Perhaps my therapist does have a point when she says I suffer from a severe case of narcissism, because after this morning I’m now more convinced than ever that God is purposely f*cking with me just for his own entertainment. What other explanation could there be?
Case and point; every Monday morning I usually wake up around 5:30 to go take my little god daughter to school. Her mother, a dear friend, usually has to be at work by six. Seeing how they only live five blocks away, it’s generally no problem for me to go make sure she gets off to school okay. Today started off pretty much just like any other Monday. My alarm went off at 5:30; I immediately jumped up and bumped my left shin on the way to the bathroom on the corner of my stupid Ikea bed that sticks out two inches further than I always seem to recall; I grabbed my trusted bebop cap, and was out of the door in just six minutes flat. I used to have it down to four, but after several times of making it all the way to the corner before looking down to realize I was wearing nothing but my high top Pumas and Hanes; I discovered just that extra two minutes could possibly make all the difference in the world.
Just as I was approaching the set of projects nestled neatly between both of our blocks, I heard a lot of rustling behind the big trash dumpster. At that time of morning I figured it could only be ‘Holler Back’ (the old neighborhood crack whore affectionately nicknamed after her favorite 2001 rap song) inside the dumpster with some new John. But when I yelled out my usual “Good Morning Holler Back!”, instead I saw two humongous raccoons going to town on a bunch of garbage bags.
Seeing how the last thing Brooklyn needs is more damn trash on the streets; doing my part to keep the block clean I stumped my feet at them and yelled “Get out of that trash! Shoe you stupid coons!” A phrase I had heard yelled at me many times as a child in the south, although something tells me they weren’t really talking about these kind. I assumed they would both just scatter off just like the cats do but instead, they both turned and simultaneously hissed as they showed me their fangs. I thought “Stupid coons! They obviously must be a little tipsy from the remnants of all of those old bottles of cheap gin and not realize that they’re bucking up to a human.” So naturally I stumped my feet again and yelled even louder “I said get out of that damn trash!” as I hurled an old Snapple bottle at them someone left on a nearby bench. However instead of running away, to my surprise they actually hissed again even louder and then started off after me.
Talk about some scary shit! Before I knew it, I had let out the loudest white woman shriek I’ve ever heard and then took off running for my life. So now here I am, a grown ass man, at 5:30am being chased down the street by raccoons, and in Brooklyn of all places. Yet again, another one of those unbelievable “Brett and the City” moments where I looked up to the sky and thought, “Wow God… really?” I figured they would eventually turn back after a few feet, but as I looked over my shoulder they were actually gaining speed. I thought “WTF?” By block three and a half with two drunk ass project raccoons hot on my ass, my mind started really getting the best of me. I thought “Why are they so damn mad?” and even more important, “Just what were they planning to do once they caught me?” It could’ve been my imagination again, but I could’ve swore one of them had a couple of those little tear drop tattoos under his eye you always see in the Mexican gangster films right before someone gets snuffed. I thought “Oh shit… what if this is how it all ends?” I felt just like Will Smith in I am Legend 2.
As luck would have it, I made it inside my friend’s building just in the nick of time. When I got upstairs naturally I thought about calling the police. But judging by the several times I had already called this year when: that day Holler Back got high and tried to rape me; the time that crazy religious cult tried to abduct me; and not to mention that time those damn racists let their chickens attack me; I realized that they probably weren’t going to take me too serious this time. So let’s just say next Monday morning I have already budgeted for a taxi.
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