Marcus Tucker- Life out here is Amityville. I just got a call today that my boy’s cousin got gunned down. It’s freaky ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about them the other day. I hadn’t seen them in a brick. I just been stackin’ up money from this bullshit job. Too busy to deal with anything really. I used to party on the weekends and kick it with my boys during the week, but now if I’m not working I’m at home knocked the fuck out.
I hate gettin’ up in the morning for this dumb ass job. I hate my manager, I hate these fat-ass motherfuckers I gotta see in the drive-thru everyday, I hate the smell of wet floors, I hate never having a break, I hate still havin’ to pay for my fuckin’ meals. The only things that keep me here are my coworkers and my check. When Javier’s bitch-ass isn’t micro-managin’ everybody, me and the crew get to fuck around and crank. If we get an opportunity to put a customer in their place, we do that too. It’s fun at times. But would I much rather be somewhere else? Fuck yes. At the end of the day, it really is the check that keeps me from goin’ off on Javier and some of these stupid-ass customers. I’ve just been stackin’ up this money so I can get the fuck up out of here. I need somewhere new to be.
I just need my pay. Javier’s supposed to give us our checks as soon as he sees us, but his dumbass didn’t give me mine the other day, and I just wanted to get home ‘cause I had a long-ass shift so I forgot to get it. I’m off today, but I gotta go back in this bitch just to pick up a check, and I know this motherfucker’s gonna be actin’ too busy to give it to me right away. Watch this fool say somethin’ about a change in my schedule.
I dapped up Donte, that fool hates this place more than I do. He used to sell weed and was makin’ buku money—probably about two-thousand a week—until the feds raided his car. All that money he had made from sellin’ went to payin’ bail. It’s motherfuckers out here walkin’ around rapin’ people, murderin’ people and they wanna bust my boy for some stupid shit.
I saw Rafael too, he’s young as shit, but he’s got a mouth on him. I thought I was good at jonin’, this fool will make you contemplate your whole life when he’s goin’ in. I know this fool gon’ say somethin’ bout my ears. And yup, he did. But that’s folk though, we cool. Lowkey, I think he loves this job, no matter how much shit he talks.
Then I saw Drea, she’s a tall ting, but she’s cute. A real sweetheart. I had a thing for her in middle-school, but she’s more like a sister than anything to me now. Plus, her parents are mad-booshy. The type to make their daughter get a job just so she can pay her own bills.
As you can see, this bitch is completely understaffed. Don’t ask me why Javier schedules shit the way he does. Or why he won’t hire more people. Dude is mad slow.
Before I walked in I knew it was gonna be hella people packed in here. And outside it was hella people in the drive-thru. I had to get everybody’s goat since it was my day off.
I was just about to walk into Javier’s dusty-ass office when I saw Marta. Man, Marta is the sweetest lady. She’s a little chubby Hispanic lady who you always see with a mop and one of those yellow rolling bucket jawns. And she’s always smiling. I don’t understand it, but it’s much needed, especially on really bad days. She makes everything alright in that way. She doesn’t speak English though, which is kinda funny. Me, Drea, and Donte don’t really know what she be sayin’ under her breath sometimes, but whatever it is Rafael gets a kick out of it. Her face lit up when she saw me, as if she doesn’t see me everyday. That’s mama though. I hugged her and when she asked me “Why ju here?” I replied “Forgot my check, olvido,”
Javier was in his office, as usual, writing something down in a note-pad. Javier is probably around Marta’s age, early fifties, but he looks much older. He’s got thick bifocals, floppy black hair, and a huge moustache. I’m actually glad he’s the manager and not a cook or somethin’, I wouldn’t want him makin’ none of my shit.
Javier shushed me. Didn’t I say he was gon’ do some shit like this?
Javier turned his head to show me the blue-tooth in his ear. I went to go pick up a few French fries and got a water cup. I finished those, saw that Javier was still bullshittin’, and noticed that Fred was here. He had some shit in his hand and was trying to open the freezer but couldn’t. I opened the freezer for him, but he didn’t thank me. As usual. All he really does is grunt. He’s old as hell; I think he only works here so he won’t die. I don’t have no real problems with him, I just don’t like when he’s here ‘cause I start gettin’ all depressed and shit.
Javier’s ugly-ass voice was callin’ me.
“Check this, check that.”
“That’s what I’m here bustin’ my ass for.”
“Bustin’ your ass?” he handed me the check.
“Yeah, bustin’ my ass.”
Javier made this little mocking noise.
“Javier, what is it you even do in here anyways?”
“Work, Marcus. Check Wen-stat—your schedule changed.”
He shut the door in my face. Like a bitch.
I drove my ass right to the bank after that. I’m not playin’. I’m not tryin’ to be broke anymore. Like I said, I’m tryin’ to get out of this place. I’m savin’ up nicely, I got $3,457.86 in the savings, $220 in my checking. Not adding the $350 I just got. All that fuckin’ work and that’s all I got, bruh. I’m used to the shit now, but I just know there’s more to life than this. More than taxes, bullshit-ass people, and people dyin’.
Thank God there wasn’t a long-ass line . It always be the most derelict lookin’ people in here. Just takin’ forever and shit, like damn…who’s really got to be here this fuckin’ early on a Tuesday to open a damn bank account. But that wasn’t the case today, shit, it was almost feelin’ like that Ice Cube song, “Today Was a Good Day.” I deposited $300 and cashed the $50.
I been waitin’ to do that shit for a brick. A few weeks ago I was at Books-A-Million with my girl, just walkin’ around and whatnot. She picked up this bobble-head thing she saw and had this look in her eyes. I knew I had to get that jawn right then and there, but I couldn’t at that moment ‘cause I set a budget for myself. But I told myself with my next check I would go back and get it for her.
At first I didn’t see the shit. I was like, well at least this was just going to be a surprise. Luckily, I found it though. It’s a Dr. Frank-N-Furter doll. She’s into weird shit like that. But it’s cool ‘cause so am I. Really, we’re the only weird people in this city. Except I’m only really weird on the inside.
I like weird music, weird movies, and I have weird hobbies too, I suppose. Before I had this dumbass job, I told you I partied on the weekends and chilled with my boys on the weekdays. Although that’s true—and for sure better than flipping burgers and dealin’ with assholes—I wanna write music all the time. I always have a lyric or a melody in my head.
Or a story idea. I watch a lot of TV and most of that shit is garbage. I be watchin’ that shit like, damn…I could write somethin’ better than that. It’s the unrealistic dialogue that irks me the most. I’m watchin’ this show now about these teens who are caught up in all this suburban, high school drama bullshit and wholetime there’s this token black dude who uses this washed up slang from the 90s and it’s just not acceptable, bruh. Then there’s this other show about all these black people who run a music label, but they’re all fuckin’ ignorant. And people like the shit!
But I guess I’m happier to see all this shit and be able to point out how stupid it is rather than enjoy it with everybody else. I’m no hipster or nothin’ like that, but sometimes it feels good to be different. Like I said though, I just keep that shit to myself. Hell, maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe we’re all sick of this shit.
That’s what I like about my girl—she has aspirations. She also knows there’s more to this shit than just payin’ taxes and dyin’. You’d think everybody would know that, but for the most part they don’t. It’s like people forget to dream. And if they do, they forget to work towards their dream. But if you really want that dream, everything you gotta do to get there’ll be fun.
Then again I fuckin’ hate my job like shit though. Life’s funny, man.
I also got my girl some of this Vietnamese soup called Pho cause she had the flu that day. I brought it over to her crib and saw her mom’s car was there. Her folks are real cool, they like me a lot. Her dad is a physical trainer, her mom is a teacher, and her little brother is a chill-ass kid. Plus she has this cute-ass excitable wiener-dog named, Buttercup—the first and only dog that’s ever licked my face. So I guess it’s safe to say I’m fam now.
I said what’s up to her maduke; she was home because it was a holiday (I forgot all about it). She offered me some cake, which normally I would’ve gladly taken but I had grabbed me some noodles from the Vietnamese spot. I sat down on the couch next to her daughter.
“Here’s your fuck” It’s a little inside joke me and her have ‘cause apparently “Pho” isn’t pronounced like “foe”, but “fuh”. Add the “ck” and that’s the joke, word to Louis.
She always says that, bob . It geeks me, man.
We started talking about her day, which was some complete shit. Her fuckboy-ass manager was giving her attitude about her not being able to come in. Just makin’ snide comments and such when she called in, as if there’s anything she could do about being sick. I sometimes tell her I’ll go up there and fuck somebody up if she wants me to, but she always thinks I’m playin’.
“I’m sick of your job, yo.”
“I’m hip. But don’t worry about it, I’m supposed to get a call from the manager at MAC soon.”
“Word, they need to hurry up with that shit, you been waitin’ a good brick now. I’m starting to think they’re unprofessional.”
I wasn’t sure if dissing her potential new job was the right thing to do, so I changed the subject.
“I’m almost where I need to be with the money. In order to get the mic!”
“Aww, cute.” She pinched my cheek.
But I just wanted to be serious for a moment.
“I’m sick of being broke. Tired of people just talkin’ to us, treatin’ us any way they want. These motherfuckers are so miserable that they just want everybody miserable like them. But fuck all that shit, man. I got all my songs written. I got the title to my mixtape. I got a hook up on producers. And I’mma have this mic soon. Im tryin’ to be rich by next year.”
She made this face, which she claimed wasn’t a look of disbelief.
“I’m deadass. All I need is this mic, I already got the camera. I’mma have my boy rent out the greenroom at NOVA so we can do the cover art, then I’m essentially done. I’m tryin’—nah, I’m going to be rich,” I announced.
“I believe you ‘Rich Homie.’”
“Oh wow…but forreal though: ‘Made a hundred-thousand off a mixtape, had them folks like ooh, ooh, ooh,’ like shit.”
We laughed and ate.
Great line that gives insight.
Made me laugh
again, slang I don’t understand. Just the bob part