Late Night Tourist

When I was nineteen, I opted to spend my spring break in NY with some other girls from school. We stayed in the dorms to do missionary projects in New York. In return, we were given access to what we needed, which included a van for all of us to fool around in.
Being in NY, I had no desire to run to the beach for some debauchery. I had all the good times I needed right at my fingertips any night of the week.
I was one of the only drivers, so I took over as chauffeur for our escapades, which after our work, included getting dinner, watching movies, getting rowdy, going to people’s houses, among other things.
On one occasion, we’d decided to go to Golden Crust for some Jamaican food. I was with a lot of Caribbean girls who needed some down home cooking.
I got the oxtail, which to Native American frenchie, sounded like something my memere would cook up. Growing up, I did see the animals I ate slaughtered, but I also understood that almost all of that animal would be used for something.
You do not kill an animal and waste its parts. That is a significant disrespect, especially when fats can be used for candles and soup and the blood can be coagulated for sausage.
Sorry people who are gagging right now, it’s just how the natives used to be.
Alicia (A#1) said the Ox Tail was not really Ox tail, but I think it is. Eitherway, it’s good and not so spicy, so I didn’t drink any water with it.
After our charades, we drove Sophie home to the BX. She gave me simple instructions to take a left and a left to get back to the highway.
Except, what she meant was, a right and a right.
Yes, we got on the wrong highway heading south and I got off on the first exit I found, at 1 in the morning in the south Bronx.
No problem, it was where I worked and my friends, Alisha and Geisha were natives.
But then the oxtail kicked in. My white non-spicy self could not handle what I’d eaten and started experiencing the worst Acid reflux ever. I needed water.
We didn’t know where to go. Everything was shut down, the streets were empty, we were lost. So I pulled into the only thing we found open, a hotel, on the dead end of a side street.
Being pissed off and in pain, I started to hop out of the van, by myself, to get directions.
“Oh, no, Hill!” screamed Alisha & Geisha, who were scrambling out of the car after me.
The hotel was actually a bordello, or brothel, however you say it.
Did I care? Not a damn. I was too busy looking at the bullet proof glass with the hole you slide your money through, the videos, the sign that posted the hourly rates and the women leaning up against the wall in their black lacy outfits.
I’d never seen anything like it, and I was amused. I was like a tourist in the whore house.
Not scared. I never once in all my adventures felt scared. I knew God was looking out and I was there for a reason. No person would ever hurt me, but Alisha and Geisha did not share my faith.
I tried to talk them into getting a room and asking if they had males for sale. I just wanted to see it for myself. The opportunity presented itself and I wanted to take it for what it was worth.
They were not impressed with my ideas, but they did get a good laugh about it. I just walked up to the guy at the counter and asked for directions.
He eyed me suspiciously before coming to the conclusion that I really was safe and as curious, naïve, or stupid as he thought I was.
By the end of our conversation, I thought I was going to get recruited. That WAS a big signal to get ourselves back to Westchester.
Geisha figured out where we were and took us through the local roads to the college where I finally got my water, but looking back, it was one of the most fun adventures of the week.