I Hate Your Guts by Norton Jim

Author:Norton, Jim
Language: eng
Format: epub

The Gentleman of Color from Franklin Township Who Punked Me at the Water Fountain

NORTH BRUNSWICK

was a very mushy suburban town, and even the black kids who talked a lot of shit were fairly nonviolent. Whenever a kid would move in from a truly tough area, he immediately got a lot of respect. There was one such kid from Franklin, which was a couple of towns over.

I was walking up to the water fountain one afternoon when he literally shoved me out of the way and mumbled, “Punk ass,” as he leaned down for a refreshing drink. People were standing around so I had to react. And I did: I stood there passively, like a fat-titted sheep, and said, “Aight…you got that.” Reliving that memory and writing it down is so mortifying my scalp is actually tingling. “You got that,” like two masculine rivals had been vying for the fountain and through some stroke of good fortune it was he who wound up making it there first. “Aight…you got that” is what Larry Holmes should say to Michael Spinks after losing a fifteen-round decision, not what Reginald Denny should mumble as a toilet is being careened off his head.

If there was any God at all, camel cum would have shot up out of the fountain and he would have swallowed the unpleasant mouthful that was meant for me. (Of course, that didn’t happen, or it would have been headline news and you’d have read about it.) Instead, cool, delicious water sprang forth and he probably gulped down twice as much as he would have had I not been waiting. And, of course, the friend he was with cut in front of me as well. I said nothing, as I felt it would be in poor taste to allow one man to symbolically rape me, then all of sudden try to reclaim my pride when his friend slid in for a piece of my already sore and open rump.

Historically, water fountains have been a sore spot for black people in this country, so I tried to comfort myself with thoughts of how he may have won the battle, but lost the war.

Since I’ve never been one to hold grudges, I have come up with the perfect scenario to even things up and allow a friendship to follow:

Very simply, this asshole, whose name I don’t remember, could make everything all right if he’d allow me to cut him in a line of some sort. Perhaps we could arrange to meet discreetly on the twentieth floor of a burning building. As people are filing down the steps one after the other, he could step aside like a gentleman and allow me to enter the stairwell ahead of him. As I made my way down the stairs to safety, he could stay on the twentieth floor and try to extinguish his burning flesh by taking giant gulps of water and spitting the mouthfuls on himself.

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