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DONL 4
My "preferred electrician," Carl, came to the job at English Turn yesterday. We're still working on the outside of the house which sits across the bay (that's Bonita Bay, man-made pond), from the home of Slim and Baby Williams of (rap label) Cash Money Productions. At the end of last year one of the brothers bought the other a $335,000 Bentley Azure for his birthday, and at the party they proceeded to dance on the hood, and likewise at last month's birthday party for the brother who didn't get the Bentley, `the latest Ferrari was presented as a gift (with a measly $150,000 price tag), and the dancing brother did his signature soft shoe on the hood.
Anyway, Carl, like many of my well-meaning co-workers, wishes I didn't live with the coloreds like I do and yesterday expressed the sentiment thusly: "why don't you move out of that colored neighborhood and come live among the decent people of Harrahan." Carl lives in Harrahan, a New Orleans suburb that is not only white, but has quietly (David Duke never lived there) been able to sustain itself as a Louisiana "Pleasantville" type of community since the beginning of time. Only none of the frames ever go technicolor.
Carl's boss Steve, younger by twenty-five years, and although apparently not all that fond of the darker race either, at least has some higher education which allows me the freedom of bombast, and the dropping of the occasional malapropism.
"Did you here that, Steve? What was that he just did? Wasn't that one of those oxymoronical paradoxes, 'the decent people of Harrahan,' my ass. You people are going to burn in your self-created hell for your hateful ways."
Carl said, "Good, 'long as there ain't no niggers."
"So Carl, will you come wire my house for me?"
"I'm not going to have the time."
"Next."
And that's how I go about the hiring process to get the highest quality sub-contractors to help me with the renovation of my new blighted ghetto property.