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6:59 a.m. - 2005-01-26


There's this girl at the Pee & Blood Emporium where I work that nobody likes.

I've been told it's because she's a "backstabbing bitch" by another girl who then pulled out a switchblade to file her nails.

I was unaware of this problem when I began talking to the girl a month or so ago.

And now ... I am apparently the girl's best friend at work.

Ten ... twenty years ago if I had unknowingly became friends with my work's social pariah, I would have dumped that person like shit out of a goose's ass. Quick, easy and painless.

There wasn't any way that I was going to be associated with an uncool person for fear that it would have rubbed off on me and then I'd be labelled the backstabbing bitch's boyfriend.

These days, I just don't care.

I don't get into office politics. If everyone has a problem with someone and I don't ... it's their fault, not mine.

So the girl is fake ... that much I've picked up on. She has a fake laugh, a fake smile, a lot of her stories are probably fake and I wouldn't be surprised if there's some silicone in those knockers.

And for the few hours that I'm in the office each day, she latches on to me like Leo DiCaprio hugging that driftwood at the end of "Titanic".

I don't mind that.

What I DO mind is that this girl speaks an advanced form of Ebonics that I cannot even BEGIN to comprehend.

Every time she opens her mouth it's like a combination of Snoop Dogg and Fat Albert's Mushmouth tumbling out.

"Heyba Uncleba Bobba," she'll say. "Fo shizzle muh nizzle who dat be?"

I'll always respond with my pat answer when dealing with her.

"Huh?" I'll stare at her with my face scrunched up.

"Who dat be?" she'll repeat.

I'll look around to see if she's talking about something in the near vicinity and then I'll be able to analyze and decipher just what the fuck she is babbling about.


She's talking about a picture in the current issue of People.

"Those are the Bush twins," I'll say slowly as if I'm teaching English as a second language to a Laotian.

She then starts grunting like a disoriented monkey which I ... Mr. Whiter Than White Guy ... am supposed to understand.

The trouble is ... I have no earthly idea what she's saying and my general rule of thumb is to only ask someone to repeat something once so as to not offend them.

By now, this girl should know that:

A) Everything she says to me, she needs to say twice and hold up two fingers to let me know that she is now beginning to repeat what she had just said.

B) Knock off the Ebonics and speak like a normal human being.

It's really not hard to learn proper English.

All you have to do is open your ears and listen to how everyone else speaks and then start speaking like THEY speak and not like a gangsta rapper with Tourette's.

Quit trying to impress me with the fact that you obviously have no use for consonants in your vocabulary, preferring instead to mimic a wounded grizzly bear as your preferred form of communication.

Don't say "Who dat be?". Say "Who is that?" It's simple, really. It might take some practice or maybe spend two hours watching a Nicole Kidman flick. Nicole Kidman doesn't speak Ebonics. Just talk like her.

I guess I could take this girl on as my own personal project to try and teach her how to speak like a human.

I could hold her hands by the wrists and press her fingers against my lips as I recite "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain" over and over again like she's Helen Keller.

But she handles blood and pee all day and frankly, I don't want pee fingers in my mouth.


Ebonics in the workplace.

I just don't get it, my nizzle.

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