It's Not Even Noon Yet....
I've been feeling pretty awful the past few days: nausea, aching, general malaise and the like. I mistook it for a hangover originally, before I realized that I hadn't even had anything to drink the night before. (As an aside, it's a pretty sobering moment when you have to "realize" that you hadn't boozed yesterday.)
But I awoke this morning just before 11 feeling great. I was still feeling the residual effects of being sick, the slight achiness and fuzzy-headedness, but it was nothing when compared to the last 48ish hours. So I popped a caffeine pill, checked my email, and grabbed a fresh towel from my shelf as concious decision to start my day off fresh and clean. When I pulled the blue bath towel from its place a few feet above my head, something green fluttered to the ground. Upon further examination, it was actually 2 green somethings. Well hot damn, $25 bucks! I don't know why the hell I hid 25 dollars in my bath towel, but screw it; this day probably can't get any better. I soaped myself up, dried myself off, and put on my standard afternoon outfit consisting of gym shorts, a cutoff, and my trusted sweat-soaked Party Poker hat.
I tossed on my iPod, flipped it to shuffle, and- after skipping a few depressing tracks I was uncharacteristically in no mood for ("Bulletproof... I wish I was", "No Surprises" and "Let Down"- Radiohead; "I'm Ready to Die"- The Unicorns; "Been Smoking too Long"- Nick Drake; "I Can't Seem to Make you Mine"- The Clientele), I was rewarded with some upbeat pop music. I don't know if there's a happier song to listen to on a beautiful day than Architecture in Helsinki's kid-pop anthem "It's 5." I headed off to Oak Street's Bum Market, planning on getting a newspaper so I could finish the Tuesday crossword and soduku to feel great about myself, and maybe a pack of smokes to reward myself for the last 2 days of monkish living.
When I got to the counter, I paid with my newly found $5 spot, and took my fifteen cents change. "Hey, you guys got any matchbooks?" Damn, they're all out. Most days, this would be enough to set me on a downward spiral that's likely to end in a 3-day bender and the failed pursuit of anonymous sex. But today I was not to be deterred. There was a pretty young ghetto-looking kid buying a pack of Newport 100s in the box in line behind me, so I waited for him outside.
Wang: "Hey, man. You mind if I borow a lighter? I'd really enjoy a smoke on the walk home today."
Newport: (produces Bic) "Sup. I'll sell it to you for a dolla."
Wang: (confused, laughs uncomfortably) "Haha, yeah."
Newport: (raises eyebrows)
Wang: "Yeah, but they sell those for a buck inside."
Newport: "Yeah, but you gotta pay taxes inside. I'm'a save you sixpence." (Here I've got to call attention to the fact that he really said "sixpence." I'm afriad if I don't point this out, it'll slip by. It's probably the only amusing part of this anecdote, and it completely floored me at the time.)
Wang: (pauses for a few moments, utterly astonished) "Naw, that's alright. I just wanted to get a light for the walk home. I've got a ton of lighters around the corner. Thanks anyway." (slips headphones back in and starts to walk away)
Newport: "Yo yo , wait. I'll let you borrow my lighter if you gimme 'dat fifteen cents change you got inside..."
Wang: (slightly disappointed he didn't use the British vernacular for change again, but in a generous mood) "Yeah, sure man. Whatever. Here."
Newport: "Tight."
Click. No flame. Click. No flame. CLICK! No flame... click, click, CLICK!
Wang: (raises eyebrows)
Newport: (shrugs) "I didn't say it'd work, man."
Wang: (stares, makes nonplussed face)
Newport: "You see me wearing a sign that says 'Motherfucking Refunds?'"
Wang: "No, but you're not wearing a sign that says, 'No Refunds' either."
Newport: (looks around) "Fine, call the Better Business Bureau, then."
At this point I'm unable to even get angry. So far this thuggish guy has surprised me twice. He used the phrase "sixpence" and then referred ironically to the Better Business Bureau. Anybody who exceeds my usually accurate expectations almost always gains my respect. I'd usually make an issue of getting ripped off- even if it's just 15 pence- out of principle, but I liked this guy. A lot. So fuck it, right? I just smile, roll my eyes genially, and nod with an abashed look on my face.
Newport: (laughs) "What can I say? I'm a hustla, baby!"
Wang: (nods again) "Yeah, I dig." (<---- yes, I said "I dig.") "Take it easy, brother." (<---- yes, I called him "brother.")
Newport: "Hey, yo. What'choo listening to on that thing?"
The song had changed a few times, and I wasn't even really listening.
Wang: "Actually, uh. I'm listening to Dr. Octagon right now. 'No Awar-"
Newport: (excitedly) "No shit?! Whiteboy? Not John Tesh? Kool Keith can spit, man."
Wang: "Yeah, I'm a fan. I think the next song on the playlist is either something by Bon Jovi or Michael Bolton, though."
Newport: (laughs) "You straight, kid. Gimme those headphones, let's see if you lyin' to a nigga."
Wang: (shrug) "Sure man. Check it out."
I hold tight to my iPod nano, and let him slip the headphones on. He listens for about 30 seconds, satisfied, and hands the earphones back.
Newport: "Yeah, nigga. This disc was my mothafuckin JAM like 6 years ago. What else you got on here?"
Wang: "Yeah, it's the jumpoff. I dunno, lots of stuff. Lots of Kool Keith, some Doom, some Blackalicious. Edan. Mrs. Jackson, by Outkast. Deltron 3030. Tons of Ghostface. ODB, RZA. The rest is probably white-boy music."
Newport: "Yeah, you a nigga, nigga! Straight-up MY nigga!" (awkward handshake chest bump) "Who the fuck is Edan, though?"
So at this point I fiddled with my iPod, and let him listen to a few minutes of "Torture Chamber." He seemed to enjot it quite a bit.
Newport: "Eden? E-d-e-n?"
Wang: "Naw, E-d-A-n."
Newport: "You got good taste in music. How about you show me some white-boy music? None of that boring shit. Something with some go in it..."
Wang: (shrugs) "Sure. You ever heard of Radiohead? Here, listen to this. It's called 'National Anthem.' It's got a pretty good beat, and it's pretty trippy."
Newport: (Listens to the first 3 and a half minutes, and gets visibly excited when the jazz trumpets kick in hardcore just before the 3 minute mark) "Man, you ever get high and listen to this?"
So, for the next few minutes we just talked about music. He was pretty interested in finding some "white-boy" music he might download and listen to during those "late-night BLAZE sessions" with his buddies. I was happy to oblige. He handed me a pen and some paper, and I wrote down some Radiohead, Flaming Lips, Pink Floyd, and M83 suggestions I thought he'd be sure to enjoy. In return he told me to be sure to listen to the New DJ Drama/Lil' Wayne and T.I. releases.
When I turned to walk away, he stopped me again.
Newport: "Hey, yo! I don't usually do this, but... Here you go."
He reached into his pocket, dug around for a bit, then pulled out another lighter.
Wang: (raises eyebrow) "Thanks man."
Click. Flame. Burn. Inhale.
Newport: "Oh, here." (flips me a dime)
Wang: (laughs)
Newport: (cryptically) "Hey man. Time's money."
(shrug) He can keep the nickel. This story alone's worth 1000 times that.
But I awoke this morning just before 11 feeling great. I was still feeling the residual effects of being sick, the slight achiness and fuzzy-headedness, but it was nothing when compared to the last 48ish hours. So I popped a caffeine pill, checked my email, and grabbed a fresh towel from my shelf as concious decision to start my day off fresh and clean. When I pulled the blue bath towel from its place a few feet above my head, something green fluttered to the ground. Upon further examination, it was actually 2 green somethings. Well hot damn, $25 bucks! I don't know why the hell I hid 25 dollars in my bath towel, but screw it; this day probably can't get any better. I soaped myself up, dried myself off, and put on my standard afternoon outfit consisting of gym shorts, a cutoff, and my trusted sweat-soaked Party Poker hat.
I tossed on my iPod, flipped it to shuffle, and- after skipping a few depressing tracks I was uncharacteristically in no mood for ("Bulletproof... I wish I was", "No Surprises" and "Let Down"- Radiohead; "I'm Ready to Die"- The Unicorns; "Been Smoking too Long"- Nick Drake; "I Can't Seem to Make you Mine"- The Clientele), I was rewarded with some upbeat pop music. I don't know if there's a happier song to listen to on a beautiful day than Architecture in Helsinki's kid-pop anthem "It's 5." I headed off to Oak Street's Bum Market, planning on getting a newspaper so I could finish the Tuesday crossword and soduku to feel great about myself, and maybe a pack of smokes to reward myself for the last 2 days of monkish living.
When I got to the counter, I paid with my newly found $5 spot, and took my fifteen cents change. "Hey, you guys got any matchbooks?" Damn, they're all out. Most days, this would be enough to set me on a downward spiral that's likely to end in a 3-day bender and the failed pursuit of anonymous sex. But today I was not to be deterred. There was a pretty young ghetto-looking kid buying a pack of Newport 100s in the box in line behind me, so I waited for him outside.
Wang: "Hey, man. You mind if I borow a lighter? I'd really enjoy a smoke on the walk home today."
Newport: (produces Bic) "Sup. I'll sell it to you for a dolla."
Wang: (confused, laughs uncomfortably) "Haha, yeah."
Newport: (raises eyebrows)
Wang: "Yeah, but they sell those for a buck inside."
Newport: "Yeah, but you gotta pay taxes inside. I'm'a save you sixpence." (Here I've got to call attention to the fact that he really said "sixpence." I'm afriad if I don't point this out, it'll slip by. It's probably the only amusing part of this anecdote, and it completely floored me at the time.)
Wang: (pauses for a few moments, utterly astonished) "Naw, that's alright. I just wanted to get a light for the walk home. I've got a ton of lighters around the corner. Thanks anyway." (slips headphones back in and starts to walk away)
Newport: "Yo yo , wait. I'll let you borrow my lighter if you gimme 'dat fifteen cents change you got inside..."
Wang: (slightly disappointed he didn't use the British vernacular for change again, but in a generous mood) "Yeah, sure man. Whatever. Here."
Newport: "Tight."
Click. No flame. Click. No flame. CLICK! No flame... click, click, CLICK!
Wang: (raises eyebrows)
Newport: (shrugs) "I didn't say it'd work, man."
Wang: (stares, makes nonplussed face)
Newport: "You see me wearing a sign that says 'Motherfucking Refunds?'"
Wang: "No, but you're not wearing a sign that says, 'No Refunds' either."
Newport: (looks around) "Fine, call the Better Business Bureau, then."
At this point I'm unable to even get angry. So far this thuggish guy has surprised me twice. He used the phrase "sixpence" and then referred ironically to the Better Business Bureau. Anybody who exceeds my usually accurate expectations almost always gains my respect. I'd usually make an issue of getting ripped off- even if it's just 15 pence- out of principle, but I liked this guy. A lot. So fuck it, right? I just smile, roll my eyes genially, and nod with an abashed look on my face.
Newport: (laughs) "What can I say? I'm a hustla, baby!"
Wang: (nods again) "Yeah, I dig." (<---- yes, I said "I dig.") "Take it easy, brother." (<---- yes, I called him "brother.")
Newport: "Hey, yo. What'choo listening to on that thing?"
The song had changed a few times, and I wasn't even really listening.
Wang: "Actually, uh. I'm listening to Dr. Octagon right now. 'No Awar-"
Newport: (excitedly) "No shit?! Whiteboy? Not John Tesh? Kool Keith can spit, man."
Wang: "Yeah, I'm a fan. I think the next song on the playlist is either something by Bon Jovi or Michael Bolton, though."
Newport: (laughs) "You straight, kid. Gimme those headphones, let's see if you lyin' to a nigga."
Wang: (shrug) "Sure man. Check it out."
I hold tight to my iPod nano, and let him slip the headphones on. He listens for about 30 seconds, satisfied, and hands the earphones back.
Newport: "Yeah, nigga. This disc was my mothafuckin JAM like 6 years ago. What else you got on here?"
Wang: "Yeah, it's the jumpoff. I dunno, lots of stuff. Lots of Kool Keith, some Doom, some Blackalicious. Edan. Mrs. Jackson, by Outkast. Deltron 3030. Tons of Ghostface. ODB, RZA. The rest is probably white-boy music."
Newport: "Yeah, you a nigga, nigga! Straight-up MY nigga!" (awkward handshake chest bump) "Who the fuck is Edan, though?"
So at this point I fiddled with my iPod, and let him listen to a few minutes of "Torture Chamber." He seemed to enjot it quite a bit.
Newport: "Eden? E-d-e-n?"
Wang: "Naw, E-d-A-n."
Newport: "You got good taste in music. How about you show me some white-boy music? None of that boring shit. Something with some go in it..."
Wang: (shrugs) "Sure. You ever heard of Radiohead? Here, listen to this. It's called 'National Anthem.' It's got a pretty good beat, and it's pretty trippy."
Newport: (Listens to the first 3 and a half minutes, and gets visibly excited when the jazz trumpets kick in hardcore just before the 3 minute mark) "Man, you ever get high and listen to this?"
So, for the next few minutes we just talked about music. He was pretty interested in finding some "white-boy" music he might download and listen to during those "late-night BLAZE sessions" with his buddies. I was happy to oblige. He handed me a pen and some paper, and I wrote down some Radiohead, Flaming Lips, Pink Floyd, and M83 suggestions I thought he'd be sure to enjoy. In return he told me to be sure to listen to the New DJ Drama/Lil' Wayne and T.I. releases.
When I turned to walk away, he stopped me again.
Newport: "Hey, yo! I don't usually do this, but... Here you go."
He reached into his pocket, dug around for a bit, then pulled out another lighter.
Wang: (raises eyebrow) "Thanks man."
Click. Flame. Burn. Inhale.
Newport: "Oh, here." (flips me a dime)
Wang: (laughs)
Newport: (cryptically) "Hey man. Time's money."
(shrug) He can keep the nickel. This story alone's worth 1000 times that.
posted by Derek at 9:37 AM
7 Comments:
That is a phenomenal story Wang. That's the kind of scene that could be in a movie like Clerks.
Donkslayer said:
'I love you and you're an idiot. I was just waiting for the..
"And then, with earphones still in, he snatched my ipod and ran away faster than I could say 'Oh Snap.'"'
1) Most people would be offended by "I love you and you are an idiot." To be perfectly honest, it's pretty much the highest compliment exchanged among my friends. So thanks, bud!
2) I was terrified he'd steal my iPod, too. I kept it clutched in my left hand tightly. I was wearing 3-stripe flipflops, so I couldn't chase him if he ran. I had my right hand clutched into a fist, and was ready to throw a quick right jab if necessary
"I was wearing 3-stripe flipflops, so I couldn't chase him if he ran."
I think we all know you still couldn't have caught him with the magic sneakers from "Like Mike".
-speedz
I never meant to imply I'd catch him, footwear nonwithstanding; I was merely explaining the most likely result of any kind of CHASE-endeavor would have been an almost-immediate face-plant on the concrete, leading to an even greater loss of whatever dignity and masculinity I have left.
"(shrug) He can keep the nickel. This story alone's worth 1000 times that."
I've always believed that just about any experience is worth going through if it leads to a good story. Of course, I don't have any truly horrible experiences that also double as good stories. So, I guess I have no point.
Anyway, I loved this story.
Also, is it technically correct to put the stage direction inside the quotation marks?
-Hobbes
Yeah, I don't really know about the stage direction. You have no fucking idea how much I obsess about shit like that and just can't figure out what to do. I'll get it down, sooner or later. My technical writing background is absurdly limited, so I'm looking to hammer stuff like this out.
Any suggestions?
Shimmering Wang said...
Any suggestions?
I don't really know what I'm talking about. I'm pretty sure it's correct to not put it inside. To avoid this, I just don't used quotation marks when writing conversation. For example*,
Hot girl: I see your girlfriend is over there flirting with every guy in the bar.
Hobbes: Yeah, that's kind of what we do.
HG: Well, I treat my men right. Come to the bathroom and I'll show you.
Hobbes: I don't have to pee.
HG. Well I do. Just come to the bathroom with me.
Hobbes: Gross! I don't want to watch you take a piss.
*reprinted with turd ferguson's permission**
**I didn't really get his permission, but I wanted to give proper credit for the dialogue.
-Hobbes
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