looked at me and replied “No, idiot it’s me. Look; just shut up and look pretty. You’re here to make Mama look good alright.” In that moment it then finally hit me, “Holy Sh*t, I’m here with the Down syndrome version of Madonna.” The entire way up the red carpet we were constantly bombarded by both fans and paparazzi alike. Even the reporters had Down syndrome, which made it a little hard to understand their questions. But excited to be there; every time they asked me a something, I just smiled real big and said into the camera “Down syndrome rocks!”
We made it to our seats just as the show was beginning, and oh what a show it was. In addition to all of the many awards being given out that night, were several choreographed song and dance numbers performed by the honorees. My favorite was the three girls that attempted the Down syndrome version of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies”. Talk about cool. With the exception of the one girl that kept stopping in the middle of the number to wave to her mom, and the other one that accidentally got tangled up in the curtains; it had to be hands down one of the most entertaining versions I’ve ever seen. During intermission, Rena and I went back to the greenroom to relax a bit before her appearance. Just as we were sitting at a table having a bite to eat; suddenly this 5’8 Down syndrome version of a gangster rapper, with gold chains and a baseball hat walked in, with his entourage in tow. Instantly the whole room became silent, and for some reason everyone started looking at me. Having no idea what was going on, I just continued eating my little sandwich. The next thing you know, this guy starts flipping over all the tables like a madman as he walks over in our direction. So now I’m completely freaking out. With my sandwich still in my mouth, I look over at Rena like “WTF? Is there something here I should know?” She then just rolls her eyes very casually and says, “Great, I can’t go anywhere. I knew this was going to happen.” With food spitting out of my mouth, I asked “Wait…what do you mean you knew this was going to happen? What’s going to happen???”
Now standing directly over us, the crazed rapper yells “Oh, so you come up in here with this cheap shoe wearing N*gga to get back at me?” Pissed, by now I’m thinking “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with these shoes!” Rena then shouts, “Killa G, I told you last night you and I were threw. I don’t love you anymore. This is my new man now!” Now really freaking out, I shouted “Why’d you tell him that? Look Killa G, we just met today!” Suddenly Killa G starts taking off his jacket and all of his gold chains as if he’s preparing for battle. Meanwhile, Rena shouts “Oh really Killa G, that’s so original! He always does this Brett. Just ignore him and act like he’s not even here.” Frantic I respond, “What the hell do you mean ignore him?” The next thing you know I felt a huge blow to the back of my head. Killa G had whacked me one. He then grabbed me in a headlock, and pulled me backwards out of the chair. I could not believe I had just gotten snuck by a gangster rapper with Down syndrome. This was indeed a new low point in my life. With no other choice I turned around, and to my surprise beat the living crap out of Killa G right there in the greenroom. I’d never whooped anybody’s ass like I did his that day. I discovered apparently people with Down syndrome don’t fight all that well. But that was his problem. Because he should’ve thought about that before he snuck me in the back of the head. Several members of his entourage jumped in to help, and believe it or not I whooped all their asses too. Never in my life did I dream I’d be able to kick a room full of guy’s asses. Talk about cool. It was like a scene right out of a karate movie. I thought, “Where are all those damn youtube cameras when you need them?” Suddenly, security came running over and tasered me a few times to calm me down. I was then escorted out of the back door and banned from ever attending the Down Syndrome Awards again. And the worse part of all was I never got my damn five hundred bucks.
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This past Friday I was beyond nervous as I headed off to Starbucks to meet my blind date, although technically it wasn’t really a blind date. We met a few weeks back on JDate, and since had spent a great deal of time swapping messages back and forth. Talk about an instant connection. There was however just this one little catch. Since she was this really big fashion model, and unable to post her picture due to contractual restrictions, which I totally understood; I literally had no idea what she looked like. Now under normal circumstances I would never dream of going on a date with someone sight unseen. But I figured, since she was a big famous model in all, I pretty much had nothing to lose. After all, how often does a guy get to go out with a real live super model? Honestly, I found the whole mystery of not knowing to be very romantic. I figured realistically, so what if her eyes are really only “dusty” blue instead of ocean; or if she’s really just a 34C cup instead of a 36DD; I can live with that. Hell, everyone fibs a little on line. I mean…truthfully I’m not exactly 5’8” tall, and technically I’m not really Jewish either.
We agreed to finally meet one another face to face, and my palms were literally dripping from anticipating how hot she would be. I even wondered if I’d recognize her from one of her many magazine covers; man wouldn’t that be cool? The plan was to first meet for coffee, and then head off to some big fancy event that she was modeling in that night. Talk about hitting the jackpot. I thought, “Not only am I now dating a famous super model. I was escorting her to a big celebrity event, which meant our red carpet photos would surely be seen all over the net.” I couldn’t wait to rub it in my grandmother’s face either; especially after spreading that huge rumor around her entire congregation that I was really a “big gay”, and had a thing for gerbils. I knew I shouldn’t have ever showed her how to work Twitter. So it goes without saying, just before walking in I called up my grandma’s voicemail and said, “Yeah Bitch. Make sure you catch Access Hollywood tonight. Something tells me you’ll be surprised at what you see. That is, if your cataracts isn’t flaring up again.” That’s just how we talk to one another.
Walking into Starbucks, I could not believe my eyes. There sitting alone at the bar was this beautifully exotic brunette with the legs of an Amazon. This girl looked like she stepped right out of a James Bond film. I instantly began to smile. I thought, “Wow Brett! You’re finally about to meet the woman you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with.” It actually felt surreal. For a second, I even got a little verklempt as I shed a little tear. I thought, “All of those cold lonely nights, God really had been listening.” Just as I wiped my eyes and began to make my way over to my new destiny; suddenly from behind in this weird little voice, I heard…“Brett? Is that you?” I turned around, and there sitting alone in a chair was this 4’6” little chubby woman with Down syndrome, and big yellow flower in her hair, smiling from ear to ear. Baffled, I replied “I’m sorry, do we know each other?” And with a sarcastic smirk she answered, “Well, I should think so.” Now, with all the nonprofit organizations I sell copiers to, I figured there’s literally no telling where I know this woman from. We probably met in some waiting room. Attempting to brush her off, I replied “I’m sorry if I seem a little rude, but now isn’t really the best time. I’m sort of here on a date.” Then with the biggest smile, she suddenly replied “Duhh… I know. You’re here to meet me, Silly. I’m Rena, I recognized you from your photo. And 5’8” my ass.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was beyond mortified. It was if someone had just pulled the world out from under my feet. I thought “WTF? I came out of my house expecting to meet Giselle, and somehow ended up with Blair’s retarded cousin from The Facts of Life. How on earth does this sh*t always happen to me? After waiting literally 12 minutes for Ashton Kutcher and his crew to come running out of from the bathroom, it finally settled in that this was really happening. I finally had to take a seat just to stop myself from passing out. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact I had been duped, yet again by another handicapped woman. “Are you okay?”, I heard the little voice murmur. “What’s wrong with you?” Enraged, I snapped “What the hell do you mean what’s wrong? You lied to me!” “I did no such thing.” she defensively replied. Trying my best not to make a scene, I whispered “You never told me you had…Down syndrome!” Then with a smug look on her face she replied back, “Well, did you ask?” “Did I ask???”, I shouted. “Who asks that? Besides, you told me you were a freakin’ super model, which obviously was another lie!” “It’s not a lie.” she answered, “I am a model. In the Special Needs industry.” “What do you mean Special Needs industry?”, I asked. “Well genius; you’ve obviously heard of sports and plus size models haven’t you?” She continued on very ‘matter of fact’, “Well, I’m what they call a Special Needs super model. I do lay outs for all the big healthcare magazines, medical catalogs, and pharmaceutical pamphlets. You know, really lame sh*t like that. But the pay is phenomenal!” Still confused, I asked “Well why don’t you sound like other people with…Down syndrome?” She then confessed, “Well technically, I really don’t have DS. I was just somehow born with this look. Which is why I do so well at modeling. I take direction way better than those other retards, which saves the clients tons of money.” Disgusted, I remarked “So you’re really just a fake?”, to which she replied back “Hey, a girl’s got to eat. And Mama likes sirloin.”
Finally hearing all I could take, I stood up to leave. She then quickly interjected, “Wait, you’re not leaving are you?” Still appalled, I shouted “Are you f*cking kidding? You surely don’t expect me to stay after this? You actually sicken me!” Suddenly, from all of the women shooting me evil looks as they stormed out calling me an “Asshole”, I instantly realized how this must’ve looked. Rena then replied, “You can’t leave now. I mean, we have a date. I can’t show up at the event alone. Besides, you’re not exactly my type either Buddy. You’re way too short.” I grabbed my things and whispered, “Look lady. You’re obviously off your meds or whatever it is you take. But I’m out of here. And I’ll have you know I’m considered tall in over 75% of Mexico!” Now this is where it really gets crazy. Just as I was leaving, Rena suddenly began to cry hysterically, and then started slapping herself repeatedly in the face while shouting, “I can’t do anything right! I’m just a big piece of sh*t!!” Okay. Now…cut to me standing there looking bewildered, while this little 4’6” women with “fake Down syndrome”, beats the crap out of herself in the middle of Starbucks with everyone looking on. Welcome to a typical day in my world.
Tune in next Monday to see what happened next. Believe it or not it even gets crazier…
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