Blackhumouristpress's Blog

November 23, 2009

I Vill Charm Your fu#*king Snake

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 5:47 am
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

“Who the fuck is going to pay for my fucking television? Huh? You mother fuckers killed my television.” Yelled a glassy eyed Mexican man with a strong accent.
Hector had come home from a small factory on Chicago’s west side. His job was to make grinding wheels for machine shops. The owner hired illegal aliens to make the wheels for him in a basement of the factory. It was an ingenious scheme. It would have been like putting Anne Frank to work behind the refrigerator. OSHA people would have closed the factory down in a second if they knew what was going on in the
basement. The air swirled with silica that went into making the wheels. The foreman wore a device that looked like a World War I gas mask that had two little air vents around the mouth. All the workers used paper masks and they were issued two a week. Hector worked ten hours a day and made eight dollars an hour. Hector had come from an area of Mexico called Jalisco. Hector paid a man close to $8,000.00 to take him across at Tijuana. The men, who took his money, provided him with fake papers. From there, Hector took a bus to Chicago to live in a studio apartment with his cousin and four other
men. A studio apartment is nothing more than a room that serves as everything but a
bathroom.
Hector started a side project of doing handy man repairs on the side. Sylvia, a seventy year old Jewish woman, hired Hector to fix some small items in her apartment and before long, Hector was living with Sylvia. Hector was a short dumpy Aztec looking man with dark, ruddy complexion and black eyes. Hector hated the United States.
Hector saw an invisible wall that kept his people invisible. Nobody seemed to notice that at all the restaurants, car washes and front lawns in upper middle class areas around the country, functioned because of undocumented Hispanics, primarily Mexicans. Hector knew that as an undocumented, illegal alien, he had to settle for whatever job and money he could find.
The silica made him wheeze and his eyes tear. Hector often coughed but thought nothing of it. Hector had been watching El Salvador playing against Mexico. It was a tied game in the 78th minute when six firemen axed the door open and began smashing all the windows out. Hector grabbed the arm of one of the firemen and as the fireman struggled; his axe went right through the 70 inch, high definition television that Hector had just purchased. It cost Hector the equivalent of ten days of work. The fireman apologized and walked out. Hector found out later at work that El Salvador won the match.
Sylvia stood on the sidewalk, trying to calm Hector while holding her parakeets in

a small cage. Hector had just downed several shots of tequila and wolfed down a six

pack of Tecate. All he wanted to do was watch the match on television and fall asleep on

the couch.

Hector and Sylvia found a motel on Lincoln Avenue called the Rio Motel.
Hector was checking into the motel that doubled as a convenience store too. Behind the bullet proof glass were cigarettes, pop, condoms, pain relievers and so forth. The Indian proprietor looked at Hector, a Hispanic man in his mid thirties and the seventy year old Jewish woman holding two birds in a cage, while dressed in pyjamas, was
impressed with that. Ajesh the proprietor was used to seeing all kinds of outrageous things but felt that the odd couple were the most unique of the night. Just as they were settling up with Ajesh, a young black, homeless man came in.
“Yo man, I’m just coming back for my cigarettes… I was in here back before y’all started foh the night and left my cigarettes here on the counter… You kin look at the tapes, I was here bout foh clock…”
“I don’t know nothing about no cigarettes, bro… You better leave now,” said Ajesh.
Hector slipped Fifty dollars cash under the bullet proof glass and handed it to
Ajesh. An Indian musical played in the back ground on a small television. There was one woman dressed in a Sari with twenty men, dancing in unison with her in front of a palace. Everyone of the dancers, were good looking people and light skinned to the point of looking Anglo with a hint of Indian. They were dressed in yellow and orange. They were all smiling, fit and happy. Ajesh was heavy and very dark and looked unhappy. He had a great disdain for the patrons who frequented the motel he purchased from a Korean couple several years back. The patrons used it to use and sell drugs, they used it to have secret rendezvous and some used it for prostitution. Illegal aliens used the motel as their
only means of living since they were fearful that a background/credit check would reveal the fact that they were not living and working in the country legally. Hector lived with Sylvia and so he had an apartment to go where there would not be four men to a room. Sylvia had companionship. She had someone other than birds and a television for interaction. Even though Hector was surly, he did appreciate the old woman letting him live with her. The relationship was non sexual for the most part. There had been a few
occasions where the chemicals within Hector, built up and drove him to do something that he would not have done otherwise. This poor decision making was aided by Tequila. Sylvia actually liked it quite a bit. It had been years since she had sex with a man. That night, there would be no sex and very little talking. They were both disturbed by the fact that they were instantly displaced from their apartment due to the fire.
“Hey man, I just want my motha fucking cigarettes… Look on the motha fucking tapes if you don’t believe me,” said the black man, with even glossier eyes than Hector.
“If you don’t leave now, I vill call the police,” said Ajesh, sternly.
“Fuck you, you fucking A-rab mothah fucking, carpet riding, snaking charming motha fucker.”
Ajesh emerged from behind the bullet proof room with a good ole Louisville Slugger. It was a thirty two ounce bat, which is to say that it had some weight to it. It was supposedly signed by Bo Jackson, who once played baseball for the Chicago White Sox and football for the Oakland Raiders. Ajesh held the bat up as if he were playing Cricket, which he was once very good at back in India. Ajesh was not a small man and was not afraid of black men who tried to intimidate him. In fact Ajesh was secretly hoping that one of them would cross the line so that he could brain them with his bat and then tell the police that he was being threatened with death by some transient.
“Who’s the mother fucker now? Mother fucker… Try some stupid shit, bro. I vill charm your fucking snake…”

With that, the transient man walked off and Hector and Sylvia went up to their
room. The room was musty as if mold was growing somewhere and the toilet smelled of urine like an outhouse. The bed had nothing but sheets on it and every spring on the bed
could be felt. Hector turned on the television to find two Indian men having sex with an Indian woman in a garden while sitar music played softly behind her feigned moans. Sylvia fell asleep talking to her birds, Hector fell asleep watching the Indian manage a trois. They too were good looking Indian people, this time with their clothes off.

Advertisements

Leave a Comment »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: