On most mornings, I'm walking to work in what I can only describe as a trance-like state. I function on autopilot until about 10:30am. I look around me, and most people, with few exceptions, seem to function the same way.
This morning, my trance-like "I don't give a fuck just please don't talk to me" state was interrupted by a female voice asking me, "Hey baby would you like some breakfast, suga?". I turned and saw what I could only describe to be a woman standing 6'2 sporting a feux fur coat, a barbie-sized skirt not designed for her Mo'nique-like curves, and smoking a Newport. But, what was most noticeable was the gap betwixt her teeth. I'm not sure why, but the gap is what told me I should engage in conversation. There's just something about people with gaps in their teeth...somthing so rare and exuding of an attitude that clearly speaks to you: "This is my gap. Name it, love it, deal with it. Because clearly, I don't give a fuck to fix it." How can you not talk to someone like this? Plus, the bitch looked like a tranny mix of Whitney Houston (the latter years), Clarice 'Precious' Jones, and the woman who played Peggy Bundy on "Married with Children". Clearly, she had me at "hey baby".
To be honest, at first I really thought that perhaps she was offering me a discounted coupon to the crepe's and custard place that sits right off I street. It wasn't until 7 minutes into my conversation that I realized this woman was a prostitute. Breakfast to her was codeword for "Pay me 15 bucks and I'll do whatever you want". I, of course, naively thought of the delicious Crepe place just a few doors down. Funny how two worlds can collide over one word.
My conversation went as follows:
Me: "I've been really meaning to try that crepe and custard place? I really hope you're giving out coupons because, you know, it's a recession"
Hooker: "You see Frankie over der? (Pointing at a less-than-well-dressed 5' 6'' black man sporting sweatpants and a periwinkle blazer) Well usually he a good customer but he be slappin me and pullin my hair during our transactions lately so I don fuck with him no more"
Me: "Why would Frankie slap you over a breakfast item?? Did you perhaps ring him up wrong?"
Hooker: "Baby he know what da price is, and he know if he wants extra it costs more so dat aint even no issue. I's a respectful woman, but he disrespectin me in ways I don fuck with no more and, I'ma tell you right now, he aint got nuthin to brag abouts to anybodys cuz he be packin a peanut"
Me: *Awkward laughter* "Well obviously if you want more you have to pay for it. For instance, when I go to Wendy's drive through and I want a side of cheese sauce for my chicken nuggets, I have to pay extra. That's fine with me, it's a part of life and I want my 50 cent cheese. Frankie's gotta check himself."
Hooker: "You a smart muthafucka ain't you? Now how bouts we go get take care of some business." *Blows smoke in my face and adjusts her weave*
It was at this point that I got a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps I had meddled to much in their business? I don't know what it was, and I'll try and blame it on the fact that it was still early and I was half asleep, but it was at this very second that I realized this crazy bitch was a prostitute. Not just a prostitute, but also a cheap imitation of someone I thought was giving away free samples of breakfast items.
Although, I had to give her credit. Most hookers work the streets in sketchy, poorly-lit sidewalks circa 2 am. Not her. This train wreck was getting an early start. But that gap she had in her teeth, it seemed like everytime she opened her mouth it got wider...to the point where I wanted to see how many life sized objects I could fit between it...a coin? a small dixie cup? a wedge of laughing cow cheese? a prematurely born baby? To me, the possibilites were endless, and I couldn't turn away. As she sucked on her cigarette, I couldn't help but wonder how, through one of those violent drags that she seemed to inhale, the cigarette didn't launch through that archway and right down the back of her throat. Sure, she could survive years of casual sex with strangers and a few muggings and beat downs from her pimp, and even the impending lung collapse as a result of smoking, but one bad drag from this cigarette and that bitch was a gonner. People at her funeral would ask her pimp, "How did she die?" and I can only imagine him saying "I told that bitch to fix the damn gap between them tooth. She ain't ever listen to nobody".
Meanwhile, I could picture poor Frankie, sittin in the darkest corner of the church, inconspicuously wiping tears from his periwinkle blazer. All the while, wondering if it was inappropriate to drink at a time like this.
~F.A.G.
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