The English language is not very difficult, but lately I’ve been having trouble with a lack of words to describe the life I live.
“Unsavory” is possibly the word I use most and if not is the runner up to profanity and “Hallelujah.” However it gets to a point where even I get tired of hearing it. This doesn’t happen very often because it is the best adjective on this side of the Milky Way. Seriously, five out of five rocket scientists agree.
Unsavory has been defined as something that is tasteless or insipid. A more evident definition would just be to say it’s not savory. These words don’t even begin to scratch the surface of “Unsaverology”.
My definition of unsavory is any time, action, or moment that exists where you know what is taking place is immoral, “dirrty”, demeaning, dank, unconventional, and basically just something that would bring your family line shame or set your race back 400 years.
Many of you may be angry because of this. You might say, “That Brad Basker is a real jerk. How does he know what unsavory is?” Well naysayers, unsavory begot unsavory!
The only reason I have the right to say that you’re the definition of taint is because my veins run with blood type U. And if you can’t figure what that means then you’re unsavory.
Just yesterday Marcus, a friend of six years, told me that he has earned the right to judge me. When I asked why he told me it was because my mental abuse for six years has turned his heart cold with empathy and that he figured he should get something out of our friendship. I would have gotten angry but it was true.
But still the question remains what happens when you go beyond unsavory? Is there an unseen unsavory?
Over the break Marcus and I were over at my friend Greg’s apartment. We had just dined at Caf Brazil and we need foil at four in the morning for a Hookah. The night was going really savory. We hadn’t broken the law in any shape or form except for the three red lights I ran. Greg doesn’t live in the most privileged area of Houston but had created a “baller” status living arrangement. Outside of his haven is the stereotypical “ghetto” such as guns, drugs, gangs and prostitutes.
We pulled up to Chevron and a hobo popped out from behind a gas pump with a squeegee and the will to make three dollars. We waved at him and yelled “No! No!” but it was too late. The windshield was clean and we owed him is due. While he was washing we all argued about who was going get out of the car. We all are always pimped out so getting out of the car meant for certain that a jack move would be pulled. I gave in the for sake of time, left my wallet in the car, then got out into the freezing night air.
At the window in a very tactless manner a customer was hitting on the gas station attendant. She had to explain to him time after time that she was married and even showed him the ring.
I approached the window and asked very politely for some foil and it was at this point that I had a double take moment. A woman wearing a blouse and what appeared to be a life vest came around the corner. I saw what I didn’t want to see. I left the window and heard her ask for a box of condoms. I got in the car and asked to Greg if we could please leave. This was one of the moments where terms of profanity were my most used words.
As we peeled out we saw that she had come from a van full of men.
I like to break things, I steal occasionally, and I’m really unsavory. But I am not a hooker at Chevron. That night wasn’t worthy of the title of unsavory. In fact, I don’t have a word for it. This is beyond words. It’s another dimension.