Rolando: A Head Shot and Porn

May 21st, 2016

-You call the body snatchers?

-Yeah, I called them.

-We get a name on this kid?

-Medics didn’t have anything on him.

-Check his shit.

-Kid’s 18. Rodney Jones. Oh shit…There’s a “Big Booty Hoes” dvd in his back pocket.

-Poor fucker was probably on his way home to rub one out and got it.

-That’s got to be fucked up. Booty on your mind then getting popped.

-It was on his mind until it wasn’t, judging by this head shot, it was the last thing on his mind.

-Shit, when I was 18, that’s all I had on my mind.

-Mother fucker you’re 33 and shit hasn’t changed.

-Don’t act like you’re any different.

-I’ll tell ya, “Big Booty Hoes” ain’t going to do it for me, though.

-You got the bag? Let’s get this shit over with. I wanna go eat.

-Yeah I got the bag. What’d you bring for lunch?

-Grabbed a sandwich on the way in.

-Not much of a lunch.

-It’ll do.

-Make sure you get all his shit in the bag.

-It’s all in. Where’s the DVD, though?

-Not sure. I’m sure it’s in there somewhere…

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Rolando: A Slow Night in the ED

May 14th, 2016

FUUUUUCCCKKKK, I’m tired. What time is it? It’s gotta be at least three. No, maybe it’s four. If it’s four, that’ll mean four more hours to go. I can manage four more hours of being this tired.

One o’clock? Only fucking one o’clock? I’m not going to make it. I’ll die before morning. They’ll walk into this EKG room and find me slumped over in this chair, face down on this keyboard—death by sleepiness they’ll call it.

‘He was a good man. A young man.’

‘It’s a shame how he passed.’

‘How’d he go again?’

‘From lack of sleep.’

‘Damn shame.’

‘It is….’

Ok, get up and wipe down the cart and EKG machine again. Do something. Anything. Can’t fall asleep. You just got this job. Can’t fuck it up. Cart and EKG machine are clean. What next? What next….

I can’t be in this tiny ass room anymore. Feels like the walls are closing in on me.

Damn, I’m so tired.

Stop being a baby. There are worse things that you could be doing right now than making money. So it’s a little slow tonight and you’re tired. Get over it.

I know. Write your blog post. Yes! I’ll write my post. That’ll kill some time. At least an hour or two.

I’m writing my post….

Yeah, this is good. I’m writing this am I’m not tired anymore. Good shit here, writing this post….

God I’m still tired. Still fucking tired.

Only 15 minutes have passed? Shit! SHHHIITTTTT!

I know, I’ll wipe the cart and EKG machine down again. That’ll kill some time…

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Rolando: It Was Just a Nap

May 7th, 2016

I started a new job recently at an ER in the city working nights.

So far I’ve been holding up ok. I sleep when I can and when I’m working during the night, I try and stay busy to keep my mind occupied.

Where I’ve been having a problem is the ride home. I live off the red line so I take the train. And staying awake on a train that’s rocking back and forth after a long, 12 hour shift when you’re tired as shit can be a challenge.

Twice already I’ve missed my stop and ended up at the end of the line.

So I decided to try and mix it up. Some days I take the train, others I take the bus, you know, try and add some variety of scenery and pace and all that crap.

And it’s been kind of working. I’m still tired as shit when I’m riding home, but I find that changing it up provides me the bare minimum stimulus my brains needs to keep me awake.

Except for the other day. I got on the bus and I was tired as shit. I mean, tired as shit.

I got on and there weren’t any seats except for a row of three seats reserved for people with disabilities at the front.

I’m not animal. I wasn’t going to sit there. I’m a perfectly healthy young man. So I waited my turn for another seat to open up.

Three stops later, nothing. The bus kept filling up and those same three seats were still open.

‘Don’t be a savage,’ I told myself, through my sleep deprived haze. Those are for the handicapped.’

A few minutes of sleepy misery passed and then I thought: ‘Just take a seat for a few stops, you can always get up if someone who needs the seats shows up.’

So I did. Then I guess I fell asleep. I was then snapped out of my deep sleep by the sound of a man screaming at me like a drill sergeant: “Are you disabled, you fat head mother fucker?”

I quickly sat up and tried to figure out what was going on. The man was poking at my foot with his cane as he yelled, which only confused me more.

“Driver, I know you better get this poor shit head out of these seats, before I fuck him up.”

I was so confused, I couldn’t process what was going on. Seats? As best as I could remember I had only sat down on one. There should’ve been two more for the old crazy drill sergeant to sit down on.

Then I realized that I had somehow thrown my legs up and positioned myself across all three seats like I was on a sofa taking a nap.

I was still trying to figure it all out but I couldn’t and the only thing I could manage was: “I-I-I… It was just a little nap.”

Well that didn’t help.

“Just a little nap?” He barked back. “Well I ought to slap those titties right off that sorry excuse for a man chest, son.”

And almost as embarrassing as falling asleep sofa style on a row of disabled seating on the bus, was my final response to the man after I had processed it all.

I gathered my bag, checked the seats to make sure I hadn’t dropped anything and turned to him and said: “You’re rude, sir.”

Then I made my way to the back of the bus.

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Rolando: One Eyebrow Short…

April 30th, 2016

Last week I had this weird experience where a childhood memory just popped into my head.

Now I’m not talking about when something triggers a childhood memory and you relive the experience–no, not one of those experiences.

I’m saying the damn thing just appeared out of no where. I must’ve suppressed that childhood memory because I had no recollection of it prior to that moment, but it all came flooding back in a flash.

And with it came a tide of  shame and embarrassment, followed by confusion and  a whole lot of unanswered questions.

‘Oh, shit,’ I thought when the memory first popped into my head, ‘I shaved one of my eyebrows off when I was a kid. Why the hell did I shave my eyebrow off?’

I don’t remember all the details of the incident, but I had to be around six or seven-years-old and was taking a bath when I somehow got a hold of my dad’s razor.

I don’t remember actually shaving my eyebrow entirely off, either. I just remember walking into my parents’ room after I got out of the bathtub and the horrified look on my mom’s face.

“Oh my God, what did you do to your face?” she screamed, with a look of complete horror on her face as she gasped.

Instantly I knew I had done something wrong. I played dumb and tried to defuse the situation: “What? What are you talking about?”

“What happened to your eyebrow?” she screamed. “It’s gone.”

A feeling of panic cut through my body as I tried to find an explanation that made sense. Whatever reason I originally had to shave off my own eyebrow wasn’t going to cut it. 

 I came up with the best excuse my young mind could find: “It just happened. I didn’t do anything.”

That pissed my mom off even more.

“Your eyebrow didn’t fall off your face, Rolandito,” she snapped. “Were you playing with your father’s razor?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“No, mommy.”

“I’m calling your father. Rolando come see what Rolandito did.”

I heard some foot steps from down the hall and then my dad was in the room looking down at me, trying to figure out what it was my mom was all upset about.

“What happened to your eyebrow?” he asked, more confused than angry.

“He shaved it off,” my mom said before I could answer.

“No I didn’t, it just happened,” I said,  still playing dumb.

“Boy, eyebrows just don’t fall off faces,” my dad said. “Were you playing with my razor?”

“No,” I said on the verge of tears. “It just happened.”

“Rolandito, don’t lie to me again,” my dad said, his face as serious as could be.

I knew I was busted, so I came clean.

“Yeah,” I said as I stared at the floor, ashamed that I was caught in a lie.

“Why in the world would you shave your eyebrow off, Rolandito?” my mom asked, her tone changing from anger to flat out confusion.

I didn’t have an excuse, or at least I don’t remember what the original reason why I decided to shave one of my eyebrows off.

All I remember was that a few minutes after admitting that I had played with my dad’s razor, and cut of an eyebrow in the process, something strange and confusing happened.

Both my parents started laughing, I mean, doubled-over with tears in their eyes, they were laughing so hard.

And looking back I can see why. There was their little boy, their first born, wrapped in a bath towel, sopping wet and scared, with one eyebrow.

They laughed for a long time before they were able to settle down and be serious enough to scold me for my actions.

In the end I was relieved that all I got was a scolding. I guess they figured that walking around with one eyebrow for the week or so it would take for the other one to grow back was punishement enough.

But part of me wonders if they didn’t give me a spanking because they felt sorry for me. I mean, shaving off my own eyebrow? Maybe they felt like it was a sign that I was a little touched, that I had special needs.

You know, one eyebrow short….

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Rolando: Help Yourself to a Handful

April 23rd, 2016

“How’s it going, Ro?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure? You seem a little off.”

“No, I’m good, Stevie.”

“Alright. How was the ride in?”

“It was fine. Took the redline in. It’s Saturday night, so you already know it was packed with assholes.”

“Dude, I like not having to pay for parking when I take the train, but sometimes it’s worth paying the extra cash to avoid mixing in with the riff raff.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have been such a cheap ass and paid for parking tonight. So Stupid.”

“Dude, you sure you’re ok?”

“Listen, I’m going to tell you something.”

“Alright.”

“But you can’t tell anyone else.”

“Alright.”

“You just can’t…”

“…Jesus, dude, alright. Out with it already.”

“I’m pretty sure I got sexually assaulted on my way out of the subway station just now.”

“What do you mean by ‘sexually assaulted’ and by who?”

“I mean I got off the escalator at Chicago and State and started walking to work and got sexually assaulted.”

“What? Like someone attacked you on the street? Sexually assaulted how?”

“Stevie, I’m walking up Chicago towards Michigan Ave and someone grabs my ass.”

“Well, first, that’s not really a sexual assault. That’s some dude grabbing your ass as you walk by him…”

“…Whoa, who said it was a dude?”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, it was a girl.”

“You sure about that? That sounds like a perv dude thing to do.”

“I’m positive, I turned around and there was a group of girls walking past. Not a dude in sight.”

“You freakin’ kidding me? Was she hot?”

“I don’t know, I only saw her back. She had one of those long North Face coats girls wear and some knee-high boots on.”

“So let me get this straight, you’re walking to work and a girl, who may or may not have been hot–but probably was hot–grabbed your ass and you’re all bent out of shape about it? Get over it, already.”

“Stevie, it was an unwanted advance. I’m a gentleman. You can’t just go around grabbing my ass. And besides, I have a girlfriend. I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate some random chic fondling me on the street.”

“Well did you tell her about it?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d she say?”

“She made some jokes about it and said, ‘You do have a nice butt.’”

“Ha! You see, even your girlfriend can see the humor in it.”

“Whatever, man. It’s creepy. And a double standard. And not funny.”

“Sensitive Nancy over here… I wish girls would grab my ass. I’d take it as a compliment.”

“Well I should’ve chased her down and slapped her on the ass.”

“Whoa, whoa, man. You can’t be doing that.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

“Cause that’s just creepy, and wrong and not funny at all. She’s a lady. You can’t be slapping a random lady’s ass.”

“You’re an asshole.”

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Rolando: Red line Hook Up

April 16th, 2016

-Where you headed?

–I finna go over by Mike’s and them house over there right off the Jarvis stop.

-What you gonna do over there?

–Shit….

-Can I come with?

–You know damn well Mike and them don’t fuck with yo dumb ass.

-Well fuck ‘em anyway. I’m on my own shit.

–Yeah? What you finna do?

-I got me this here pint of Cognac and a fresh pack of Newports. I’m going to the crib and get it right tonight, baby.

–You got you some Newports and some yak?

-Best believe I do, baby.

–Can I get a square off you then?

-Nope, can’t even do it. But I’ll sell you one for 75 cent.

–See, that’s why nobody wanna fuck with yo ass. You too god damn cheap.

-I tell you what. Why don’t you come over the crib and you can get more than a square. You can get some of this bottle and a little bit of some break you off right delight.

–Fool, you done lost your damn mind? Ain’t all the Newports or yak in the world gonna make me go home with you.

-I’ll treat you right, baby.

–You’ll treat me dead. I’d have to kill myself if I ever laid down with yo scrawny, dirty, no front teeth having, ass.

-It’s all the same to me, baby. I’mma get mines with or with out you. This my stop. See ya later, baby.

–Damned fool.

- Last chance, baby. We can… Turn off the lights, and light a candle. Tonight I’m in a romantic mood….

–Boy, take yo dumb ass on.

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Rolando: A Slow Night

April 9th, 2016

FUUUUUCCCKKKK, I’m tired. What time is it? It’s gotta be at least three. No, maybe it’s four. If it’s four, that’ll mean four more hours to go. I can manage four more hours of being this tired.

One o’clock? Only fucking one o’clock? I’m not going to make it. I’ll die before morning. They’ll walk into this EKG room and find me slumped over in this chair, face down on this keyboard—death by sleepiness they’ll call it.

‘He was a good man. A young man.’

‘It’s a shame how he passed.’

‘How’d he go again?’

‘From lack of sleep.’

‘Damn shame.’

‘It is….’

Ok, get up and wipe down the cart and EKG machine again. Do something. Anything. Can’t fall asleep. You just got this job. Can’t fuck it up. Cart and EKG machine are clean. What next? What next….

I can’t be in this tiny ass room anymore. Feels like the walls are closing in on me.

Damn, I’m so tired.

Stop being a baby. There are worse things that you could be doing right now than making money. So it’s a little slow tonight and you’re tired. Get over it.

I know. Write your blog post. Yes! I’ll write my post. That’ll kill some time. At least an hour or two.

I’m writing my post….

Yeah, this is good. I’m writing this am I’m not tired anymore. Good shit here, writing this post….

God I’m still tired. Still fucking tired.

Only 15 minutes have passed? Shit! SHHHIITTTTT!

I know, I’ll wipe the cart and EKG machine down again. That’ll kill some time…

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