I am trying to function, I’ll try for you – my brain is like mush… Last night around 1:30 AM Mark gets a call from a drunken Lou’ay, who broke his hand from falling - Genius! Like the fool I am, I volunteer myself to go because it would be pretty fucking weak of me to make Mark spend his last night in town by himself in the ER. I thought it couldn’t be more embarrassing than to have a drunken Lou’ay in the hospital…
After Lou’ay was admitted, a group of the foulest-speaking, ghetto-ass-trash came strolling in. James H. Dean, a slightly-heavy set African American in a wheelchair (which he didn’t even need), His “bitch”, and James Dean’s daughter (why she was there? Who knows?), two jumbo-sized white girls & Mario the largest black man with an Italian name. Of all the places to sit in an empty hospital they had to see right next to us & force us to endure their insane tale.
They came from Tommy-T’s comedy club where a group of “bitches” started some shit with them. They followed them into a parking lot and the girls all started fighting. Mark & I had to hear the fucking story for the next two hours over & over again. I won’t make you endure what we had to because that would be beyond cruel. However, in-between the story, I heard some of the most entertaining & awful conversation… “Does Nodose really work?”, “I have to get a tetanus shot because I kicked the curb”, “That bitch was like Dracula & shit.”, “You can’t phase James Dean, bitch”, “I thought that bitch was dead, she’s was snoring for like, 3 minutes, she got knocked-the-fuck-out”, & my favorite James Dean trying to get his 8-year-old daughter to give him the money that the tooth fairy gave her earlier that night..
For over two hours I had to sit through that shit. I was started to get really nervous when there was only one more Entertainment weekly left to read. But what’s the point, really, around four in the morning I lost the ability to concentrate, anyhow. Mark was getting really frustrated and was ready to break Lou’ay’s arm if it wasn’t already broken. We started to hate him more & more with each passing minute. He kept coming out to give us an update on his progress and he seemed happy as could be & loaded up on vicodin. I was jealous.
I feel like I have done a poor job on capturing the essence of ghetto with my telling of the story. I guess you just had to be there. God knows, I wish I hadn’t been.