Explicable Me

After a long day, eight hours straight of writing lines with no lunch break, then 15 miles of bike riding to and from work in 70 degree weather, my attention span for feeding myself was at par with running a marathon. Abiding by my hot afternoon ‘nothing but boxers’ policy - I spent the greater part of my afternoon immobilized on the couch with my laptop. I was a breathtaking 7 feet from the fridge, but miles from a complete meal. So, logically I ordered food online to be delivered.

When the Chinese food delivery guy arrived, I quickly tossed on a sweatshirt, to hide my manly mane of chest hair. I walked to the door, pushed the buzzer to let him in. He ran up the stairs, excited to complete my order, but when he reached the top of the stairs he had this anxious look on his face. He tenderly handed me the bag of food, the bill, then padded himself all over looking for a pen, his eyes darting every which way at the ceiling, like he was having a mild seizure. After a moment, I even looked up, maybe I was missing something important in the hallway of my complex that I never noticed before.

Finally, he fumbled a pen out of his front pocket handed it to me, and I signed the bill and handed it back to him. His head stopped swaying like Ray Charles, turned, and walked down the stairs.

“Thanks”, I shouted after him. The front door shut with a clunk and I looked down at my order. I then noticed it. My penis was completely out my boxer briefs.    

I had been waiting to try this ghetto fabulous place on Divisadero for BBQ. A place I see when walking in a drunken stumble but never a place to seek out like a food critic. The front of the shack-like restaurant is always surrounded with Ice-T lookalikes, various 1990’s caddies, accessorized to the limit.

Like a hermit, I ordered online, surprised the shamble of the place even had an internet connection or a website to order from. After an hour and a half of waiting around in my vintage New Orleans lazy shirt and sweatpants like a fat ass, I started wondering where my food could be. I called them up and started what could have been the best food order of my entire life.  

Me: Hello, I ordered online like two hours ago, I just wanted to make sure everything went through ok.

Guy: Aye, Aye dog, from Clement?

Me: Yeah.

Guy: I been callin’ you like over and over, your number is up and shit. You gave us the wrong phone number.

Me: Sorry, I got a new phone and didn’t update the online number. My bad…dog.

Guy: It’s aight. The driver, she’s on 13th and Anza. Just go outside and she’ll be there soon.

Me: Ok cool. I’ll be outside.

(I go outside and stand around. 20 minutes roll by and I call back).

Me: Hey it’s Jaffar. I called like 20 minutes ago about my food delivery.

Guy: Tacoma? AwW SHIT! HOLD ON IM THREE-WAYING THAT BITCH. 

Me: Three-way.. who?

(music cuts in while I’m on hold, then cuts off abruptly)

Guy: Hey you there?

Me: Yeah, I’m right here.

Guy: No, not you, YOU BITCH!

Driver: Don’t be callin me a bitch you azzhole.

Guy: WHERE ARE YOU NOW?!

Driver: You said ‘roll on down to fi’teenth and turn left on Nahoma’.

Guy: FIFTEENTH AND TAAA’COMA. GET YO ASS UP THERE NOW. YOU SAID YOU WERE ON THIRTEENTH AND ANZA.

Me: No…it’s ok. Don’t stress out. Take your time. I’m on fifteenth and Geary, Turn right and you will see Tacoma.

Driver: Don’t defend that rude asshole. I said I was almost there. I’ll be there soon.

(phone hangs up on me) 

I sit down on this couch someone was throwing away on my street, and waited patently playing games on my iphone. I was interrupted as I heard the screeching tires from a maroon Grand Marquis turning my corner, windows down, blasting Trina on the 90’s sound system. A girl with press-on nails, a yellow, knit crop top, and a huge smile rolls up. Her car has the stylish blue cloth interior- the one with the factory cigarette smell, there was a baby seat in the back seat, and a giant box of Freezy Pops open. Strands of sugary, colorful, plastic sausage looking links coming out of it, hanging over the rim of the box. Wrappers were everywhere on the floor of the front seat. Before I can say anything she turns down the volume a little and she starts jabbing on.

Driver: K..K .K..K Get this shieet! I am really sorry…about my boyfriend, the guy who you called. He cuts the meat. That asshole gave me the wrong direction, he said ‘go down towards my house then turn left on Nahoma’ he had no fucking clue where you were at…(My neighbor comes down the stairs to take out his trash, but slows down his motions so he can listen in to what was going on with me and the Grand Marquis. We have a moment of eye contact)…Then like after a while he called me and was like WHERE YOU AT YOU STUPID BITCH or some shit. I deserve an award for putting up with him. Aye, sorry, I’m being rude, I’m Jenell, (putting he her hand out to shake mine, palms down, I shake it. Her nails are light blue similar to the car interior). I love yer shirt. Where did you get it? You from New Orleans? My cousin lives there, that weather is niiiiice. You look tan, what ethnicity are you? (looks at the receipt in her lap). Ja-ffar, I like that name, it sounds exotic. Jaffar, you will love this food. (Handing me a sopping plastic bag of meat) Next time you make an order I’m taken it to yer’ place first. I’m sorry sorry you had to wait this long..

Me: I think it’s my fault for giving you guys the wrong numb…

Jenell: (cutting me off)…Naw! it’s Trey’s fault. He coulda googled yer place or something. It was nice to meet you (grabbing my free hand, and shaking my hand again). I gotta roll. 

Me: Drive…safe.

She turns the volume all the way up, backs up the entire length of the street, whips the car around, and turns right on 15th. I could hear Trick Daddy fading away in the distance.