It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? I was planning out a full-on murder like a week ago, and now I’ve resolved to just embarrass his ass in front of most of the school at his upcoming party...
I still think you should have killed him.
Yeah, I still think that, too. I think about how I could’ve just got the ghost gun and capped his ass somewhere nobody was looking.
You should’ve walked him down. Watched him beg for his life. And while he was crying on the ground, you should’ve asked him: “Did you stop when Juliet begged you to?”
...Let me stop before I piss myself off again.
I’m at work. I’m still selling weed, and the money is still pretty good. But I am NOT in the mood to deal with any tomfoolery today. My mental state is not exactly stable right now. I’m just gonna sit here, relax, and let everything play out until the party. It’s only one more week.
It’ll be fine.
I was back on the register again a few days later, watching Caleb mop the lobby floor.
“Aye,” Caleb said, leaning on his mop handle. “So what’s up with you and that goth girl? Are you hitting that, or what?”
“Nah, man,” I said. “We were just hanging out. Besides, she don’t usually look like that.”
“For real?” Caleb grinned. “Shit, you know us Gen Zers are brainwashed to like goth girls. If you’re not going to handle the ball right, pass it over so I can shoot my shot.”
“Hell no, bro. She’s really going through something right now, and she barely trusts men as it is. I’m not going to make her think all niggas ain’t shit.”
“Bro, you’re not slick,” Caleb scoffed. “I know for a fact that you’re still trying to hit that. So quit playing games and pass the ball over.”
I mean, once she’s in the right state of mind...
my second voice whispered.
Don’t even confirm that shit in my head, bro,
I thought, shutting the voice down instantly.
I’m not doing that.
“Nigga, why are you over here worrying about somebody else's business?” I asked Caleb. “Don’t think you can get bitches just because you’re fucking around with Thotiana.”
“Nigga, that’s not even her name, so get your facts straight.”
“Okay. But is she a thot, though? Right?”
Caleb didn’t say a word. He just stared at the floor.
“Yeah, that’s what the fuck I thought. Crickets,” I laughed. “Thotiana must have you pussy-whipped, my nigga. Fuck you mean?”
“Bro, we’re not even fucking,” Caleb muttered, his face getting red.
“That’s not what Tobias said. Tobias said he caught her giving up neck behind the dumpster at work during your break. So you might not be traditionally fucking, but I know her face is getting that good-good, though.”
“Nigga, I will cut you,” Caleb grumbled, glare-staring at me. “Remember that shit.”
He just went right back to mopping, completely ignoring me at this point. I couldn’t help but shake my head.
But after all that talking we did... I’m going to try to put this lightly, but a very unattractive woman walked into the store and came straight to my register.
“Hey, sexy~” she cooed, leaning over the counter.
“...Um... hey?” I said, my customer-service mask slipping a little. “How can I help you?”
She proceeded to press her chest together, making a whole show of something I really did not want to see.
“You like what you see here, daddy?”
Don’t look down,
the voice in my head warned.
You’re gonna give her false confidence.
“
Ma’am, are you going to order something?” I asked, looking dead at the menu board behind her.
“Yes, sir. Let me get that Wyald Special.”
“Bet. That’s going to be an extra twenty on top of your order.”
“Or~”
“Or?”
She put her hand up and started suggestively stroking the air with her mouth open.
Oh, this bitch is disgusting!
the voice screamed.
We like that 2000s sticky-icky, but this hoe has lost her goddamn mind.
I took a moment to clear my throat. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that. So, do you have the money, or—”
Before I could even finish my sentence, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it right up.
It took everything in my body... I swear to God, it took every ounce of strength I had not to projectile vomit all over the register. I don’t even know what the hell I was looking at. Some botched, traumatizing shit that is going to haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.
Punch the fuck out of this bitch!
the voice went wild.
Like, right now! This is straight-up sexual assault. Punch her! Beat the fuck out of this nigga right now!
“
Get the fuck away from me,” I growled, pointing a finger at her. “Right fucking now. And put down your fucking skirt.”
“What, you don’t like pussy?” she asked, looking offended.
“Bitch, you can’t even legally call that a pussy! That shit looks like some botched, inside-out nightmare! Your shit is so loose it looks like a void to another fucking dimension! I don’t want to fuck you. I want to put your ass on a diet and send you to therapy. Get your mentally ill, Hungry Hungry Hippo head-ass out of my line, nigga!”
Her face twisted up, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears.
“Hey... that’s no way to talk to a lady, okay...” she sniffling.
“A real lady acts like she has some decorum and presents herself in a ladylike fashion,” I said, crossing my arms. “You probably ate a few, so I guess you are what you eat. Now get the fuck out of my line.”
She burst into tears, turned around, and ran straight out of the restaurant.
That’s when Jacob popped out of the back office.
“Damn, Rico,” he said, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to make her cry. Don’t you think that was a little bit too mean?”
Fuck no!
the voice in my head yelled.
She just flashed us! If I did that shit to a woman, my ass would be in handcuffs before she even finished screaming!
“Bro, she literally sexually assaulted my eyes,” I told Jacob. “You wouldn’t be saying that shit if you were the one standing behind this register. I love my BBWs, but the keyword is
women
. Not... whatever the fuck that was.”
“Alright, alright,” Jacob sighed, putting his hands up. “You can be mad, but just don’t make them cry. You’re making the business look bad.”
“Yeah, whatever, man,” I muttered. “Shit.”
The second Jacob stepped back into his office, Caleb started dying laughing, nearly dropping his mop.
“You don’t like pussy, Rico?! Huh? You in the closet or something?!”
“Yo, shut the fuck up talking to me, bro,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.
After Caleb spent about thirty minutes roasting the shit out of me, another customer walked into the building. This dude was dressed in a dark hoodie and grey joggers.
“Yo,” he said, slamming his hand on the counter. “Let me get two Wyald Specials.”
“Sure, thanks, sir,” I said, putting my customer-service voice back on. “But that’s going to be an extra forty on top of your order.”
“Nigga, you’re not hearing me,” he growled, leaning in close. “I said give me two Wyald Specials.”
“Yes, sir... I do not have any hearing problems, so I heard you loud and clear,” I said, my voice dropping. “And I said it’s going to be forty on top of your order.”
Honestly, people always have to make it so damn hard to be nice out here.
“Nigga, does it sound like I’m adding a question mark to the end of my sentence?” he sneered, reaching toward his waistband. “You give me two Wyald Specials, or I’m going to pop the trunk on that ass.”
Oh, this nigga must think I’m pussy,
the voice in my head chimed in.
He’s really trying to press us for free weed?!
“So let me get this straight...” I said, keeping my face completely blank. “Either I give you some free product, or you’re going to get the strap? That’s what you’re saying?”
“You heard what the fuck I said, nigga. Hand that bitch over. Matter of fact, give me the whole pound, pussy.”
I looked at him for a second. “Alright... say less.”
“See?” the dude smirked, crossing his arms. “I knew you were going to make the right decision. After all, pussies know when they’re fucked.”
I bent down under the counter, out of his line of sight.
Hello, kids. Allow me to tell you how to deal with somebody who’s trying to press you for free shit, and how to do it in the quickest way possible.
Rule number one: Pay attention to exactly what they’re saying. This random-ass nigga clearly said, and I quote, “either hand those bitches over or I’m going to pop the trunk on that ass.” That means the strap is in his car. He doesn’t actually have it on him right now.
Rule number two: Pretend to play along. Let him keep that false confidence for as long as you can. Since he thinks I’m just a helpless cashier at work, he assumes I don’t have any weapons. That’s actually great for us. Why? Because this is a fast-food restaurant where we have access to plenty of heavy, blunt equipment.
Rule number three—
CRACK!
Rule number three: Always keep something around you that you can pick up as a weapon whenever you feel threatened. For example, a big-ass, thick metal pan that we use for the fryer grease.
It was completely empty, but lucky for him, he just got cracked dead in the face with it.
While he was on the ground holding his face, I stood over him.
“Nigga, don’t you ever—”
CRACK!
“
—EVER—”
CRACK!
“
—come up in here trying to press me—”
CRACK!
“
—for free—”
CRACK!
“
—product! You hoe—”
CRACK!
“
—ass—”
CRACK!
“
—nigga!!”
CRACK!
Yeah, get that nigga!
the voice screamed, completely losing its mind.
He had the balls to threaten our life! After all we got going on, put this nigga in a pack!
I was so pissed off I just kept swinging that heavy metal pan down on his head. I was completely blind to everything else until someone grabbed my shoulders and violently yanked me back.
It was Caleb.
“Bro, chill! You got him, dog! You got him, big dog!” Caleb was shouting, his eyes wide with terror as he held me back.
Oh, this motherfucker is trying to stop you?!
the voice hissed.
Up that pan on him, too!
But I had to force myself to chill out. If I kept doing what I was doing, I was going to keep hitting this dude until he stopped moving or stopped breathing.
And boy, I fucked this man up so bad. Looking down at him, his face had literal dents in it. He looked like he wasn’t even supposed to be alive right now.
The very next day, a random-ass dude with no arms walked into the restaurant.
You hear me? No arms. But he was wearing a fucking shiesty mask.
My first thought was,
How the fuck did he even put that mask on with his feet?
But before I could even say hello, he pulled a whole-ass gun on me.
I just looked him up and down. “Uh... what is this, a stick-up? This has to be a prank, right?”
“Nah, nigga, this shit is real,” he growled, squaring up. “Hand over the weed, fuck nigga.”
“Bro, I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I said, trying to play dumb. “This is a fast-food joint. Ain’t nobody slinging nothing.”
“Don’t play dumb with me! One of my colleagues told me you’re slinging that dope. Now quit fucking playing with me and hand that shit over before you get turned into Swiss cheese in this bitch.”
“Bruh...” I sighed. “I’m just recovering from a very bad day yesterday, and I know you don’t have any hands. But you’re gonna catch mine if you don’t get the fuck out of here, my nigga. Real shit.”
“Who needs hands when you got a firearm, nigga?”
“Bro, that doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” I retorted. “How the fuck are you going to shoot a firearm with no fingers, my nigga? You’re holding that piece with two nubs. You’re a double amputee right now. 'Who needs hands when you got a firearm'—what, are you gonna pull the trigger with your goddamn—”
And while I was talking my shit...
BANG!
He let one loose right inside the store, the bullet tearing a clean hole through the ceiling tile.
Everybody in the lobby started screaming and diving for cover. Now, before you get on my ass saying how unrealistic this shit is, look up Dayton Webber. I swear to God, there’s a quad-amputee dude with no arms or legs who shoots a 9mm pistol like it’s nothing. How the fuck this nigga in front of me learned how to do it in 2019, I have no fucking clue.
The robber adjusted his nubs, keeping the barrel pointed dead at my chest. “You still think I’m sweet up in here?”
“Bro, I am literally more surprised than scared right now,” I admitted, staring at the gun clamped between his residual limbs. “How the fuck did you even do that?”
“You keep talking to me like I’m not with the shits,” he barked, his voice muffled by the shiesty. “You better hand those bags over before your mama has to bury your ass. Closed-casket, on my life!”
Is this really about to happen?
the voice in my head started panicking.
Is he really going to kill us over some fucking weed? WEED? We’re going to lose our lives over something people can grow in their own backyards, but just so happen to choose to buy off somebody? Man, just give this dude the drugs before his pussy ass kills us!
You know what... Fuck that!
Huh?
For most of my life, I’ve just been letting people fuck me over. First, it was my mama beating the fuck out of me for no reason just because her own life was fucked up. Then I let the twins stomp me out and didn’t do shit about it. And after all that, that bitch-ass prosecutor locked me up just for defending myself. I’ve spent my whole life taking it on the chin.
But fuck that! Not today. I’m tired of it!
Wait, I’m usually the one hyping you up to do some crazy shit, but this is dumb as fuck—
“
Bruh, what the fuck? Why are you trying to rob me today? Huh?!” I shouted, my voice cracking from pure frustration. “I don’t even have most of the product anyway! This is just some little shit, not even a whole fucking pound! This must be a national holiday, right?”
I started laughing, completely losing my mind.
“It has to be a brand-new national holiday: 'Fuck Over Rico Week,' huh? That’s got to be it! Because there’s no way some dude tries to rob me yesterday, and then your armless ass just so happens to walk in the next day! It has to be! Because other than that, I am completely confused. What the fuck have I ever done to you niggas, huh? What the fuck did I ever do to y’all or to anybody that warrants this kind of response?! I’m just trying to get by like the rest of y’all!”
I stepped right up to the counter and flipped him off with both hands.
“FUCK YOU, NIGGA!”
Yep...
the voice sighed.
We’re dead.
I didn’t give a fuck. I said what had to be said, and I was standing ten toes on that shit.
Just as I was preparing for him to blow my head clean off my shoulders—
“FREEZE! Police!”
I must have the absolute worst and best luck in the world, because a cop just so happened to bust through the front doors right at that exact second.
Personally, I was hoping the amputee nigga and the cop would get into a shootout for a while. And by “a while,” I mean at least thirty seconds so the cop would end up killing his ass.
Either way, my mind was made up. I had to talk to Michael and Jacob and tell them I was out. I’m not doing this shit anymore.
It was time to go right back to normal, legal cash grinding.