Tough, by a Thread

"Yo, what the fuck?" asked the Guido who'd just been so unceremoniously shoved to the curb. "Yo, lemme back in, muthafucka!"

It's just so very tedious, no?

"Listen," I said, adhering to the script, "you're not coming back in."

"Yo, why not?"

"You know what, dude? I have no fucking idea why not. I'm the door guy. Do I look like the guy who threw you out? Do I bear even a passing resemblance to the guy who just pushed you out here?"

"Yo," he shouted, "dis is bullshit. What'd I do? Why I'm kicked out?"

"Honestly? I really don't know. My only job is to make sure that you don't go back in, so that's what I'm gonna do. And if I find that I can't do that," I said, gesturing to Johnny the Cop, "he'll just shoot you."

"What you say, n---a?"

"Didn't you know all Manhattan door guys carry guns and wear bulletproof vests?"

"Yo, fuck you!"

"I'll tell you this much, though," I said. "Somebody did a really nice job waxing your eyebrows."

"Yo, they ain't waxed, muthafucka! Dese n----s is threaded, yo!"

Now, lest you think I'm making this exchange up, I can assure you I'm not. It began as mundane. The same nonsensical repartee in which we engage with every jerkoff who gets the boot. The difference here could be found in those magical eyebrows. Blah, blah, fucking blah, and all the while, I'm making scary-intense eyebrow contact, because I was fascinated. Transfixed. Held in thrall by the perfect lines above this man's eyes.

Threading. The threading of eyebrows. The Guido's lines were so precise, I nearly lost concentration and allowed him back in.

"Threaded? What the fuck is that?"

"Yo," he said, "why you wanna know, muthafucka? You need to start wit a chainsaw for yo' shits!"

"How much you gotta pay to get your eyebrows threaded?"

"Yo, same price to suck my dick, yo!"

"Oh, come on," I implored. "Why you gotta be like that?"

"Yo, my boys is in there. Could I jus' go back in an' get them?"

"Dude, if you got kicked out, and they don't come outside looking for you, are they really your friends?"

"Yo," he replied, "what the fuck I'm s'posed to do?"

"How about not doing whatever you did to get thrown out?"

"Yo, fuck dis place, n---a!"

"I'll tell you what," I said. "I'll make you a deal. You tell me where you had your eyebrows done, and maybe I'll think about letting you back in."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Yo, I get my shits done at the Staten Island Mall, dog. Could I go back in now?"

"What are you, fuckin' stupid?" I asked. "Get the fuck out of here, you stupid fuckin' Guido. And take your cheesy fuckin' eyebrows with you."