Baby Got Back

One last story about Saturday night (the night seems replete with story fodder):

Pulling myself away from Gonzo's Nose, my friends having abandoned me and I not wanting to stay in the club alone, I caught the Metro home at around 2:30 a.m.1/ During the ride I realized that I had basically not eaten much all day and that strange sensation I was feeling in my gut was hunger. I pondered trekking over to a McDonald's on 17th Street (it's open 24 hours on weekends now, effectively just to cater to hungry drunk gay boys spilling out of the gay bars that line the street -- which is strange, considering that many gay boys are so body-type conscious that McDonald's is probably the last thing they want to put into their bodies),2/ but I figured that would be a bit far. I had about resigned myself to making myself a PB&J at home when I remembered the 7-11 around the corner and decided I'd go there. I am, in fact, so lazy that I did not want to have to make my own PB&J.

So I walked up 15th Street, turned right on Rhode Island, and readied my final approach to the 7-11 at the corner, when I saw her. She was emerging from a cab, and she was

all

and I do mean all

leg.

I'm talking two long sets of legs jutting their way out of the cab door, covered by a thin layer of either nude or perhaps chocolate leggings. I immediately knew what this woman did to pay the rent, and it wasn't bake cookies. Avoiding eye contact, I scurried my way into the 7-11 as quickly as possible.

I popped into the 7-11 and scanned the selection real quick before I tried to stand in line to order my selection from the cashier. Unfortunately, Miss Thang apparently didn't realize that I intended to stand in line, because she proceeded to stand in front of me, and behind another group of people. Too lazy to argue, I just let her take her place in front of me in line.

... and it was from this vantage point that I realized that her skirt was

so

ridiculously

short

that there was effectively nothing covering up this chick's backside. And rest assured, Miss Thang's backside was ample. I thought, Girlfriend, poodle skirts might -- just might -- work on Paris Hilton, but she's got like a twenty-inch waist and NO ASS. You, on the other hand....

Just as I was thinking this, she turned to face me. Suddenly afraid that I might actually have been inadvertently articulating the uncharitable thoughts which were running through my head, I kinda just kept my head down.

... which is bad, because Miss Thang was also very tall, which means that when I looked down at the usual 45-degrees-or-so south of horizontal, pretty much the first thing I saw was her Baby Got Back sticking out from that tiny little "skirt" again. I sincerely hope that she was wearing the best-fitting thong ever because if not, her hoochie-coochie would very likely be visible from the front, and I did not want or need to see that.

I should make it explicit at this point that though this woman was all leg, I do not mean to leave the reader with the impression that she was attractive. Ooooooh no. Her face left quite a bit to be desired. Somewhat mannish, in fact. Her clothing left nothing to the imagination, and much of it really should have been. She was what we'd charitably refer to as a "Big Girl." With a cap-i-tal "B." Sometimes it amazes me that people will actually pay money to be with women who look like that. Can't straight men get with women for free who look way better than that?

Finally, she spoke. One word: "Chinese?"

"Yeah," I responded. I tried to be nonchalant about it, but I think I pretty much failed. Miss Thang was actually trying to engage in conversation with me. What the fuck is up with that?

"Ni hao," she said. Yes, I know it means "how are you" in Chinese. I think it's possibly the most well-known Chinese phrase ever, though it may be second only to "Gong Xi Fa Cai." But in an effort to avoid any conversation with her, I declined to take her up on it, even though I speak perfectly decent, though certainly not perfect, Chinese.

"I don't speak Chinese," I lied.

"What you mean you don't speak Chinese? You [sic] Chinese!" she retorted.

"Uh, I'm American?" I ventured. I hope I didn't sound too snotty, but I wanted to point out to her the fallacy of presuming that a person of Asian descent necessarily speaks an Asian language. The irony of it, of course, is that she is one of the few who actually accurately identified me as Chinese rather than any other East Asian ethnicity on the first go.3/

"Well, I'm American and I speak Chinese," she tried to tell me. I didn't fight her on it, even though I'm pretty sure that the only "Chinese" she could lay claim to is "Ni hao," and she would never have understood anything had I actually given her some Chinese in response. ("Bu tsuo. Ni ne? Jin tian xia le tai duo yu; wo suei diao yi tian le. Hai you, wo xiang tsao ni da gai shi xiang tsao Grand Canyon yi yang.")4/ I dig people who think that they can lay claim to "I speak Chinese" if they know a grand total of one phrase.5/

She proceeded to purchase a pack of condoms and leave. Me, I got the disgusting food I was craving and made the trip home. Eventually I fell asleep to a DVD of "Finding Forrester."6/



1/ Well, it was actually only 1:30 a.m. technically, but with daylight savings and all, we skipped ahead to 2:30 a.m.

2/ Though at the same time, a disturbing number of gay boys don't seem to mind putting shit like crystal, heroin, and ecstacy into their bodies.

3/ Many times people compound their idiotic assumptions by greeting me with "Konichi wa" despite the fact that I'm not Japanese. So first they assume that I'm Japanese, then they add to it by presuming that all "Japanese" people in America actually speak Japanese. [Rolling eyes.]

4/ Loosely (again, because my Chinese is actually quite bad), "Not bad. How are you? It rained far too much today; I wasted the entire frigging day sleeping. Also, I think fucking you would probably be like fucking the Grand Canyon." (The Grand Canyon allusion actually comes from a Supreme Court case.)

5/ Of course, I will have to significantly eat my words if it turns out this woman does, in fact, speak Chinese well. But I guess we'll never know, because hopefully I will never see this woman or her Ginormous Booty ever again.

6/ Quite by coincidence, "Forrester" contains the following bit of dialog (paraphrased from memory), which is triggered as the two main characters discuss an answer that has arisen on "Jeopardy!", playing in the background:

Forrester: That was written by a person you've never even heard of... [starts quoting poetry]
Jamal: [mouths along to the poem] Dude, that was James Lowell. Where would you get the idea that I've never heard of him? "I'll continue with 'Poor Assumptions' for $800 please, Alex."