Back when Beauty Jackson was just Cutie Jackson, I used to visit retirement homes and read the bible to residents. (No. This is not a joke.) There was one elder sister, a few pigeons shy of a flock, who just took a shine to me. Whenever I was there, she’d seek me out and talk to me. She was about 5’10, rather lean, with a booming voiceand always wore an elaborate head scarf. Doesn’t this sound sweet? Like the stuff Hallmark movies are made of. We could have been the black Tuesdays with Morrie.
Except, she thought I was the help. Not help as in helpful; help as in The Help. “ANNA, I need you to bring my lunch.” When I told her my name was Melanie, I got, “Wylangie? Well Wylangie, I’ll need you to run to the market and fetch me a barracuda sandwich on Cuban bread and a lemonade.” Then she stood and tapped her foot and gave me the “G’on” look. For a split second, I thought, “How in the hell am I gonna find this sandwich?”
I learned two things: 1) Crazy broads LOVE barracuda sandwiches (she asked for one every time she saw me); and 2) Any demand, no matter how ridiculous, sounds viable when stated with authority.
This morning, I pulled into Shell, only to realize that I couldn’t find my debit card anywhere. I can only presume it is somewhere near my computer desk, as the last time I remember seeing it was when I was talking myself out of buying a pair of shoes. I didn’t have time to go back home, I had to scrounge for whatever dough I had in my car. Five bucks.
Part of me was ashamed. When gas is $3.42 a gallon, who really goes in the joint asking for $5.00 worth? I sat in the car for a moment and pondered this, and you know who asks for $5.00 of gas in 2011? A damn G, that’s who. I would not cower in the shadow of shame as I use my hard earned money, found in the pocket of a coat I forgot was in my car, to pay for gas to power my free Hyundai with butterfly doors. No SIR! I decided this is how the scene would play out:
*kicks in door* GET ME THE OWNER!!! I am here to transact business! Salutations! My name is Wylangie, and I am here for the sole purpose of procuring $5.00 of your finest gas, reserved only for the realest of G’s. I do not like to be kept waiting! This cash register will not work itself. Does this establishment offer free drinks for live goons? No? They let anyone run gas stations these days. You will be allowed to pump my gas. Don’t tarry. *slams fiver on the counter, Naomi Campbell walks to the car, gets in and waits*
I submit that the attendant will be stunned into compliance. I didn’t do it today, but next time, Shell. Next time.