Angry Women

(Women can be real bitches.)

I woke up yesterday at 4 p.m. and checked my emails. I got one from Medicaid. It told me to set up a phone interview to see if I qualify for benefits. So that’s exactly what I did. They’re going to call me next Tuesday, and I’m shooting for the whole nine yards. I want my free healthcare and groceries.

In my current job, I only get thirty hours a week. Sadly, I notice this is a trend in my nation. Employers are loathe to hire full-time workers because they don’t want to be on the hook for benefits. Great country, right? Maybe for millionaires and billionaires. But the rest of us take it right up the ass.

However, I don’t want to complain too much because it gives my family stress. Yet I have to tell you motherfuckers the truth. I miss South Korea more and more every day. It was kind of cool to walk across the street to see a doctor.

Mom was on the patio drinking coffee.

She said, “Ken is so happy to see his brother again.”

“That’s good news.”

She smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this joyful. He’s eating better and gaining weight.”

I sighed. “I’m glad. But I’ve certainly taken a hit in my standard of living.”

I knew I fucked up the moment those words escaped my lips. I’ve been promising God that I’ll have a better attitude. Yet I simply can’t seem to contain myself.

“You can go back to Korea any time you wish. If I knew you were going to be this unhappy, I would have never asked you to come.”

“I’m not going back. I’m too old for that shit. Plus nobody would hire me at my age.”

Mom had a stroke a couple of years ago, so it’s completely unfair to give her my stress. What I need to do is smile and keep my mouth shut.

She changed the subject. “Trump says he’s going to end taxes on tips. That’s good news for you.”

I grinned at her. “Yes, I’m certain Orange Donald really cares about the working poor. It’s probably the first thing on his agenda.”

“You’re a real asshole.”

She stood up and walked back inside.

Later that night, I arrived at the Waffle House at 9 p.m. I was scheduled to work with Dwayne the Dwarf and Pork-Chop Jane. I knew the shift would be fun and relaxing. Hell, Pork-Chop rarely gets out of her chair. So you can’t get more relaxed than that. It would literally be impossible.

At 1 a.m., a wrinkled old woman came to eat. She sat in Jane’s section. I was busy with my side work—which included cleaning the bathrooms and dropping the sink. I noticed that the restrooms were low on toilet paper, so I took care of the problem.

As I walked back out onto the floor, the lady beckoned me from her booth.

I said, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

She pointed at Pork-Chop. Jane was in her favorite chair, playing with her smartphone.

“What exactly is her job?”

“Excuse me?”

“Her job?”

“She’s a waitress.”

“Is she on break or something?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I have no idea. Actually, it’s none of my business.”

“Every time I come into this shithole, she’s messing with that goddamn phone.”

“Well, she has her own style.”

The woman suddenly handed me five dollars. “I want you to give this money to Dwayne the Dwarf. At least he works for a living.”

I accepted the cash. “Not a problem.”

Then she paid her bill and left.

I told the story to Dwayne as I gave him the lady’s tip. And he explained to me that she comes in every now and then to purposely sit in Pork-Chop’s section in order to bust the poor girl’s balls.

People are strange. 

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