Border Ghetto: J.T. and Way-Pac hit the streets again
Thursday, June 1, 2017 18:22
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Border Ghetto, Chapter 2: © 2017
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J.T. and Way-Pac hit the streets again
[It’s been four days since the Border Patrol released J.T. and Way-Pac from the detention center after they were able to prove that they are U.S. citizens. J.T. was warned not to climb the border fence again. Today, the two friends are getting together at Way-Pac’s house in East El Paso.]
J.T. greets Way-Pac’s teenage brother Zol-Kool
J.T.: Hey my man Zol, is Way-Pac home?
Zol-Kool: Yeah, he’s in the livin room chillin.
[J.T. and Zol-Kool do a fly handshake before J.T. enters the house.]
Zol-Kool: You need practice, J.T., you missed a step. It’s not the Macarena or some Sh*t like that, man.
J.T.: You’re the man, you’re the man, Zol.
Way-Pac: J.T., why didn’t you say you was coming over, you fool?
J.T.: I didn’t plan on it man. Don’t get up. I’ll get me a soda from the frige.
Way-Pac: Always keep some Dr. Peppers here for you, man. You’re the only one that drinks that Sh*t.
J.T.: I came over from Leia’s place. She’s gonna start her meditation class today at the Y. She’s into ‘romatherapy and that kind of junk.
Way-Pac: What’s she meditating on?
J.T.: It better be me. If I find out she’s having deep thoughts about someone else, you know me MF’er, I’ll find out who it is and kick his ass.
[The two friends laugh loudly. Rap music is playing in the background.]
J.T.: She told me she’s also startin some Sh*t program in the class about ‘lovin herself.’
Way-Pac: What kind of F*king Sh*t is that?
J.T.: I said to her, girl, you better start liking yourself, because you are stuck with you the rest of your life. You can trade a lover in, a husband, hell, you can trade me in – you better not – but you can’t trade yourself in, like for a different model. I told her, all you have to do is look in the mirror, and wink 😉, wink 😉, at yourself and you’ll be OK.
Way-Pac: You got a point, man. Sounds like you should be teaching the class.
Way-Pac: J.T., why didn’t you say you was coming over, you fool?
J.T.: I didn’t plan on it man. Don’t get up. I’ll get me a soda from the frige.
Way-Pac: Always keep some Dr. Peppers here for you, man. You’re the only one that drinks that Sh*t.
J.T.: I came over from Leia’s place. She’s gonna start her meditation class today at the Y. She’s into ‘romatherapy and that kind of junk.
Way-Pac: What’s she meditating on?
J.T.: It better be me. If I find out she’s having deep thoughts about someone else, you know me MF’er, I’ll find out who it is and kick his ass.
[The two friends laugh loudly. Rap music is playing in the background.]
J.T.: She told me she’s also startin some Sh*t program in the class about ‘lovin herself.’
Way-Pac: What kind of F*king Sh*t is that?
J.T.: I said to her, girl, you better start liking yourself, because you are stuck with you the rest of your life. You can trade a lover in, a husband, hell, you can trade me in – you better not – but you can’t trade yourself in, like for a different model. I told her, all you have to do is look in the mirror, and wink 😉, wink 😉, at yourself and you’ll be OK.
Way-Pac: You got a point, man. Sounds like you should be teaching the class.
[The two friends do a high-five.]
J.T.: You got that right. I told her, look at the ‘Donald,’ the Potus, he’s in love with his self and now he’s running the country. Nobody loves the ‘Donald’ more than his self. I said, ‘don’t get carried away, you might end up, nar-ciss-tek, something like that, like the Donald.
Way-Pac: Are you thinking about going back to the border fence to look for the ‘senyorita?’
J.T.: Not right now, man. The Border Patrol is gonna be watching me like a hawk. I don’t need ‘the man’ breathing down on me right now. It was pretty crazy in there, in that immigrant D-Center place ….
Way-Pac: Yeah, the way they put us in there with some brothers from Haiti. They tried to talk French at us, and I told them dudes, ‘talk American, this is the U.S. of A.’ They didn’t know English except to ask about ‘Bud Light.’ I told them ‘you French [deleted], you got bigger problems than worrying about some Bud Light.’ MF’ers.
J.T.: When the Border Patrol asked me where I was born, I told them L.A. They said, prove it! I told them I lived in Compton all my life – a black man in Compton can’t get more American than that! The Border Patrol finally got convinced after they saw my rap sheet from California. Good thing I paid them court fines before I moved to El Paso with my uncle.
Way-Pac: What are you gonna do next? Stay? Do you miss Compton?
J.T.: Yeah, I kinda miss the hood. But there was too much heat all the time. Too much action. I’m gonna hang out here a little longer. I need a vacation. I’m starting to like me them tacos and ‘chiladas and burritos. This fool said to me that ‘burrito’ was the same as ‘little donkey.’ I told the guy at the food stand, ‘there better not be no donkey meat in this thing. I’m gonna whip your ass if you put some Sh*t like that in there.’ He told me it had regular ground beef, you know.
Way-Pac: You’ll get used to the border, man. There’s no real ‘hoods’ in El Paso, so we can go anywhere without getting shot at. That only happens in Warez (Juarez). I could go for a king-size burrito about now with everything in it. The works. Say, you wanna a job? They have an opening at the warehouse I worked at. The opening is mine. My probation officer said I was finished with probation and I don’t have to report to him any more that I have me a job. I gave my notice at the warehouse the same day.
J.T.: A job?! Are you crazy, man? J.T. don’t work for nobody except J.T.
Way-Pac: I was thinking … maybe we could be partners. Do you need any help with your business?
J.T.: Now you’re talking. My ‘business’ is to help move hot cars across the border. Actually, my part is to make sure they arrive to a designated place in El Paso before someone else moves them over to Mexico.
Way-Pac: Sounds cool. When can I start?
[J.T. glances at his watch.]
J.T.: Come on, MF’er. We need you to get your butt down to the valley to meet someone, the ‘coordinator.’ You start right now.
[Both friends hop into J.T.’s Mercedes Benz and tear out burning rubber on the asphalt. J.T. and Way-Pac are two young black men trying to succeed in life.]
J.T.: You got that right. I told her, look at the ‘Donald,’ the Potus, he’s in love with his self and now he’s running the country. Nobody loves the ‘Donald’ more than his self. I said, ‘don’t get carried away, you might end up, nar-ciss-tek, something like that, like the Donald.
Way-Pac: Are you thinking about going back to the border fence to look for the ‘senyorita?’
J.T.: Not right now, man. The Border Patrol is gonna be watching me like a hawk. I don’t need ‘the man’ breathing down on me right now. It was pretty crazy in there, in that immigrant D-Center place ….
Way-Pac: Yeah, the way they put us in there with some brothers from Haiti. They tried to talk French at us, and I told them dudes, ‘talk American, this is the U.S. of A.’ They didn’t know English except to ask about ‘Bud Light.’ I told them ‘you French [deleted], you got bigger problems than worrying about some Bud Light.’ MF’ers.
J.T.: When the Border Patrol asked me where I was born, I told them L.A. They said, prove it! I told them I lived in Compton all my life – a black man in Compton can’t get more American than that! The Border Patrol finally got convinced after they saw my rap sheet from California. Good thing I paid them court fines before I moved to El Paso with my uncle.
Way-Pac: What are you gonna do next? Stay? Do you miss Compton?
J.T.: Yeah, I kinda miss the hood. But there was too much heat all the time. Too much action. I’m gonna hang out here a little longer. I need a vacation. I’m starting to like me them tacos and ‘chiladas and burritos. This fool said to me that ‘burrito’ was the same as ‘little donkey.’ I told the guy at the food stand, ‘there better not be no donkey meat in this thing. I’m gonna whip your ass if you put some Sh*t like that in there.’ He told me it had regular ground beef, you know.
Way-Pac: You’ll get used to the border, man. There’s no real ‘hoods’ in El Paso, so we can go anywhere without getting shot at. That only happens in Warez (Juarez). I could go for a king-size burrito about now with everything in it. The works. Say, you wanna a job? They have an opening at the warehouse I worked at. The opening is mine. My probation officer said I was finished with probation and I don’t have to report to him any more that I have me a job. I gave my notice at the warehouse the same day.
J.T.: A job?! Are you crazy, man? J.T. don’t work for nobody except J.T.
Way-Pac: I was thinking … maybe we could be partners. Do you need any help with your business?
J.T.: Now you’re talking. My ‘business’ is to help move hot cars across the border. Actually, my part is to make sure they arrive to a designated place in El Paso before someone else moves them over to Mexico.
Way-Pac: Sounds cool. When can I start?
[J.T. glances at his watch.]
J.T.: Come on, MF’er. We need you to get your butt down to the valley to meet someone, the ‘coordinator.’ You start right now.
[Both friends hop into J.T.’s Mercedes Benz and tear out burning rubber on the asphalt. J.T. and Way-Pac are two young black men trying to succeed in life.]
Source: http://dianawashingtonvaldez.blogspot.com/2017/06/border-ghetto-jt-and-way-pac-hit.html
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