gonna say nothing when someone like Roscoe grabs the mic.
He composed himself onstage as the DJ loaded the song.
He waited patiently and anxiously for his song to start,
hopping around just a little, like a kid that had to pee.
ͳen it started. And he started singing. He was not just
doing regular karaoke. ͳis dude was straight belting him
some Luther Vandross. I mean, he was into it.
“A chair is still a chair,
Even if no one is sitting there . . .”Now understand, Roscoe was handicapped, so I’ll be nice
about it: his singing was terrible. He was oĉ-key and tone-
deaf. It was just bad, horrible singing.
But he knew all the words, and he knew all of Luther’s
moves, and he put his heart into it. He had on his little
burgundy blazer, and he was swinging his little dead baby
arm around, all suave and shit.
But yeah, it sounded just horrible.
ͳis is the part I remember the most, not just because of
Roscoe’s horrible singing, but because of this white lady
sitting in front of me. She kept looking back at me. I was
drinking my wine and trying to enjoy the fact that my
handicapped date was singing his heart out, but this white
lady would not stop looking at me. Finally she turned
around, looked me up and down, and said, “You are so
strong.”
For real—she turned her whole chair around, and said—I
am fucking quoting her, “You are so strong.”