Toby and the Ten Year Stint Pt. 1

A group of wiggers walked into the club Thursday wearing tracksuits and chains, sporting face tattoos and hard parts. One of them, a tall guy with brown hair and a gray tracksuit comes up to me.

Him: Come with me. I want to introduce you to my friend.

He points to the only black man in the group. His black friend is talking to a Latina dancer, one of my favorites because she’s kinda crazy but it’s hot. Like I could see her murdering me with her pussy and I wouldn’t be upset about it. She’s always covered in glittering body chains and paints her eyeliner all the way up to her brows.

Him: What’s your name, beautiful?

Me: Selena.

Him: I’m Mack. Why are you looking at me like that? You look afraid.

I’d been sitting at a table waiting for a customer to come back from his car. It had been a few minutes but I hadn’t resigned myself to the reality that he was a runner. He’d taken the excuse and left me waiting for him. And now I was stuck talking to this wigger.

Me: I’m not scared. It’s something else.

Him: Come closer, sweetie.

I took a step closer to him and he scooped me into a drunken embrace. I pushed him back.

Him: Hey, what are you scared of?

Me: Nothing. What about your friend?

He looks back at his friend who’s still talking to the Latina baddie.

Him: I love that guy! He’s my bro, for real! How much does a good private dance cost?

Me: They start at $136, then $210 to go upstairs.

Him: Do you think you could give him a really good time?

Me: Definitely.

Him: Great, just give him a second. I promise he’ll be done soon.

The wigger and I stand together for a minute, waiting. He looks like an oversized kid in a onesie. I feel like this is going nowhere, and he realizes I’m getting impatient. He regards me again.

Him: You are such a cutie! If I take you upstairs, am I gonna have a really good time, if you know what I mean?

He winks at me 😉

Me: I honestly don’t know what you’re referring to. What are you asking?

Him: You know 😉

Me: Are you talking about sex or drugs?

Him: Sex.

I laugh.

Me: No, I won’t have sex with you. I don’t have sex, give blow jobs, or hand jobs.

Him: Oh, well that’s no fun. Never mind, sweetie.

I walk away from him and sit at the bar across from his friend. I overhear him talking to the Latina girl, who is now leaning against him, running her best game.

Black friend: You look like you booed up as a muffucka. You too fine to be out here with no man waiting for you at home.

Her: No, how can you say that?

I hate that kind of insecurity. Nothing worse than men at the club on a wife search. He and I make occasional eye contact. I know he’s watching me and I know it means I will talk to him after they finish. She gets up and walks away, and he directs his attention to me.

Him: — come from.

It’s so loud, I can hardly hear him. There’s a chair between us. I lean over the chair to hear him.

Me: Come again?

Him: What?

Me: What did you say?

Him: Come sit over here, I can’t hear you.

I move to the chair in front of him.

Him: I asked you where you’re from.

Me: Oklahoma.

Him: Wrong! You came from heaven because I swear you’re an angel. Isn’t she an angel?

He asks his wigger mob and they all nod in agreement. He’s wearing a red tracksuit, gold chain, and a red baseball cap. He’s slumped over the bar, nursing a cup of coke.

Him: I wish I’d known they didn’t serve alcohol here.

Me: Where are you from?

Him: Nashville.

Me: What’s your favorite thing about Nashville?

Him: It’s an up and coming city. On one side you got a growing city, on the other you got country music. It’s really becoming a destination.

Me: Do you like country music?

Him: You know, I do. I think there’s good in all kinds of music. You see, when I get listening to music, it takes over and I really just feel it. Whatever it is. Hip hop, rock, country, classical, could be anything.

Me: I feel that way too. Who are your favorite country artists?

Him: I like a bunch, Taylor Swift, Carrie Underwood, Merle Haggard, Hank Williams...

He listed quite a few other artists I’d never heard of. The man knew his country.

Me: I like old country like Dolly Parton.

Him: I like Dolly too. She’s got a good voice.

Me: So what are you doing out here from Nashville.

Him: You know, you wouldn’t believe, but I was locked up for ten years.

Me: Why?

Him: Long story short, my cousin and I staged a robbery and I got charged with robbery and attempted murder.

Me: Wait what? You’re going to have to explain this to me.