I owe A LOT of money. In response to my predicament, I have been pulling weeds at a lady's house to make extra cash and pay back my creditors. So it's Sunday and I've been breaking my back since the crack of dawn. Around 4 P.M. she decides to go over grandma's for dinner, counting on me to continue the yard work. That translates as trust and makes me feel good. Right after she leaves, however, I start getting the runs. And I mean REAL BAD.
I've felt the need "to go" before but, this time, it is serious shit. You know, the conversation to crap where your sphincter calls for your attention but all you want is for it to shut the shit-shutter. I pray on a limb that she left the back door open. No luck. Plan B is to make a miraculous drive to the nearest gas station or grocery store before the shit hits the fan, or (in this case) my pants. In the process of taking a step, my a#shole, (we'll nickname him "Fiesty" to keep it PG) interrupts my intention.
Me: "Whoa. Wait a moment, “Fiesty”. It's not time for you to talk yet." But, you see, at this moment "Fiesty" doesn't seem to care what I think. With each step, Fiesty insists on spilling his guts out, literally. I figure out real soon that this was going to be his conversation. My Vietnamese instincts immediately kick in. I know what I need to "do-do". There was no arguing with “Fiesty”. He would have his way with me regardless of how I felt about hearing what he had to say.
In the jungle land we are taught the "communist squat" at a young age. We become experts before we learn to walk. HOW TO DO THE COMMUNIST SQUAT. 1. Get in a horse stance position. 2. Squat, with authority. 3. Stay flatfooted in perfect balance. 4. Let her rip. And boy, did Fiesty have things to say. Never had I experienced a one-way conversation with such ferocity. On a related subject matter. I called my mother and had a heart-felt conversation letting out all my anguish and frustration over a rotten childhood. Boohoo me. One way or another, it always comes out.