An Eagles Fan Pees Himself and Kicks My Car
Living in South Philly is like living in a 24-hour sports bar. Many of the people were always drunk, loud, rude, and/or wearing a sports jersey. If you’re not rooting for a local sports team, you should get the fuck out because you’ll probably have the shit beaten out of you. Or at least a beer can or two thrown at your head. I’m pretty sure this is what people think New Jersey is like. As someone from New Jersey let me assure you, it’s not.[1]
I moved to South Philly because I was 22 and broke. South Philly was exceptionally cheap and safe. I had two roommates, Chlamydia and Muffy.[2] Chlamydia thought it would be a good idea to not only pierce her face with two balls but also her wrist so that every time she accidentally banged something with her hand she would be in pain. She also happened to be a complete pig. Her bedroom looked like a landfill. Besides the clothes and personal effects strewn everywhere, there was also fast food bags, beer bottles, random toys, gum wrappers, paper clips, used plates, and I don’t know probably a random shit in there too. If you wanted to wow party guests, you just had to open her room and let them take in a whiff of the putrid air. It’s both a) amazing she ever got laid and b) proof that guys will sleep with just about anything. Once I decided to test her by hiding a chicken wing under her bed to see if she would notice. She never did.
Muffy was obsessed with vulvas. Her bedroom was literally covered with her very own drawings of vulvas and vaginas. She must have had at least 100. The two of them were odd but they didn’t bother me (at least not until Chlamydia tried to steal my boyfriend, but that’s a whole other story).
Through the grace of God, I managed to put up with the daily fuckery of living in South Philly. Things like cars parked (not even double-parked, just parked) in the middle of the road, the women with smoker’s voices that screamed at the top of their lungs looking for their kids, the cacophony of the racist AF Mummers groups getting ready for the parade on New Year’s Day, and the annoying and incessant use of the word jawn, colored my existence for the next year.
But little did I think I’d have to add pee to my list of fuckery.
One early summer evening, my roommate Chlamydia was sitting on our stoop with our neighbor Dominick and his wife Sharleen, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. Dominick was clad as always in his Eagles jersey. If he wasn’t wearing an Eagles Jersey it was something equally flattering to his physique like a Phillies or Flyers jersey.
“Want to join us?” Chlamydia asked.
I looked back and forth at the two of them. Dominick looked a little wobbly, steadying himself with his hand. Chlamydia’s teeth were jutting out in different directions as per usual, but for some reason one of them was slightly brown. Normally I would have said no because I’d like to think I have better standards. But it was a long day and I needed a drink.
“Alright, let me run in a grab a glass of wine,” I responded.
I came back out, ready to sit on the stoop and kickback when I froze in my tracks. Dominick was chattering away about his pickup truck (a very practical car to have in a city, especially an older one with small narrow streets) when I noticed something extremely disturbing happening in his pants. His crotch was becoming wet.
Dominick was urinating on himself.
“Dominick!” I screamed, pointing to his crotch.
“Omigod, Gross!” Chlamydia freaked out almost tumbling back off the stoop.
“Oh Jesus, come on hun get up,” his wife said with the kind of embarrassment that said, not again.
“Aw man, I’m so sorry,” Dominick responded slurring his words, as he was dragged back into his house.
“I can’t,” I said to Chlamydia. “I’m going back inside.” Thoroughly repulsed, I began counting down the days I got the fuck out of South Philly and moved to California. The last time I pissed myself was before I was potty trained. Even dogs know when to pee for fuck’s sake. I took a bubble bath hoping to erase the image of Dominick’s wet crotch out of my mind.
One week later….
I parked my bright red Chevrolet Cavalier (named Apple) a few doors down from my house and walked over to Johnny’s pizzeria. Johnny had never once allowed me to pay for a slice (must have been my unfailing charm), so whenever I felt like eating for free I always went there.
I was on my way back to the car when I saw Dominick angrily kicking Apple while walking his golden retriever, Sparkles.[3] Sparkles clearly did not want to be there aiding and abetting his lunacy. The look on her face was screaming get me out of here. Dominick on the other hand seemed to be releasing a rage that I could only sense came from the fact that I saw him piss himself and an urgent need to reclaim his masculinity. Douchebag-style. Or maybe it was just because he was a grown man walking a dog named Sparkles. Regardless, I wasn’t about to let him kick my car.
“Um,” I said casually sauntering up to Dominick. “You realize the car is made of steel, right? I don’t think your shoe is going to do much.” I had been getting back to my roots studying Hinduism lately, so I was feeling particularly chill. I fashioned myself as a modern-day female Krishna, all-knowing, calm AF, with appropriately-timed witty yet thought-provoking quotes and parables.
Most people get riled up about their cars. One little scratch and they act like you murdered their child. Personally, I could give zero fucks. Does it still get from A to B? Fan-fucking-tastic. As long as it doesn’t look completely beat up and I didn’t need to duct tape than I could care less. If I didn’t want my car to ever get scratched I wouldn’t drive it. And I sure as hell wouldn’t drive in the city and parallel park. But to each their own.
“Everyone knows this is my goddamned spot!” he shouted as he turned to face me. “I always park my car there! You damn kids come into our neighborhood and you don’t respect us.” Getting lectured about respect from a man who pissed himself was pretty phenomenal I must say.
“Actually,” I said calmly while chewing my gum “this is a public street, so I can park wherever I want. If you want your own spot, I suggest you move to the suburbs where you can have your own driveway.” In the movies, all the cool bitchy girls chewed their gum, so I attempted to chew mine more forcefully to assert my dominance.
I could see the waves of fury rising in his dumb Fred Flintstone-like face as the wheels in his brain turned, trying to come up with a suitable response. “Why don’t you get your pansy college boyfriend to come beat me up?” A nice comeback for a man almost old enough to be my dad. I’m surprised he never went to Harvard.
I was about to respond by saying I would just get the cops to do that instead, but at that very moment my friend Caitlin walked out of my house[4] and shouted, “Why don’t you go back inside and scream at the TV you loser!” I hadn’t even told her the drunk pee story yet. She could just tell he was an alcoholic. She always had a good sixth sense.
“Ahhhhhh!” I started howling with laughter so hard, I fell backward and dropped the pizza. Sparkles lunged for it, but she wasn’t close enough, so the slices just sat there taunting her. Mascara ran down my cheeks and I wiped away the tears of joy.
“You fucking bitches! Fuck you!”
Finally pulling up myself up off the ground and dusting off the gravel like any dignified person would, I started making my way to towards my apartment. There was no point in arguing with this looney toon.
“That’s college bitches to you!” I yelled back. “I hope your dog enjoys my pizza!” I felt truly sorry for Sparkles.
“Omigod, that was amazing!” I screamed at Caitlin between laughs.
“He was such a loud fucking prick I could hear him from inside. What a fucking douche.”
“Don’t insult douches,” I responded. “Side note, I hope he doesn’t have any mafia affiliations. We are in South Philly after all.”
“You think he’ll put a hit on us?” Caitlin asked.
“I dunno, maybe.” I bemused. “But then again he seems like a total doofus. I can’t imagine he has many connections. Plus, I think he’s Irish not Italian.”
“They all kind of seem the same to me,” Caitlin said. Caitlin’s family was in fact very Italian, but she was adopted and didn’t like her family, so she rejected anything Italian. She theorized that her biological parents were very sexy Latin lovers like Antonio Banderas and Salma Hayek. Never mind that she looked like a female Seth Meyers.
Once back inside I called the cops, complaining of harassment, intimidation, and property damage. They came over, took our statements, walked over to Dominick’s house where they took his, then came back to my house.
“If you see so much as a scratch on your car,” the officer said in his thick Philly accent, “you call us.” He gave me his card. Honestly, I didn’t even know police officers had business cards. “That guy has always been a fuckin’ idiot.”
“Wow, awesome thanks Officer O’Shaughnessy” I replied gratefully reading his name off the card. “You don’t think that guy has any mafia affiliations, do you?”
The officer laughed. “That fool? Nah, he’s just a run of mill moron. Alright, have a good night guys,” he responded as the officers made their way to the door.
“Night, officers.”
“So, should we get a drink?” I asked. “I could use one after that.”
“Um yeah!” Caitlin responded.
We walked over to the nearest bar where we saw two guys get into a fight and one of them throw a bowl of peanuts against the wall.
Ah, Philly. I definitely do not miss you.[5]
[1] Unless you’re in Belmar in which case all bets are off.
[2] All names have been changed to what I think their names should be.
[3] His daughters named the dog.
[4] She was meeting me at my house and my roommates had let her in.
[5] I’m still rooting for the Eagles in the Super Bowl.
