DAVID NEEDS A BLACK FRIEND

As all of you know, one-half of the TSAT team, David C. Garcia, is Mexican as hell. A proud Mexican for sure, David exemplifies what being one of the little guys from down south is all about: eating Taco Bell, wearing sombreros and calling his wife, Snake, “Mamacita.”

But recently, David has become fearful. He knows well and good that Barack Obama is about to become the next El Presidente, and when that happens, David will need a black friend. A negro amigo, if you will.

A month ago, David went to visit his family in a small pueblo town somewhere in Indiana. He sat at the old patio table in the fire-lit adobe home his beige extended family had built by hand. His father, donning his signature poncho and extra large mustache, pet the family’s burro, Carlos. “So waat eez eet you come heere to tell your madre and me?” David threw down his chimichanga.

“Mom. Dad. I need a black friend.”

David’s madre spit out a mouth full of frijoles. “Why joo need a black freynd?”

Knowing full well that Mama and Papa Garcia would never understand, David stepped out of the old adobe casa, hopped in his El Camino, and hit the road to look for a black friend. This is his story.

DAY ONE
David began the research phase. With a stack of magazines next to him (Ebony, Jet, High Times), David watched 16 hours straight of BET. Armed with knowledge and a thorough understanding of black spokesperson Steve Harvey, David planned the steps that will net him a black friend. But not literally. For more education, David spoke to people around his rural Virginia town who have black friends. He knows they have black friends because they say things like “some of my best friends are black” and “oh, I have nothing against those people.” Most of these helpful citizens winked knowingly after stating this.

It quickly became clear to David that black people were pretty easy to figure out. He learned about their athletic prowess, feelings of contempt, and specific culinary preferences. He began to formulate a scenario guaranteed to bring new Nubian buddies running to his side. The next morning, he decided, he would sit outside on the stoop of the TSAT compound (as instructed by helpful citizen Rusty) with a pitcher of red Kool-Aid and a bucket of fried chicken. David thought this was an odd combination and the snarl on Rusty’s face as he listed these predilections indicated the tastes were less interesting to the lighter races. David smiled, knowing that by that time the next day, he’d be swarming with black friends. At that point, the hard part would be picking the right one!

DAY TWO
Down and out, David picked at the bucket of KFC remnants and sipped on the very warm red Kool Aid. It had rained the evening before, and the only companion David had at his side was a stray neighborhood dog. Alas, no black friends had shown up to his porch to hang with a brotha from a notha motha. Then it happened, a totally “Oh Snap!” moment. David realized that the one thing that unites us all is games. He ran inside and took a shower, careful to scrub the wet dog smell off of himself. He then ran out to his El Camino faster than Carl Lewis and sped off.

When David arrived at the local soul food and blues club (named The Local Soul Food and Blues Club), he knew that the day had come. With a few kind words he had learned from an array of gangsta rap albums and a friendly challenge to some physical and mental games, he would certainly be black friendified by day’s end. David stepped into the club wearing an oversized viking helmet and his pants down well below his waist holding a jump-rope and a pad of paper. He bravely approached the mike and announced, “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaah boyyyyyyyyyyeeees! Davor Daaaave! Which one of you people wants to play hangman?”

DAY TWENTY
With almost all of his bones fully healed, David was wheeled out of the hospital to the taxi. He had spent over two weeks in the hospital and not had a single black caretaker. David realized that hospitals were totally racist. But he knew what needed to be done. It was time to access The E-Mail.

When David had first received the e-mail from the Nigerian king’s stepson, he was reluctant to reply. Mainly because he had yet to actually open the checking account needed to receive the millions of dollars he had been promised. A two-week stay in the old intensive care unit really teaches you about life, though, and when David reviewed The E-mail again he realized what a ridiculous move it would be to respond to it. It was obvious Nigeria did not exist. Africa was the continent that invented black people, and David found it suspicious that a country with a name that racist would be allowed on the continent. Anyways, David wanted an African-American black friend, not an African-African black friend.

DAY TWENTY ONE
Feeling like a failure at getting black friends, David was close to giving up on his goal. He’d started packing up all the Ice Cube and MC Hammer tapes he’d been listening to non-stop in the El Camino when it occurred to him that maybe he was trying too hard. What if black friends, like love, came to you when you weren’t looking for them/it? He decided the best course of action would be to wait longingly for his dark knight to come.

Then he realized that maybe black people were looking for little brown friends of their own. He started acting super Mexican from wearing a novelty, over-sized sombrero to public napping against walls. Every once in awhile he would scream “Arrrrrrrrrrriba” in crowded rooms where there were one or two black people present. He started smelling like refried beans all the time by using said side dish as a cologne/shampoo. From under his hand-knit poncho, people could see the t-shirt he’d had specially made that just said “BEANER” in big, proud brown letters.

DAY TWENTY NINE
After eight days of fighting off menial labor offers and ducking for cover at the sight of every black SUV that passed by, David decided that being super Mexican was stupid and not getting him any closer to having a black friend. Also, the beans in his hair were attracting bugs and chihuahuas. What could he do? What step could he take? Dejected, David went to Starbucks to drown his sorrows in a giant cup of coffee, knowing that was one black companion he could always count on. While he was there, he noticed someone at a nearby table continually glancing at him. This someone was a black guy in a suit typing away furiously on his MacBook Air and incessantly checking his e-mail with his Blackberry. David smiled. He returned the glances, coyly. After a while, the black man started smiling at him. David felt that this could be the Real Deal. He approached the man’s table, swagger in his step. “Hola,” he said. Old habits die hard. “Hey there,” said the sharply-dressed black man, lisping a series of words that had no s’s at all. David proposed that they hang out sometime, offering the TSAT compound stoop. “I’ll go wherever you want, baby,” said the man, who identified himself as Percy. “I like you, Percy,” said David. “I like you and your hair.” Percy smiled.

DAY THIRTY
David woke up in bed and saw Percy standing at the window, staring out at the trees, wearing only David’s underwear. While David was genuinely appreciative of a night of spooning, snuggling, and watching Lipstick Jungle naked, he realized he would never have the black friend he’d been looking for. On the plus side, now David has a gay friend.