A Six Iron and a $20 Check

[Disclaimer: The following is the narrative of an encounter which, if not typical, was also not exactly atypical of one of our regulars. The language is profane. This is not a post for sensitive readers.]

"Are you from Durham, J____?"

"From the worst projects around, Few Gardens."

"Really? The 'worst' projects, you say."

"Yeah," he said with some disdain as if anyone should know that. "You got Mac-Dougal and them other projects, but those mo' fuckas don't come up in Few. Run mo' fuckas from New York out of Few. Shit's rough."

"Huh."

"Hey, turn here." He motioned for me to turn at the next light. We were headed to get a check cashed. I wasn't entirely sure of the details. The vicar wrote him a check that he was having trouble cashing... the guy at the place said J____ needed some verification that he hadn't written the check himself... I just needed to tell the guy the check was legit.

"Man, I don't want no kids," he says, staring at a woman on the sidewalk. "Just want to hit that, but no kids. Too much responsibility and shit. These bitches. Man, sayin' I'm this and that, on crack. Shit. They's bitches sellin' they kids to men for sex around here. Shit's messed up. This world's screwed up, dangerous."

"Where are we going, J____?"

"Right here... turn here, right there." We turned into a place with "CHECKS CASHED" spelled out in six-foot neon letters above the windows. J____ got out of the car amidst a cloud of his own diffuse profanity and and partially articulated anathema. We walked into the business, the only patrons. A man seemed busy in the back, behind one-inch bulletproof glass. J____ paced up and down, with his little cloud of obscenity trailing slightly, leaving me with a "fucka" here and "pussy" there.

The man behind the counter was busy for three or four minutes. In the meantime J____ looked for a pen to endorse his check and cursed the world repeatedly when none of them seemed to work. I asked to see the mysterious check. Sure enough it was written by the vicar, but made out to "DEPT OF MOTOR VEHICLES". Hmmm..

"J____, this is made out to the DMV. They're not going to cash this."

"Man! The DMV don't cash no checks! She put the DMV on there cuz that's what it's for. I got to get my ID."

"That's fine, man. But she made it out to the DMV. Let me call her." So I dial the vicar's cell, but it's her day off and she probably left her phone somewhere out of earshot. No answer. Being able to guess what her intentions were with that check, I thought to myself that maybe not having a definitive word from her was best in this situation. No one was going to cash J____'s check anyway, so why involve the vicar.

Meanwhile, two attractive black women had come in and stood in line behind J____. Or maybe they just stood at a distance. J____ was pacing back and forth, cursing, momentarily letting his gaze fix on one of the women for a split second, followed by more obscenity. Never a fully audible sentence, just words, the intimation of sentences by his movement. They looked uncertain, but not entirely uncomfortable. Confident, but aware the J____ was acting crazy as hell.

"Can I help you?" The man behind the counter spoke to J____.

"Yeah, I need to get this check cashed. I get my.."

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you."

J____ lowers his entire head into the slot between the counter and the window through which he has just passed the check. I'm pretty sure the clerk on the other side could only see J____'s lips and teeth flapping obscenities about this check and his difficulties cashing it.

"I'm sorry. It's made out to the DMV. We can't cash it here."

"Man, the guy at the other place said all I had to do was get somebody from the church to say the shit's legit..."

"But, sir, the check is not made out to you. We cannot cash."

"Fuck that. Com'on. We'll go down... Fuck that. Shit. Mo' fuckas want the DMV. The DMV don't take no checks. You fuckin' white people can do that shit. Fuckin Klan.

We got back into the car and J____ motioned to go up to the place he had been the previous day. "Alright," I said, "but I don't think they're going to cash it either. Why don't we just wait and talk to the vicar..."

"The hell! I saw you in there. Yo' eyes told the whole story. In there. You don't just have to talk with yo' mouth. You talk with yo' eyes and I can read that fuckin' eye-speak. You in there, you racist fucka, probably in the Klan. You think I'm just tryin' to get money for drugs or something. Fuckin' prejudice. I can smell that shit. The way you got your face all wrinkled up. Fuck that motha fuckin shit."

"We're here."

We walked into the second place. Two hispanic men were ahead of us in line. When the first finished his business and left, J____ could barely contain himself while the second spoke slowly and deliberately in Spanish to the clerk. J____ kept marching up behind the man, standing on his tip-toes and leaning over the man making severe eye contact with the clerk. The man finished, and while folding his papers, had to untangle himself from J____ to get away from the teller's window. 

J____ told the same story, with his entire head in the slot at the bottom of the window. The same negative result. J____ stormed out. Having anticipated some degree of eruption I had locked the car door before we went in. I wanted some degree of choice whether to let J____ back into the car. He was pissed, but still seemed marginally stable. When we got to the car I unlocked my door. He grabbed for the door handle and, when his jerk just left his hand empty and the handle slapping back down hard, he was taken aback and looked at me saying, "What, you fuckin' not going to let me in the car." I didn't answer, opened my door and unlocked his as I sat in the driver seat. He didn't hear the locks click and continued his profane tirade. The sunroof was open. I said, "J____, shut up and open the door." 

"Oh. Fuck." And he opened the door and got in.

"Let's go down here. We'll go to the DMV. You think you so right. Let's go to the DMV."

"J____, it's 9:30. I have to go to work. Now you tell me where you'd like me to drop you off between here and the church."

"Huh. Why don't you just give me the twenty dollars."

Wouldn't that have been so much simpler to begin with? "Because I don't have twenty dollars on me."

"Then ten."

"J____ I don't have any money on me. Why don't we go back to the church and we'll find out from the vicar exactly what her intentions were for that money and we'll go from there."

"Man, fuck you. Here's your fuckin check." He threw it up and let it flutter down to the floorboard. "All you fuckin white folks think I'm just tryin to get drugs. And that fuckin white boy up on the hill. He doin crack and drinkin and smokin shit. But all you mo' fuckas are in the Klan. You racist fucks. Think I don't see it? I see that shit. Man, I bust all yo fuckin heads."

I sat listening as I drove us back to the church.

"You gone go tell the po-lice.. threatenin... Shit. Send the police. I bust they heads too... with a fuckin six iron. Crack they skulls. Man, I wish I had a gun. Shoot the fucka's in the face. All you fuckin' white folks is in the goddamn Klan. Klu Klux Klan racist. Fuckin' po-lice crooked as hell. Send me to jail. I ain't goin to jail. An' I'm goin to get my shit, don't matter what you fuckin do. Think I'm... Fuck that, I'll smoke my fuckin crack. I'm gonna do what I wanna do. Ain't nobody gone stop me. You fuckin' Klu Klux mo' fucka. I've fucked up niggas twice my fuckin size, I'll fuck that shit up too.

"You ain't gotta say nothin'. Yo' eyes say plenty and I can read that shit. Check. Shit. I'll get mine. You don't fuckin' matter. I'll do what I want to do..." And on it went.

We pulled up to the church. "See you later, J____."

"Fuck." And he got out.