Booyah, white boys!

Some chick just came into the place I work and asked to use the phone. Since I like to keep conversation to a bare minimum while I’m on the clock–to the point where even ‘small talk’ about the weather feels like a severe hassle–everyone feels the need to come in and tell me their goddamn life story. I learned that her boyfriend was outside bummin’ a smoke, and that she was calling his brother for a ride so they could pick up some clothes from a friends house. Right as she hung up the phone, her boyfriend came in. He was big and totally black. When she told him his brother was on his way and that he needed a few bucks for gas, boyfriend got PISSED off.

“I know you didn’t volunteer my money! Baby, don’t EVER volunteer my money. I wanna enjoy you da resta tha day and here you go n’ volunteer my money when I specifically axed you not to…”

…then he turned to me and said “What part of ‘don’t volunteer my money’ don’t she understand?” I looked at her, caught her rolling her eyes, looked back at him and responded “eh, broads.” His response was “NOW THATS WHAT I’M SAYING, BROTHA!! It’s like they speak they own language or somethin’!!”

They argued amongst themselves as they walked away. On their way out, he said “you take it easy, brotha…and keep this door open, it’s hotter than a cayenne pepper up in here.”

Twice. He called me “brotha” TWICE!


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