One night, I’m heading into the city with my girls Angellica and Pam to meet up with our boys at Suite 181, and we’re devastated to find bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Bay Bridge. But to pass the time and keep up our pre-clubbing hype, we roll down our windows and crank up the stereo with Jim Jones and E-40 and the like.
“Tell me when to GO,” we’re shouting mindlessly, like ghetto hoodcats from East Oakland. (We were 21 and had just graduated from college. Spare us.)
Almost immediately, we catch the attention of an SUV full of short bald Vietnamese dudes* **, who roll down their windows and start to whistle. It’s funny that we don’t see any hands visible, only those shiny naked heads.
“Hey sexy ladies,” one of them shouts. “Where you headed tonight?”
“Um, I don’t think so,” Angellica yells back, holding up her perfectly manicured hand.
“Don’t you wanna hop in our ride,” another guy in the back seat offers as traffic in front of their SUV clears. They drive off laughing.
Suddenly, Pam shrieks and whines a long, “Ewwwwww.”
“What’s wrong,” I ask, peeking at her in the rear view mirror.
“Those guys,” she says, covering her eyes. “They’re watching porn in their car!”
* * * * *
*Alright, alright, so maybe I don’t know whether they’re short or not. But if they look like a duck and talk like a duck, maybe they grow as much as a duck usually does too.
**Furthermore, I like to stand by the reasoning (excuse) that one is allowed to be racist if it’s against their own race. Personal experience may also drive my observations and judgments.