Life in the D.C.: A true story of Crime and Punishment in the Capitol

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
High priced Senatorial call girl steals civil servant's breakfast and lunch at a D.C. Starbucks.

Submitted: January 05, 2015

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Submitted: January 05, 2015

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It happened on Tuesday, May 4, 2010, just like I'm telling it.


There I was.  It was raining.  I was standing at the bus stop.  Sort of like one of THOSE scenes from an OLD spy thriller from the 50's, except that it was in living early morning low light gray color as opposed to living black and white.  Yesterday, my wife of many years had left me for another man.  A man who lives in Pensacola, Florida.  He is a doctor.  She has promised to return after her medical appointment and after she has plowed the south forty and planted her collard patch.
I've been threatened like that before.


Besides being a "man without a woman", only vaguely reminiscent of the novel by one of the GREATEST AMERICAN WRITERS OF ALL TIME, I was a man without an umbrella.


So now, picture this, a man, alone, at a bus stop, in the rain, without an umbrella.  Kind of like Richard Burton in the "Spy Who Came in from the Cold," except that I was sober.


In my backpack was a homemade burrito made with genuine barbequed goat imported from Mexico by a truly patriotic American lover of Mexican goat meat and Mexican Beer.  The goat meat was about 6 months old.  I had stored it in my freezer, around New Years, after it had sat in my fridge for about a month.  Last night, in contemplation of today, I removed both it and a package of oversized genuine made in Mexico by an old Mexican woman with bare hands tortillas. 


These two items of traditional Real American food were smuggled across the PSP (Perforated Steel Planking-it's what we are using to create that wall across the southern boundary of the United States.  I personally feel that it should be built across the northern boundary of Texas to keep out secessionist Yankee traitors to the American Cause and their faux "Meskin" food, but that is another story) by a True American Patriot trying to keep alive the memory of True Mexican Food in the Real America. 


I sautéed the goat meat with fresh tomatoes, onions, garlic and Anaheim chilies in genuine pork lard, cooked up a fresh pot of beans and fried the beans in the drippings from a pork roast.


I made fresh salsa with fire roasted tomatoes and jalapenos.  I used one large really hot imported from Mexico jalapeno (I bought them at the Latina Tienda up the road) for every medium sized tomato and roasted them over the char broiler on the roof.  I also dropped in one teaspoon of Chile Tepins and Chili Pequins per tomato and tossed in a couple of Chili de Arbol pods per tomato, and a tooth of garlic per tomato as well.  I blended it all with fresh Spanish onion, Mexican oregano, fresh cilantro and a little salt. 


Then I stored it in a ceramic container--it'll eat a hole in almost anything else.


This morning, I heated one of the extra-large-oversized-hand-made –Mexico-by-a-sweaty-abuela tortillas on one of the gas stove burners and slathered a large serving spoonful of the refried beans across it.  Then, I fried an egg and tossed it on top.  Next, I slathered a couple of spoonfuls of salsa over this and then I ladled some of the barbequed goat with verduras (veggies) on top of the salsa and beans.  Onto this, I ladled a couple more spoonfuls of salsa and shook some freshly ground dried chili (my secret death to sissies and secessionist Republicans mixture), wrapped the burrito up tight and double wrapped the whole thing in tin foil.  I was going to eat half for breakfast, at work, and half for lunch.  I dropped it in my backpack between my dirty jock strap and my dirty socks (I go by the gym after work and I carry my work out clothes in my backpack and I wash them at least once a month) and headed to the bus stop, in the rain.


At the bus stop, I got on the bus.


The trip is only about 10 minutes but the other folks kept looking at my backpack and sniffing.  My hot sauce is aromatic. 
I got off the bus in downtown D.C. at Freedom Plaza, 14th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. You may have heard of Freedom Plaza from televised news reports of over counted demonstrations by retired Americans who are living on social security, military and civil service pensions and protesting taxes and the United States government that pays most of their retirement pensions.  Well, some are simply protesting the actions of their constitutionally elected representatives, who vote for the taxes to pay their retirements, as unconstitutional and not too few of whom are advocating secession from the Union. 


So far I haven't heard any of them say where they want to go if they secede. I'm pretty sure Mexico doesn't want them and Puerto Rico and Hawaii are still part of the U.S.  Of course, Alaska might take them, but that too is another story and given the advancing nature of global warming there may soon be a standing room only problem up there.


Freedom Park is also home, however temporarily, to sundry homeless drifters from across America and at least one Japanese man.  I think he is from Japan because we exchanged pleasantries in Japanese.


I walked across E Street and passed through the masses of milling taxi drivers, most of whom are of Ethiopian or Somali ancestry and are easily confused by rain and into the Starbucks for my daily "Vente Bold Roast with two shots of espresso" please.  There were only three customers in the place:  the homeless old gray haired gray skinned black woman who smells like decomp was carrying on her perennial debate with the air over something of importance to the future of mankind and life as we know it.  Maybe even the free world.  She was upset, as usual because she is not one to be tolerant of specious arguments and judging by her gestures, facial expression, and tone and volume of voice, the other half of her debate had taken a position she considered utterly stupid, an insult to her higher intellect and maybe even a waste of her time.  There was also a woman I recognized from the Afghanistan Pakistan Task Force, reading a newspaper in the corner, and a well groomed but tired looking blond female.  I'd never seen the blond before but she was sitting at a table near the door gazing lovingly at herself in her compact mirror.  Pretty face, nicely shaped red lips, and nicely fitting business suit showing about 3 inches of cleavage, four inch stiletto heels and little red toe nails peeking out of the tips of her shoes.  I figured she might have been an employee of the Africa Bureau, because even if the 3 inches of cleavage is a touch on the conservative side for that group of foreign policy intellects, the bureaus in general hire a lot of blonds, or young women with cleavage, or maybe she was a student intern, or maybe even a job applicant coming for an interview.


I dropped my backpack on a table and walked down to order my coffee.  When I got my coffee I turned to leave and my backpack was gone.  So was the blond.  I hadn't seen anyone else enter of leave the restaurant since I had entered about 3 minutes earlier.


What is wrong with this picture?


I felt violated.  Someone had stolen my backpack and my burrito from Starbucks??????!!!!!! 


WTF?????


Visions of sleepless nights flashed before my eyes, visions of me awakening in the night and walking into my living room, stepping over piles of dirty socks and dirty underwear that were strewn in a trail from the front door to my bedroom, remember, my wife is back in Florida for a while, double checking the fridge to make sure no one has stolen the rest of my barbequed goat meat, and feeling violated and ashamed and humiliated and alone, knowing in my heart, that, in a town like Washington, D.C., one of the few cities in the whole world with a homicide rate higher than Juarez, Mexico, I am the only person to have been victimized by a criminal, that this crime is MY fault.  Well, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one to ever have a barbequed goat machaca and refried bean and egg burrito stolen-by a blond with three inches of cleavage????????  In stiletto heels??????????????


WTF???????????????????????


I took my Vente Bold Roast with 2 shots of espresso and went on to work, knowing in my heart that my burrito was gone forever. 


About 30 minutes later, I received a phone call from the security folks at the Marriott Hotel next to the Starbucks.  They had seen a blond woman drop a backpack in their lobby and walk away from it.  She was carrying a "silver looking object about the size of a football" and this raised their curiosity.  When she didn't come back, they checked the backpack for dangerous objects and found my jock strap and socks.  They also found a business card and called me.  It seems that rather than call in the D.C. hazmat emergency response team to deal with my jock strap and gym socks, they wanted me to come pickup my backpack.  And please hurry, it's gagging the guests.


It turns out; the only thing stolen was my burrito. 


I experienced a full range of emotions and then I wondered, "Is this proof that Henry Louis Gates' ranting about profiling (not speaking of racial profiling) are accurate?" 


Hmmm, probably not. 

It probably means that the blond was a hungry call girl who took a gig with a bunch of Republican Senators and couldn't convince them that she was a little boy and they stiffed her and she didn't have money to buy one of those alternative life style sandwiches that Starbucks sells as food and she smelled my excellent All American Mexican Style Burrito and couldn't resist the temptation.


Then, I wondered, "What would Jesus do?"  Then I thought, "Who gives a shit?"


This is what I would like to say to the young lady who stole my burrito.


1.Please eat the entire burrito in one setting.  Eat fast so you can get the whole thing down. 
I'm sure you're accustomed to taking whole large things into your mouth so that burrito shouldn't be much of a problem.  If any of the hot sauce drips out, lick it up.  You may have had similar experiences in this, too, but it probably tastes better than the other fluids that you've licked up.  Enjoy the full flavor that the roast pork drippings give the refried beans and that the pork lard gives the sautéed goat and vegetables.  You can't find food like this anywhere else east of the Pecos. 


2.  This hot sauce should give a normal human diarrhea for about a month, please enjoy this, then,


3.  After a month of diarrhea, have a massive heart attack due to the congestive heart failure caused by the cholesterol ridden pork roast drippings and lard, then


4.  Die Bitch, and don’t ever steal my breakfast again.


Life in the capitol.
 


© Copyright 2019 Eddie C Morton. All rights reserved.

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