A couple of weeks ago we had our local Addy show. Afterwards, a few of my coworkers and I, as well as some other show attendees, ventured to a nearby bar to get even more f*cked up.
So we’re standing around bullsh*ttin’ and a reasonably well-dressed man, a brotha, approached us and singled me out. Just as at the job, I’m the chip on the cookie.
“Brotha, brotha, I see you’re having a good time,” he humbly says.
“Blah blah, whuddup,” or something, I said in return.
“Brotha, I see you’re doing well for yourself. Help a brother out so I can get something to eat.”
“What?!?!,” an inebriated Franklin retorts.
Well-dressed vagrant, sensing my ever-increasing, alcohol-induced indignation, takes a step back and looks at my cohorts.
Standing next to me, among the rest of my colleagues, is, let’s call her, Becky. Becky is a white woman. Becky is my coworker.
Well-dressed vagrant moves back in.
“Brotha, I just wanna get home.”
“Wanna get home?,” an uncharacteristically bold Franklin asks. “I thought yo’ ass was hungry. Which one is it? You want something to eat or you wanna go home?”
“I just wanna go home,” he says. Then, turning his look of despair to a look of sheer joy, he looks at Becky, then back to me he tries a different tact.
“Look at you brotha!!! You hit the lottery!!!," gesturing to Becky, "You gotta be doin’ real good to get up on that, knowhati’msayin’!!! You hit the lottery!!!”
I gave him two dollars.
And, as Becky put it, I soooo haven't won the lottery.
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