Texts from Bennett (21 page)

ME:
Lol. Nope. I weighed 187 before and 186 after. It was astounding.

BENNETT:
K peep dis

BENNETT:
b4 u took dat shit, da scale SAID U weighted more, but dat actuly wasnt tru. 187 wasnt da real U. 186 was..

BENNETT:
Da real U weighted less U just had 2 get sum shit out first

BENNETT:
da scale made u sumthin u wernt

ME:
Ok.

BENNETT:
c

BENNETT:
..u neva go out when u need to take a shit.u wont feel comfterble . . . rt?

ME:
I guess, but what does needing to poop have to do with meeting women?

BENNETT:
always poop b4 u go meet bitches.

BENNETT:
bitches like thangs lite.doods who act all heavy freek a girl out

BENNETT:
if u meet a bitch when u got a bunch of shit inside U dat U need to git out she gunna think ur sumthin dat u arnt.

BENNETT:
if U all sad about ur life and have hella shit inside dat needs to cum out U r gnna gross a girl out.Ur gunna feel too heavy and end up shittin ur pants At da house party when u shud be pimpen her

ME:
But what if my shit doesn’t smell that bad? I find women like talking about my problems with me. It makes me feel good too.

BENNETT:
nigga ALL shit smell bad

BENNETT:
U may feel gud when U poop but a girl dont.

BENNETT:
no 1 is botherd by the smell of there own shit

BENNETT:
dat duznt mean Ur shit smells gud

BENNETT:
Jus like ur problams.u cud sit their and talk abot ur own problams all day but dats rude and will gross ppl out

ME:
Haha. I get it. I’m following you. Wait though. What does the scale have to do with it?

BENNETT:
its a figeur of speech

BENNETT:
jus look incide urself an make sure U got a gud attatuid b4 u leave da house

BENNETT:
if u feel like ur full of sad problams and sadness. shit it all out. vent . . . call a friend,,,, leve it all bahind

BENNETT:
take a poop first.go out with a empty butt so bitches meet da real U

BENNETT:
an neva take a shit in front of a girl u wanna fuk

BENNETT:
dats obvias

BENNETT:
r u comein home today

ME:
Yep, I’m sitting down on the plane right now.

BENNETT:
coo how was da showz

ME:
Great, actually. All of them had good crowds.

BENNETT:
coo

ME:
Is the thing with the older lady still working out?

BENNETT:
na

BENNETT:
na she is bein moved 2 a nursing home by her son

ME:
That sucks. That was fast.

BENNETT:
ya her son is a fucccin h8r.got mad at me for jaccin Ambien.but V said i cud have it!

ME:
No comment. Okay. What about other job prospects?

BENNETT:
im tryen but popeyez is so wak man

BENNETT:
i dont no how much longer im gng 2 have dis job

BENNETT:
hello u their

ME:
Yes, sorry. Was putting my bag in the top compartment thing.

ME:
Wait . . . Why?

BENNETT:
my boss Ned is fukin tripen

ME:
Why? What’s the matter?

BENNETT:
i told him dat i must have a set scedule bcuz im tryen 2 find a Xtra job but he keep sceduling me 2 wrk on dayz i need off

BENNETT:
i am sapposed to have a 2nd interview diss week at dat grocary store Hyvee but i also gatta work now

BENNETT:
it like he tryen to keep me from haven another job

BENNETT:
im sorry cuz im tryin man

BENNETT:
but he such a assfuk.nigga

BENNETT:
its rlly strssn me out

Over the plane’s loudspeaker, a bubbly flight attendant said, “Folks, I’m going to need you to stow all portable electronic devices in just a couple of moments!”

BENNETT:
man im tryen so hard to help out i dont wanna let u down.it really sux dat i have such bad lucc

But my cousin was sending me incessant text messages. I could barely stop my phone from vibrating long enough to respond to him.

BENNETT:
da mthafcca toll me it was coo if i did it too.den he snaked me like a scandilis bitch

I had only a few minutes but wanted to calm him down, so I decided to call him . . . which I’d later find out was a horrible decision.

“Hello?”

“Hey, my plane is departing in like two minutes, I have only a couple seconds.”

“Yeah.”

“Your boss is a dick. You really told him you needed the day off for a job interview?”

“Yeah! And he goes ‘Well, it looks like you’ll have to reschedule the job interview. I need you on milk shakes and beverages.’ ”

“Geez. He said that?”

“Yeah, man! This the second time he done this shit! And I know I can get this job—but I
gots
to be at this fuckin’ second interview.”

“Hmm . . .”

“What should I do? I’m not bullshittin’. I want to work. You know I ain’t tryin’ to piss you off.”

“I know you aren’t, man. It sounds like you need to hit him with an ultimatum. That usually works. It will probably make him respect you more.”

“A what?”

“An ultimatum. Sorry, the plane’s loud.”

I had an aisle seat on the plane, but unfortunately, the two people next to me were both staring at me, visibly perturbed by the volume of my talking. Not to mention the fact that Bennett was talking so loud, people within the five to six rows of seats that surrounded me could probably hear him.

“How the fuck I do that?”

“Just go down to the job. Pull him aside, and do it. Make sure you say ‘I need a set schedule, or I need to quit.’ It should work.”

“Hahaha. Nah, Cuz, that’s dumb. That’s gonna get me fired.”

“If you get fired for it, at least you had dignity and acted like a man. I won’t be mad at you. If anything, you switch to the job at Hy-Vee now.”

“Really? Mothafuckas do shit like that?”

“Well, yeah. Of course they do! It’s the best way to make someone take you seriously. It’s a classic, customary thing to do when someone is fucking with you and needs to stop.”

“That’s funny. I just hope I don’t get fired for it. I need this job, my nigga.”

“I doubt he will fire you over it.”

“You really think I should do this? I can’t believe I never heard about this before.”

“You’re still young, man. Still learning how to take charge.”

“Sounds like it could get pretty messy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just runnin’ up in there and blastin’ him like that.”

“Nah, it won’t. Just be direct and stern. If putting him on blast hurts him, he’s a huge pussy.”

“Haha, true, there’s no way it would hurt him, right?”

“I’d hope not. He’s the manager, his skin should be pretty thick.”

“Psssstttt. Damn. Okay, fuck it. I’mma try it. If you say it’s a custom and shit. You the successfullest nigga in da family, so you prolly right.”

“Like I said. If it doesn’t work, for whatever reason, then you don’t want that job anyway. Luckily, my merchandise has been picking up online lately. So if you need to switch jobs, or lose the job, it’s fine. I can handle things right now. Just
try not to
.”

“No, no, no. I want to have both. I don’t mind workin’, G.”

“Well, yeah, because you just sit there and text girls all day.”

“Whatever, nigga, I get paid, that’s all that matters.
Hahaha!
”

“Okay, I gotta go, Bennett. Be home in three, four hours.”

“Bet. Peace!”

“Bye. Remember, direct and stern. Lay it the fuck on him. Be respectful, but don’t be afraid to man up.”

I turned off the phone and put it in the storage fold attached to the seat directly in front of me. A baby boy was looking back at me through the seats, so I put my hands over my face, waited for a second, then split them, making a funny face. He just stared at me.

What a dickhead. Babies have no grasp of social contract. If he did it to me, I’d go “Hahaha!” even if he was an ugly little cuss. It’s polite. But nooo, he’s a little baby who thinks he has carte blanche, so he gets to make me feel like a jerk.

The flight attendant came by after we were airborne and gave me some chocolate chip cookies. She had sunken eyes and a tired face, her hair tangled and pulled back in a sloppy cinnamon bun of brown and golden hair. But beneath it all, she was pretty cute. She was obviously just uninterested in using her looks to impress the day-to-day cunts she deals with thirty thousand feet in the air, I thought as I dozed off.

I woke up two hours into the flight, the same flight attendant
hovering over me. I was sweaty and thirsty. She asked me if I wanted some water, and I nodded my head. Once she returned with the tiny plastic cup of water, I drank it down.

“Wow, you’re thirsty, mister!” she said, pushing the artificial enthusiasm a half notch too high.

For some reason, when you’re a single guy, and your confidence isn’t 100 percent, you think every simple, platonic interaction with a woman might end up with you having sex with her. It’s just the way it works. Women should probably never smile at guys, and they should
definitely
never compliment them. Even if it’s in regards to how much water they just drank in a short span of time.

“Want some more water, honey?”

Ohhh, she called me honey! The next step is sex in the lavatory.

“Please . . .” I said, slurping in a deep breath.

She walked back to the plane’s galley and returned a few seconds later with a tall bottle of water and refilled my cup.

“Here ya go, baby. Drink up.”

“Thank you, baby,” I said, taking a sip of my water.

She smiled and watched me chug the second cup in a row.

Time to go in for the kill!

“So, what do you usually do when you land?” I asked.

“Huh? When I land?” she said, smiling but with a confused look on her face.

“Yeah, like. When the plane lands. What happens for the rest of the night?”

“Uhhh. This plane will go through inspection and tune-ups, then we start the route again in the morning.”

Trying to hit on women was always difficult for me. It’s not that I lacked the confidence to walk up to a girl and talk to her. Hell, I’d walk up to the hottest girl in the entire world. That didn’t scare me. The problem was that the things I said to women never seemed to interest them. I always hoped being a creative conversationalist would win me points, but it didn’t. Mostly it seemed to creep them out.

Morons get women, and I never learned how to be a moron. I didn’t know how to make small, mindless talk to attract a female. Asking things like, “Do you like the movie
Amélie
?” or “If you could
be reborn as a historical figure, who would it be?” at a loud club, full of drunk people, is a horrible idea. Therefore, I was always doomed with delivering awkward conversations. A girl would seem lukewarm to the idea of dating me as it was, so I’d put nails in the coffin with my way of approaching them. Unfortunately, I was always delusional enough to think the girl I was trying to hit on would be one of the special ones and dig the way I conversed.

Thus I scored a few hot, intelligent girls in my day with those types of conversations. But the slew of women I had to be rejected by in order to meet them was huge.

“No, I mean you. What do you do when you land? Are you staying in Kansas City? Do you go out at all?”

“Um, yeah, I’m staying in Kansas City. Um . . . yeah, actually, sometimes I go out.”

“That’s cool. Well, hey, do you want to maybe get together or something tonight? We could drive out to the country where there isn’t any light pollution and lay on the hood of my car, trying to find constellations.”

Bam. I did it. I asked her out. There was an amplified rush through my body. But, of course, the guy in the seat next to mine, who had three empty bottles of Absolut Citron on his tray, interrupted our conversation.

“Haha, the country? Why, so you can
kidnap her and kill her
? Hahahaha! Can you say . . .
creepy
?’ ” he said, loud enough for everyone within five rows of us to hear.

“Hahahaha, no joke. Sorry, bud, maybe ask her for a drink next time? Something normal?” a guy in a Tampa Bay Buccaneers hat said from diagonally behind me.

“Hahaha!” Four or five other random people started laughing.

Time froze. I analyzed this highly embarrassing situation and came to the conclusion that there were only two possible outcomes. She would either think I was being sweet and accept, telling the hecklers to fuck off. Or she would laugh at me with them, which would make her look like a huge bitch. And no girl ever wants to look like a huge bitch. Time unfroze.

C’mon, honey. Door one or door two? Look like an angel or look like a bitch? Which will it be? You got two choices here.

Oh. She went for door number three. She didn’t acknowledge me at all. She didn’t acknowledge the hecklers. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Didn’t anything. She walked away, fastidiously tending to each passenger—helping them adjust their seats, grabbing their garbage, passing them blankets.