"...if you're a Filipino with a German accent, don't talk to me..."
I Have Write Down Your License Plate, Dec 20, 2005
"...five, four, three, two, one..."
Click!
El Boyfriend counted down with me over the phone, and I clicked send at five AM on a Monday. A writing packet emailed to the head writer of a major tv show left my inbox with good intentions and a few attachments. In 24 hours, a Supershuttle is going to pick me up and take me to my parents for Christmas.
I baked six pans of brownies as I made my final edits. In New York, doormen and the super all expect sum-sum for the holidays. They prefer cash, but my supply is dwindling. I burnt three batches, and undercooked the rest. If you stack a burnt brownie on top of a raw one and bite them together, you break even.
A Seinfeld episode came to life on Saturday night. I had a spot at StandUp New York. I was backing into a parking space when a man in an overcoat appearing in my rearview mirror, waving me away.
He was guiding his vile family to my parking space, on his cell.
"Take 79th Street exit," he said.
Yeah. They were still on the freeway.
"You can't do that," I said.
"I yam, " he said, in an accent that can best be described as fucking Filipino.
We argued, I called the cops.
"Dey will never come," he said.
His family drove up, and as they tried to take my space, I took the man's place. Now my car was half backed in, and their car was half pulled in, and the man and I were blocking both pathways. Neither car could get the space without the other leaving.
"Dis will be a long night," he said. I hate Filipino accents. And before you call me racist, I also hate German accents. And if you're a Filipino with a German accent, don't talk to me.
I digress.
A mother and father climbed out of the car. Their asshole-in-the-making kids yawned in the backseat. The mother started in with me, and I asked the wrong question.
"You think I won't key your car as soon as you leave?"
"What? You threaten me! I have write down your license number," she said, not writing down anything.
The cops pulled up.
"Oh, I guess it's not going to be a long night after all, huh?" I said.
I explained, the asshole explained, the cops pulled a Solomon and said no one would get the spot. The mother told the cops I threatened to key her car, and I explained that I was asking if she thought I wouldn't key her car. It was a query, not a threat.
Rick and Mo from StandUp ran out to help me. So I could do my spot, Rick took my car and found another, better parking space. (Take that, you Tagalog yapping motherfuckers). The cops stood in the disputer space until a third party drove up.
I don't know where the Filipinos went, but I do know that the mother has
write down my license plate.
