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‘And Your Mongrel Children Too!’
A Race-mixing Road Trip
In 2009 Ajay, thirty-something black woman, drove Charles and Adam [both in their early twenties], and me, down to Chesapeake Virginia to fight on an MMA card. On the way down Charles was ripping into Adam about the possibility of dating the girl that Adam had fallen for at our last event. This was made even worse when the instructor of the young lady called me and said, “I don’t usually do this, but my female student really wanted me to get Charles’ number for her!”
After the way Charles had already been picking on the junior member of the team, Ajay gave me a ‘how could you’ look when I relayed the message. Adam retreated into his gaming magazine and Charles seemed to ease off. Ajay breathed a sigh of relief and then Charles made an inclusive overture, “Do you play that game?”
Adam perked up, “Yeah, I really prefer their character development scheme.”
Charles then—as a certain serpent must have in a garden a long time ago—slithered in for the silent kill, “Don’t worry Adam, the female characters in your role playing game will not judge you and find you wanting.”
Ajay asked me if she should pull over so they could fight, but Adam—ever a fan of a nicely timed blow—laughed the loudest.
I included that bit of cruel camaraderie just to set the stage, to let the reader know that we were a fairly thick-skinned bunch. And, if we declined to laugh at someone who is clearly insane out of respect for the damned, it must be very clear that they are just that—nuts!
We tumbled into some kind of burger joint in Virginia and ended up sitting in a booth across from an 80 year old woman, a small lady with curly white hair, light clothing, and a black purse, who glared at us with intense hatred.
This woman just kept staring at us with a fury that had me convinced that the ghost of the Fuhrer had finally spun off of an arm of the swastika and landed—in this old broad.
Her eyes were black pinpoints that I only met once. I once saw Ron Bone after he had taken eight hits of speed, smoked a half ounce of hash, drank a case of wine, ate to horse tranquilizers, and ate a whole ice cube tray of blue unicorn acid, and his eyes were not that reptilian.
She spoke a lot, some in mumbles, some clearly, and for minutes. We did not want to laugh at her, and all looked away. But she would keep saying things. I was so afraid that I was going to breakdown laughing in front of a crazy woman that I shut most of what she said out.
Ajay was looking ahead at her hands on the table. Adam was actually making eye contact with this crazy bitch. Charles was looking up at the ceiling and rubbing his mouth and jaw, trying to keep the muscles from tearing his face into a wicked smile.
She was homing in on Ajay and I. She had gotten the idea that Ajay and I were practicing miscegeny and had somehow produced these two white guys—well, Adam is Italian American, so we can blame him for the misunderstanding.
We nervously refused to meet her gaze when she demanded it. I looked at Charles across the table, barely maintaining his composure and holding his mouth shut with one hand. Then the lady said something nasty to Ajay and capped off the statement with, “And your mongrel children too!”
That was it.
I started to chuckle.
Charles was turning red.
Ajay was giggling like a seated hula dancer, and then I snorted—done, put a fork in us. We burst into uproarious laughter, with Adam sounding like a German shepherd that just realized it could laugh like a human. We piled out of there to the car. I don’t even remember what I ate if anything.
Where was Adam?
He was in there speaking with the woman who had become the Oracle of Adolf Hitler.
I have never laughed so hard with others in all my life. Possibly the biggest objection I have to the liberal trend toward political correctness in America, is not fear of some Orwellian future, but fear of living in a world where I could not meet that insane witch at a burger joint, and have a laugh of a much higher quality than the caliber of whatever food might be had there.
Adam, Charles, Ajay, if you remember anything about this that I left out, please put it in the comments below. I laughed so hard it shorted out my memory.
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Add Comment
Adam SwinderJune 17, 2014 11:13 PM UTC

A couple of things that I can add from my end:

It was April 2007, not 2009.

The burger joint was a Wendy's, if I recall correctly.

I don't remember anything leading up to the blow out where she started screaming at us, but I do remember talking to her as she got up and just started walking around, extricating the most virulent verbal diarrhea I'd ever heard with these ears.

And to think I'd almost forgotten about this incident, strange how being a full contact stickfighter recalibrates your Weird-Shit-o'-Meter.
responds:June 18, 2014 2:11 PM UTC

You know Adam, I believe in people being able to own guns. But, I have often thought about this old bat-shit crazy broad when considering the concealed carry debate. Could you imagine if she had an H&K 9mm? She certainly wouldn't go anywhere near a Desert Eagle!

I still get a chill of fear when I think about her—her black eyes set against that white hair. She actually inspired my novella Winter the first portion of which is serialized on the fiction page. She makes two appearances in Winter #1.

Thanks for the comment and keep training.