Last night, 4/11/14, I arrived at Free Food for Fat F…s at 11:27. As I approached the store front I noticed one bum sleeping on the sidewalk, one stoner twitching and rocking on the curb, and one crack head pacing before the front door, hassling the two customers ahead of me about something. As I entered the fool tried to block my progress and I shouldered by him and he said, “Sir? Sir?? Sir???”

After his pleas for whatever he wasn’t going to get went unanswered three times he followed me a few steps and said, “I hate it when you people act all retarded. Can’t you people hear what I’m saying?”

All of those fools were white, a demonstrable display of what Anglo-American culture has become in Drug War America.

I noticed, when I passed by the women’s room to get to my refrigerated storage areas to begin processing the dairy order out in the stockroom, that the door to that facility did not close. Over the course of the next three hours I was back and forth through this hallway often. Something was the matter with the hinge. I had a large order, and a frozen order also, so did not take out time to jot down the times of the following occurrences. I can, however, give approximate times.

12:00 a.m.: A worn out old crack-ho—an emaciated bleach-blonde with cadaverous skin stretched over poorly formed bones—was smashing a rock of crack up on the women’s room sink and snorting it. She would then cough up a wad of oral secretions, launch it onto the floor, and smash another rock, which she would then snort with all of the grace of my mother’s old dust-buster. She walked past me with a mumbled ‘goodnight’ as she left through the stockroom.

12:30 a.m.: A fat white woman and a scrawny black dude went back into the women’s room and smoked a hit of crack cocaine. They were all business, in and out in ten minutes.

1:30 a.m.: Two soaking wet white trash hos of hoggish proportions, wearing spandex and heavy makeup, ho hoop earrings dangling from their pale beefy lobes, were escorted past me by a small black man of extremely dark complexion and smiling continence. He is a drug dealer who has used our facility before and he cheers up and says, “Hey Yo” as he herds his heifers on by. They all three repair to the two stall women’s room. I do not know what transpired in the plush accommodations as I went up front for my coffee break. Fifteen minutes later, as I sat on the bench at the front door, they walked out through the register lane without making a purchase, laughing and giggling all the way. He flashed an ivory smile at me and escorted his portly harem out the door.

2:30 a.m.: Officer Manfriendly, my personal oppressor, walked in to use the men’s room in his paramilitary getup. As I inventory his Batman utility belt it occurs to me that the women’s room is definitely the place to fire dope and smoke crack.

3:00 a.m.: A very attractive couple enters and begins shopping with a basket. She is tall, elegant, and white, not busty enough to pose in playboy, and not thin enough to model clothes. She is beautiful in the very high heels she can barely stand on, doing the dopefiend lean as she is. Her date is a short muscular black man with his pants actually buckled around his waist. They are in their late twenties and he can’t keep his hands off of her as she staggers and drools in the aisle. He has a powder blue hat. She carries a finely stitched black leather purse about the size of one of her shoes. They cannot decide who should be pushing the cart. They head back to the women’s room and have sex standing up, between the stall doors and the sink, with the door wide open. She is bent over the sink and he is having a hard time getting his pelvis level with her rather remarkable Caucasian ass. She is spreading her legs to get lower for him. When I pass again coming back from the cooler he has had the decency to push her up against the wall so that she is not exposed to passersby. After their ten minute tryst they shop for another 20 minutes and then leave hand-in-hand.

3:30 a.m.: The frozen food man is walking in the front door. I am taking my lunch up on the bench waiting for him. We sort the frozen order together on Saturday mornings. He is being followed by a fifty year old crack head who asks him for a ride to his house no less than nine times, which is how many times I counted the question. In between each request for a lift Rob says the following, sometimes repeating his answer after the next repetition of the plea for a ‘lift man’:

“No man, no.”

“I’m not losing my job to give you a lift dude.”

“Hey asshole, how many ways do I have to say no?”

“Get lost you loser!”

“Ask him [the night captain] to call a cab for you.”

“Get the fuck away from me man!”

“You’re a sentence away from losing the rest of your teeth pal!”

I punched in with Rob as the night captain called a cab for the crack-head, who then disappeared into the night like a phantom, not wanting a cab at all. When we got back to the walk-in freezer around the corner from the restroom he went on a rant, “What a trashy neighborhood this is. I was in a good mood, now I’m all torqued up over that loser. What has happened to the white race? They’re worse than the ոiggers!”

I responded, “Then you’ll be glad to know that they aren’t reproducing. All the white dudes come in stoned or drunk, and alone. The white girls come in stoned or drunk with sober black dudes. According to the sexual activity in the women’s room there the trash of the future is going to be brown.”

He grabs the ice cream rack and looks at me in dismay, “Can you imagine how stupid that generation ‘ill be!”

Spring is sprung and all is sloth out in the Narcostate.

The Ghetto Grocer, over and out.