Monday, March 29, 2010

Double Negative: The Mental Handicap

Life Lessons: Think before you talk.

Between my career in middle school, and high school, I have had my heavy dosing of ridicule,teasing, and bullying. Anything from getting my locker swung open and my papers spilled everywhere, to getting knocked off my block a time or two. Not because I was "that" kid, I asked to be "that" kid. Any chance I got, I ran my mouth; and I ran it a lot. Maybe it was the fact that I was born dead with shit in my lungs. Most of the time I pushed anyones buttons that I didn't like until I found the right one that set them off. I was never really into fighting back, I just like to see how much of a rise I can get out of someone; even to this day.

A couple years ago, the group of friends I that used to call my click, used to go to Village Inn late at night. It was one of those late nights that about eight of us piled into one booth, waiting to devour some soft buttery pancakes. Like usual we were telling all the usual round of jokes, stupid pointless stories, and observations we had at our disposal. Throughout the talking we somehow got on the topic of the old days. I'm not talking like our parents days, I'm talking the 1800's. He/She (Memory slip) was talking about how embarrassed he/she (there we go again) was that our founder fathers had slaves. I found this to be an ignorant comment and proceeded to explain "Listen dude/dudet(I've stopped with the drugs), everyone back then had slaves. It was the norm, so it is not a big deal." Now, I didn't just say this, I projected it. I wanted my two cents to be heard over everyone else chiming in with their own. Like a baby bird screaming to have my mom throw up the worm she just ate into my mouth. Give me your ears.

Some of my friends chuckled; the rest stared straight through me with an expression of disbelief. Lo and behold, there was a middle aged black man sitting two booths behind us. There was no doubt that he had just heard my sentence out of context, and translated to, "Slaves are OK by me".

We moved forward with our conversation, onto much more important topics, like boobies or zombie take overs. I can't recall how exactly we got to the topic(I'm reading books on brain exercises for memory), all I recall is my reenactment; golden globe worthy. During the conversation, a verb came up and I saw the chance to get some cheap, but well thought out laughs. I preceded to throw my right limp hand against my chest with the force of a thousand apes; I sir, was retarded. We finished our food and were waiting patiently on our checks as I heard a banging that will never leave my ears. The sound of metal, squeaky metal, metal being unfolding into a chair. I did not even need to turn around to know. The man two booths behind us was both, Black and Handicap.

If you have never been to a Village Inn, you should, you pay the bill at the front of the house. We stood in line waiting to pay, all eight of us, one cashier. The middle aged black man in the wheel chair rolled up right behind me in line and stared me down the entire time; or stared me up, however you want to look at it. There I go again, running my mouth.

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