Storytime: Looking for a Hideout

This entry is part of 3 in the series Summer in D.C.

I’ve been trying to find my hideout here in D.C. My spot where I can go and have wifi and food and not be bothered. By anyone. From what Reuben tells me, Petworth was a black neighborhood at one point, but the fingers of gentrification are quickly squeezing the life out of that reality. In fact, when I’m just out and about, I notice a handful of white people and their families walking through the neighborhood.

My first hideout prospect was Petworth Public Library. That’s right past tense – and I’ll tell you why.

Public spaces are a magnet for the most bizarre characters. So Thursday morning, I’m walking to the library. I was in a good mood. I’d already gone for my run earlier that morning. I was about to get some writing done.

As I’m approaching the steps of the library, I noticed this man – couldn’t say definitively if he was homeless but it crossed my mind. But the whiff I got once I passed him told me my suspicions were correct.

I’m sitting, writing, minding my business and this nigga keeps switching chairs which he is completely within his right to do – but he would literally sit in a chair and push it across the floor just making all the noise. And he does this with every chair in the little sitting area where we are.

Dis a library right?

Fast forward a few hours and I hear arguing down the hall.

Dis a library right?

The arguing ceases. But I see my guy out the corner of my eye behind the book shelves. Wasn’t sure if he was the one in the altercation but that’s later confirmed.

Out of nowhere, my mans proceeds to hock a loogie and spits it right there on the floor.

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I decide to take my little situation to the basement floor. I’d never been down there before but madness was ensuing where I was and I just couldn’t. I didn’t stay down there long but when I walked back up the stairs, my guy was in handcuffs.

Moral of the story: ooooh chile, the ghetto prevailed that day at the Petworth library

Disclaimer: Now who is to say if this man was mentally ill or not. It’s very possible. But that really wasn’t the point of the story.

Beware of that wyt hot confidence

Storytime: The confidence of a white man is unparalleled. There is no other race and gender that can be so consistently and vehemently wrong yet still be trusted sources of information.

So I’m at work. It’s about 10 o clock, which is closing time for my restaurant. It’s cold out so I decide to go crank my car up so the engine can warm up. After closing, it usually takes 30 to 45 minutes to shut down the line and wash all the dishes. Right? Right.

I’m about to run trash. I parked my car close by the dumpster so I go to crank my shit up before I take the trash. Low and behold. The engine won’t turn over, which means that the battery is dead. Whatever. I go back in and finish closing. I’ll just have one of my coworkers jump me off when we all leave. I got some jumper cables in the trunk.

We close and my coworker’s ride agrees to help me jump the car off.

These are whites.

I give him one end of the cables and hook the other end to the terminals on my battery. It’s dark outside so all I can tell is that the cables appear to be hooked correctly on his battery. We try a couple times and my shit still won’t turn over. Tf?

I turn on my phone flash light and find that this wigger has hooked the positive clamp to the positive terminal, but the negative clamp, he had simply grounded to the metal underneath the hood.

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That ain’t how this works.

I say, “oh, you need to put the black one on the negative terminal.” He replies, “If you put it on the negative terminal, it’ll short my battery.”

After that, I washed my hands of it. I just unhooked the cables and told them to go home and that I’d call someone else. Plus, I also know some people are weird about their cars and I wasn’t going to hook the cable to the battery if he really didn’t want me to. This bitch had the nerve to tell me my battery might be shot.

No bitch. This battery is brand fucking new. YOU just don’t know what the hell you doing, but want to act like you do.

I did call someone else. And we hooked both ends of the cable to the positive and negative terminals of each battery and what do you know, my car started.

Moral of the story: Don’t trust these wyt folks and their wyt hot confidence cuz they love to be wyt and wrong.