Yesterday was my berfday (go vampira!). I made plans to hang out with two of my favorites, John and Irmy, at the 11th St. Diner on Washington Ave for some cake. Two out of the three of us are avoiding alcohol for a little while so we were like, "No alcohol, just CAKE." They got to the Diner before I did, so I was speed-walking my way over there. There was a hot black guy walking down the sidewalk towards me and when he saw me he stopped and waited for me to walk past him. He had take-out food in one hand and held out his other hand for me to shake. Being the friendly tranny that I am, I smiled and shook his hand, and kept walking. He turned around and asked me, "When do I get to see you again?!" I yelled back, "You don't!" That reply prompted him to run after me. Whaaaat?! Dude ran down half a block to catch up to me. I started laughing and yelled, "FASTER!!" When he caught up to me I stopped and we talked for a little while. He gave me his number and we chatted for a little while. He seemed like a really nice guy but I'm not dating anyone until I start to look my age. And by the looks of it, that will be when I am deceased and decomposing in a grave somewhere.
I made it to the Diner and my babies were sitting outside waiting for me. I asked if we were gonna stay outside or go indoors and grab a booth. The weather was nice and the people-watching was interesting so we decided to stay outside. Across the street we saw this dude in a wheelchair letting out these weird crack-addict screams. At one point he stood up from his chair and walked over to a garbage can. We were like, "Awesome, he doesn't even need the wheelchair... "
While we waited for our waitress to bring us some menus, we saw two guys walk down the sidewalk right next to our table. One of them was a tall white dude, with a shaved head and a handlebar moustache, and his arms were sleeved up in colorful tattoos. I said, "That dude is delicious." Irmy laughed and John wanted to take a look, so he pretended to be a super-obvious Peeping Tom and look through the bushy potted plant right behind him. Irmy and I laughed at the way John was rustling through the plant, when he could have easily leaned forward and taken a better look at Delicious Dude. I asked him to hold the pose so I could get a picture of him, when we noticed that the wheelchair crackhead had Fred Flinstone'd his wheelchair across the street and stopped right next to our freaking table. I put my phone down & told John, "Ok, wait, I'll take the picture in a little while."
I didn't know crackheads had bionic hearing, because this motherfucker called me out on my putting my phone away. He cracked out, "What, I come over here and you put your phone down? Ahh! What, I'm not a person? What, you're better than me? Ahh! What, I spent five years in prison! You don't learn shit in school!! Only on the streets and in prison! I was in prison!!" He rambled on about how... um.... crap, I don't remember the rest of his crack monologue. He spotted a man smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk behind us and yelled out to him to bum a cigarette. Then he pretended he had difficulty standing up out of his chair, yelling, "Ahhh my leg is broken!!" The other man walked over and gave him a cigarette, and then crackie sat back down and .... fucking stayed there, watching us. Very casually. Dude was not going anywhere. When the waitress came out, John said to her, "This guy won't leave... maybe we should go inside...." The waitress said to the Wheelchair Asshole in Argentine spanish (I can always spot the Argents), "Señor, por favor, se puede mover un poquito, porque los esta molestando." (Sir, please, can you move away a little, because you're bothering them.) This request provoked Wheelchair Asshole to yell, "YO ME VOY PA' LA PINGA!!!" Roughly translated, this means, "I'm gonna go fuck myself!!!" The awesome Argentine waitress calmly replied, "Bueno, ¿se puede ir para la pinga ahora?" ("Well, can you go fuck yourself now?") Irmy and I were dying laughing because she was so calm about it, she spoke with the same intonation as when she greeted us and brought us our drinks. The four of us collected our things and everything on the table and high-tailed it inside. It took us a few minutes to compose ourselves and stop laughing at how awesomely our waitress handled that douche.
At the end of the night, we Mission:Impossible'd our way out of the diner, sneaking around the corner, waiting to see if there was a super-pissed-off-ex-felon-crackhead barreling down the sidewalk, trying to take one of us out with his wheelchair of delusion. The coast was clear and the night was saved, all by one petite Argentine waitress with an immeasurable amount of sass.