Rolando: A Real Socialite

February 6th, 2016



-The way you blew that guy off.

-I didn’t blow the guy off. I returned his iPod. That’s a damned noble thing to do. I could’ve kept it.

-Yeah but he tried to thank you and you practically shoved the poor guy to the floor.

-That’s cause he tried to go in for a hug. And I didn’t shove him. I just put my arm up to stop him like a stiff arm.

-The guy was just happy to get his iPod back. It was a genuine act of gratitude you damn caveman.

-A simple thank you would’ve been just fine. There’s no reason for us to embrace over a lost iPod.

-You’re unfit to live in a society. You don’t know how to behave like a normal human being. That was an asshole move.

-Hey, I’m pleasant as fuck. I just don’t go beyond a handshake with strangers. I know the guy 30 seconds and he already wants to touch chests? I’m good.

-It’s not just the touching thing. There’s also the way you avoid interacting with people in almost every social situation imaginable.

-So I don’t engage in conversations on the street with complete strangers. I would say that’s pretty normal.

-I’ve seen you pop in your earbuds in line at the grocery store so you don’t to talk to the checkout person.

-I’m there to buy food not have a discussion about how my or their day is going.

-Or how about the way you pretend to be reading something really engaging on your phone when you see someone you know on the L and don’t want to talk?

-That’s cause I usually am.

-Reading Joe Rogan tweets can’t be that captivating.

-What do you want me to say? So I’m not very sociable. That doesn’t mean I should be cast off to some penal colony for the antisocial

-No that would too easy for you. You’d be in heaven. I’d send to a place where every one is super friendly and talkative and happy. And where you can’t avoid people and every interaction begins and ends with a hug.

-Jesus that sounds like hell.

-Sure it does.

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Rolando: Help Yourself to a Handful

January 30th, 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.”


“But you can’t tell anyone else.”


“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?”


“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: If I Want Me Some…

January 23rd, 2016

I was sitting at work, a day like any other, when Beth, a nurse, walked up to me and said: “Hey, Ro, can you help me clean and change room 22?”

“Yeah, no problem,” I said as we walked over to the room.

“It’s this cute little old black lady,” Beth said as we walked. “She’s 98-years-old.”

“Alright,” I said.

We got to the room and Beth opened up the door and we both walked in.

“Ms. Smith,” Beth said, “We’re going to clean you up and change you.”

“Ok,” Ms. Smith replied. “Oh, lord, who is this man right there? Handsome devil.”

“This is my friend, Ro,” Beth said as she giggled.

“Hi, Ms. Smith,” I said. “I’m going to help Beth change and clean you. We just have to take off these blankets and your depends.”

“For what, so you can get ready to come over here and lay on me?” she asked with a smirk on her face.

Beth’s nearly inaudible giggle turned to a full out laugh.

“No, Ms. Smith,” I said. “No one is going to be laying on anyone around here.”

“Well it’s a damn shame, I tell you, cause I’m ready.”

Beth and I both started laughing. We couldn’t help it. Was I really being propositioned by a 98-year-old lady for a booty call?

“Well I tell you what, when you ready to come get you some, you come see me,” she said as she began winking at me and blowing me kisses.

I guess that’s exactly what was happening.

“Ms. Smith, you’re going to get me in trouble. Beth here knows my girlfriend.”

“I don’t care. I got something for your girlfriend,” she said as she balled up fists in a boxing stance and starting throwing punches. “Pew, pew, pew, POW!”

At that point, Beth and I were practically in tears. Here’s this little old lady, old enough to be my great grandmother, and she was as feisty as could be.

Not only was she trying to “get some” but she was also willing to whip my girlfriend’s ass to get it.

We finished cleaning her up and I told her I was leaving.

To which she replied: “You know I’m just talking crazy.”

“I know Ms. Smith, it’s good to have a sense of humor. I’ll check on you later.”

“Ok, Big Daddy,” she said as I left the room with that same smirk on her face.

Time flew by, we got busy as hell, and I almost forgot about Ms. Smith. That is, until, Beth walked up to me with her own smirk on her face and asked: “Hey, do you want to take your girlfriend in 22 up to her room?”

“Why the hell not?”

I walked back to her room, opened the door and announced: “Ms. Smith, I’m here to take you up to your room.”

“Let’s go, daddy,” she said, smirking again. “You think we’ll have some alone time up there.”

“Probably not, but we’ll at least have the trip up together.”

“Fine by me.”

I packed her stuff on the cart and off we went. I turned left at the main hallway that connects our ER to the main hospital. It was mid afternoon so the hallway was packed with traffic. People going back-and-forth to the various parts of the hospital. No one really paying attention me or the little ball of energy that sat on the cart.

To be honest, I was surprised at how well she was behaving. I thought for sure she would act out in front of anyone who could be a potential audience for her nutty antics.

We got to the staff elevators and a few people were waiting to go up. Then she started again.

“Hey, mam,” she said to a young female transporter. “Ain’t he pretty? Tell me he ain’t pretty with that beard and that face.”

The poor woman, she had no idea what to say. I could tell she didn’t want to offend me or the old lady, so she said: “Yes. Yes he is pretty. With that beard and that face.”

Luckily the elevator arrived at the first floor and I got her in it as quickly as I could.

As we made our way up to the fourth floor of the hospital. Ms. Smith turned to me, smiled and said: “Baby, you know I’m just talking crazy, right? I’m old, and I don’t got much. No family, no friends. All I got me is some talking crazy to keep me from going crazy. Smile before I cry. You know what I’m telling you?”

“I get it, Ms. Smith,” I said. “I’ll take a laugh over a cry any day.”

Just then the doors opened and I pushed her out into the busy hallway.

“Lord or lord, I hope there’s some pretty men up here. Not that one, he’s too fat. But that one, yes, that one’ll do.”

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Rolando: Money Shot

January 16th, 2016

I work in an emergency room in the northern suburbs. It’s  not a glamorous job, but it pays the bills and it can be exciting from time to time.

Working in an ER, you have to have a strong stomach and get used to the fact that you’re going to get stuff splashed on you at some point.

And by “stuff” I mean every human secretion you can imagine–pee, blood, shit, vomit, snot and more.

It’s just part of the job. You work in an ER long enough and you’ll get it all. It’s inevitable.

But a few months back there was a first for me….

One of our new Docs asked if I could help hold this kid down that he was going to do an Incision and Drain on. It’s basically a procedure where the Doc pokes a  cyst with a scalpel  and drains the puss out.

My job was to pin the little bastard down so the Doc doesn’t end up stabbing the kid.

So we go into the room and the kid looks terrified. First off, we’re both big boys. He sees two 6-foot, 220-pound men walk in and naturally he’s scared. But it’s also that he knows what’s about to happen to him.

His mom tries to comfort him with words of encouragement. But it doesn’t work.

He starts crying and screaming.

The Doc looks at me and says: “Ro, let’s go.”

So I put some of my weight on the kids torso with my right arm and pin his legs to the cart with my left. He starts to squirm so I put more pressure and it does the job.

The Doc takes the cap off the scalpel and moves in towards the kid’s left leg where the cyst is.

“It’s going to hurt a little bit but don’t move, ok?” he says as he carefully moves the scalpel closer to the cyst.

I just kept holding the kid down as he tried to fight to break free. I turned to look to see the incision, cause I knew that would make the kid fight even more. I wanted to be prepared.

And that’s when everything slowed down.

In slow motion, I watched as the Doc broke the skin with the scalpel and a steady, stinky, steamy stream of white puss came shooting out the other side and directly at my face.

Before I could react,  I was getting splashed in the face.

Not my proudest ER moment….

Almost in unison, the Doc and the kid’s mother cried out in complete disgust: “Oh my God!”

Even the kid stopped squirming and crying for a second and started gagging as if he were going to throw up.

There was nothing I could do. The Doc had the scalpel to the kid’s leg and if the kid moved, he could have been sliced open.

I just closed my eyes and took it all in the face.

It was like a money shot scene out of a porno. All that was missing was the “whicha wa-wa” music and an extreme close up shot of my face.

It didn’t help that I shook my head side-to-side to try and avoid the stream.

When we were done I hurried out of the room and frantically scrubbed my face over a sink with hot water and soap.

When I was done, the Doc walked over to me and said: “Ro, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to get you all in the face.”

I know he meant well, but some how his apology just made me feel even dirtier.

But what can I tell you? You work in an ER long enough and I guess you have take a money shot in the face every once in a while.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself….

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Rolando: Red Line Hook Up

January 2nd, 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?


-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: Going Out With A Bang (What’d You Bring For Lunch)

December 26th, 2015

-You’re late, fucker. Your shift started 45 minutes ago.

-Wow, you’re real observant. What’s got you all twisted?

-Hey, it’s been a long, shitty shift. And it feels like it’s only getting busier.

-I saw three ambulances headed out on my way in. I’m sure they’ll be headed over here.

-Dude, it’s been like that all night. One after another.

-God, it’s going to be a long night.

-Sure the fuck is. So what the hell happened to you?

-I got stuck on the red line. Some asshole jumped the tracks and killed himself.


-I know. We were stuck for an hour while they scraped his ass off the tracks.

-Isn’t that annoying? Selfish fuck.

-I know. I mean, If you want to end it all, who am I to stop you? But do you gotta make me late for work in the process?

-You gotta admire the determination, though, right? Dude wasn’t playing around.

-Fuck yeah, you do.

-That’s not like all these attention seeking assholes we get that take a bunch of pills then call 911 crying, talking about ‘I want to kill myself.’

-Then they get brought to ED and they cry some more and say how they didn’t mean to hurt themselves.

-Nope, you’ve made up your mind once you commit and jump in front of a train.

-No turning back.


-That’s called going out with a bang.

-Oh man, you’re an asshole.

-What? I thought we agreed that the guy was an asshole.

-”Going out with a bang,” though?

-Alright, maybe that’s a little too much.

-What’d you bring for lunch?

-Steak and cheese sandwich.

-Let me get half.

-Fuck no I’m not giving you half. That’s the only thing I got to look forward to tonight.

-You really are an asshole.

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Rolando: A Slow Night in the ED

December 12th, 2015

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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