Scene: The Boy and I are sitting on the couch at a party with about twenty people. A seat opens up next to me, and Sketchy sits down. We have not yet met Sketchy, so he begins his introduction.
Sketchy: So, where are you from? I mean, originally.(to The Boy)
The Boy: Where are you from?
Sketchy: No, I mean, what are your origins?
The Boy: ...
Me (thinking): Oh my God this man's breath smells like vomit.
Sketchy: I'm really interested in Africa, that's why I'm asking.
The Boy: What are your origins?
Sketchy: No, I mean, I lived in Abidjan for ten years, and I worked all throughout Black Africa, and I defend a lot of Africans in their causes, so I wanted to know where you're from. With everything that's going on in the Ivory Coast right now, I just feel like I need to talk to some Africans, because I don't feel comfortable with white people.
The Boy: ...
Me (thinking): Oh my God could this guy please stop talking? Every time he opens his mouth I smell vomit.
Sketchy: I just can't believe the way white people treat Africans. They're trying to kill them, and Africa is going to die off. Africa is finished.
The Boy: No, Africa is not finished. Give me an example of how it's finished.
Sketchy: AIDS, for example.
Me (thinking): Oh shit. Not the AIDS conversation...
Sketchy: Rwanda has an 80% infection rate. In one generation, the entire population of Rwanda will be gone.
The Boy: 80%? Where are you getting your numbers?
Sketchy: They're not my numbers, man. They're from people who research this stuff for a living. But I know, I lived in Africa for ten years. These are real doctors going down and taking tests, seeing how many people are infected. These are researchers who study this for a living. You don't believe me? Come down to the CNRS (research center) and I'll show you the documents myself! Rwanda is finished! You can see the proof tomorrow!
Me: Tomorrow is Sunday.
The Boy: You have gone to Rwanda and witnessed it firsthand? How can you be sure that what some people are saying is true? 80%? That's insane.
Sketchy: FUCK YOU!!! I'll take you down to the CNRS tomorrow and PROVE it to you!!!
Me (thinking): This guy is fucking crazy. (saying, a little louder) Tomorrow is Sunday.
Sketchy: Where are you from, fucker?
The Boy: Nowhere. Where are you from?
Sketchy: I'm from France. Where the hell are you from, you little shit? Why won't you tell me? Are you French?
The Boy: No, I'm not French.
Sketchy: So you're from Africa. Why won't you tell me where the hell you're from, you prick?
The Boy: Because I don't see why it matters.
Sketchy: Because I'm interested in Africa, and you're obviously African. C'mon, man! Tell me where the hell you're from.
The Boy: No, because I don't think I want to have a conversation about Africa with you.
Sketchy: Why? Why won't you believe what I tell you? You asshole!!!
The Boy: ...
Sketchy: Fuck this! Fuck it if you don't want to hear about the future of the continent! Let your people die, I don't care!
And he stormed off.
The Boy and I just looked at each other and started laughing our asses off.
An hour or two later, Sketchy had knocked over a table, offended one of the girls pretty severely, and unsuccessfully attempted to begin three conversations with me.
And he still smelled like vomit.