There are Walks of Shame, and then there was this Bitch

I want to clear one thing up:  Usage of the word “Bitch” does not mean I think all women are bitches, in a technical sense.  In the parlance of our times, bitch is a chick, it is a dude, it is a dog, it could be your grandma if you live in a socioeconomic area where your grandma is only 38 years old and is cool like that.  The connotations of the word bitch have become much like that of “Gay”, in that it often is used in a context that is distantly related-at best-to what the word’s context would have been decades ago.  So if you want to get all fucking Gloria Steinem and accuse me of being a chauvinist or something, don’t blame me.  If anyone, it was Snoop Dog’s fault.  And Dave Chapelle.  Like all cool things that black people do, Whitey has stolen and adopted it as their own.  I doubt cool black people even say bitch anymore.  They probably have some way hipper, edgier word for women now, like Vampire, or maybe Doe, Mare, Jenny, whatever.  I’m pretty sure that if white dudes from central Ohio have caught on, then black guys in Oakland have moved well past it.  Enough of this administrative bullshit, the real reason for my communique is below:

I wish errrrone could have seen the Walk of Shame that my family witnessed early in the morning of 1/1/12.  We were returning home from breakfast on New Year’s Day at Nookie’s on Wells Street in Old Town.  I’m sure the hungover employees who had to work at 6:30 a.m. on New Year’s Day were absofuckinglutely thrilled to see my wife and me, with a particularly energetic 9 month old baby.  Probably exactly what you are hoping for while trying to choke back puke.  We had a lovely breakfast while the baby threw shit everywhere.  Yeah, real funny baby.  Everything you threw ended up on a filthy, ancient carpet, and ultimately back in your mouth without any sanitizing whatsoever.  So joke is on you, baby.  We leave breakfast and are driving south on Wells Street, approaching the intersection with North Avenue.  At first my brain did not believe what the eyes were telling it.  It appeared that a young woman was walking east on North Avenue across Wells street, barely dressed.  As we approached North we saw what was really happening: A barely dressed young woman was walking east on North.  Maybe not a huge deal, but a few details must be considered.  First off, it was well south of 9am.  Secondly, it was about 38 degrees.  Third point of consideration is that it was very windy.  Lastly, it was raining.  So we had a woman in her 20′s wearing a very revealing mini dress walking home with no coat, hat or gloves, in the rain on a day when the wind chill was likely in the teens.  Happy New Year indeed madam!  We can presume from the clues provided that she was not headed to church.  I don’t want want to gang up on this poor lass too harshly (which is why I’m writing this of course, I want to be fair), but she was what we here in the industry (the judging people industry, that is) would refer to as “a fire hydrant”.  She was not very tall, but she was quite stout.  Since the mini dress left little to the imagination, I can accurately inform the readers that there was no clear demarcation of where her back ended and her ass began.  She walked briskly and with purpose, and although there were numerous cabs in the vicinity, she hailed not one.  So we can also speculate that she was without funds to procure a ride home.  So now we have a situation where she is walking with barely any clothes, in hypothermic conditions, and has no funds to extricate herself from the situation with any dignity in tact.  This my friends is a walk of shame.  I guess the Christian thing to do would have been to pull over and offer a ride.  However, I am atheist and atheists are mean and only do mean shit to people.  Disbelief in God and kindness are mutually exclusive–just ask a reasonable person like Pat Robertson.  Besides, the only spot left in the car was next to the baby, and our heroine likely smelled of cigarettes and remorse, neither of which I want the baby to inhale.  Also she would have been on Scout’s usual spot, and out of respect for him I didn’t want a potentially leaking person to occupy his real estate.  Unfortunately due to conditions and timing issues, I could not procure a cell phone photo.  You’ll have to trust me that there was nothing graceful about this entire scene.  Being booted half-naked out of a dude’s apartment into an unforgiving Chicago January Sunday morning with sticky thighs is no way to begin 2012.  You are really going to have to tweak those resolutions after firing out of the blocks this slowly.  The fact that you are not offered a ride home is one thing.  Not everyone has earned that.  But to be kicked out without so much as an old fleece or stained sweatshirt is another.  It is the ultimate referendum on your value as a potential mate that you were not–at minimum–given $20 to catch a cab back to your lair.  That stings.  She may have actually been physically escorted out the door; no stretch given the circumstances.  And kudos to my wife for having the wherewithal to tell me to turn onto North for a better look.  I was about to proceed through the intersection with only a brief glimpse.  But due to my wife’s cool head under pressure, we took an unnecessary turn onto North avenue to better view this very rare Class 1AA Walk of Shame.  We can only hope for this poor lass’s sake that the romp of 5 hours previous was conducted under the tutelage of latex.  You don’t want to compound your late start to the New Year with a anxious trip to the free clinic 5 days later. 

I am so glad I didn’t have a daughter.  Oh wait, fuck.    

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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One Response to There are Walks of Shame, and then there was this Bitch

  1. Anonymous says:

    I Guarengoddamntee you have seen worse.

    At least she can take solace in the knowledge that her unfortunate start of the year gave the family that slowly passed her while gawking from the inside of their warm car a truly Happy New Year. -drb

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