by The Rooster on May 2, 2010
he pain of my expanding bladder pressing against my kidney woke me up in the middle of the night.
“O.K.”, I thought as I sat up. “Just hold it in for a quick second. The bathroom is just a few steps away. You’re a big boy.”
As I pulled off the covers, I realized that I wasn’t home. This place was foreign. I didn’t recognize the pea green walls or the T.V. that sat on the shabby chic dresser. My bladder was about to explode and I had no clue where I was! I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. [click to continue…]
by The Rooster on April 25, 2010
here is he?” she said. The white crust on the side of her lips cracked as her mouth twitched.
“He’s here somewhere.” The quiet, gentle hostess said as she looked around.
I saw the woman at the front desk and made a B-line for the bread station. Her name is Raquel and she’s a 54-year-old whack job who comes in with her parents once a week to have dinner. She never sits in her seat. If she’s not constantly getting up to refill her own drink, she’s at the line harassing the Latinos who are preparing her food.
“Make sure there’s no butter on that!” she yells at Hector. “I swear I’ll send it back! My Mom doesn’t eat butter. It’ll kill her! She’ll die if an ounce of butter gets on that pasta!”
Poor Hector doesn’t fully understand what she’s yelling about, but he does understand that if he makes one small mistake she’ll jump over the line and go straight for his jugular.
“Pinche zorra loca,” he mutters under his breath. Translation: Fucking crazy bitch. [click to continue…]
by The Rooster on April 18, 2010
moke pushed all the fresh air to the ground. Within minutes, it was as foggy as an autumn morning in San Francisco.
Our neighbor Ernest was washing his car when he saw smoke barreling out of the air vent. His house was a hundred yards away but as anyone who’s from a small town knows, anything done outside of the house is guaranteed to be seen by a neighbor. For the first time, this was a good thing.
He dropped the soapy sponge and jumped in his pick-up truck. He peeled out of his yard, hopped the street, and landed in our driveway. Rocks and dust shot everywhere as he raced up our dirt road. Luckily Dad wasn’t there to witness this, otherwise he would have yelled “Slow down!” He hated it when cars drove fast up our driveway. There was one speed allowed on our property and it was “just let the idle carry you.” [click to continue…]
