I rubbed one out the other day; a genie, that is, from an old oil lamp I bought at a garage sale in Pacoima for two dollars and fifty cents. I didn’t know it was a magic lamp when I made the purchase, or that is one of those down-economy poverty lamps with a low-income genie inside of it.
“My name is Pancho,” said the genie after emerging. “And I can only afford to grant you one wish.”
“One wish?!”
“Times are hard, chavo, but time is still money so hurry up and tell me what you want so I can go back to sleep.”
“Why are you perpetuating the Hispanic stereotype of Latinos sleeping all the time?”
“I’m a Genie, puto. We sleep more than Latinos. Now make your wish.”
“Okay. I wanna win the lottery.”
“You got it.”
“Just like that?”
“In fifty years, one day before you die, you’re gonna win the lottery.”
“Aw, come on, man.” I put the lamp on the table. “You were supposed to give me ten million dollars right now, take home. Not fifty years from now.”
“You didn’t say that.”
“That’s chicken shit.”
“You wanna change your wish?
“Yes.”
“You can’t.”
“Then why’d you ask me, stupid?”
“Stupid? You just lost your wish, cabron.”
“Good! You can take that welfare wish and shove it up your ass!”
That’s when a second genie emerged from the same lamp. “Whoa, whoa, what’s all the jaleo?” he said. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Who’s this guy?” I asked.
“Nobody,” dismissed Pancho. “Just Flaco.”
Flaco further identified himself, “I’m his roommate.”
“No you’re not,” denied Pancho, turning to explain. “He’s just crashing here ’cause he went through a foreclosure.”
“The bank took my lamp.”
I gave Flaco a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all good. Listen, I heard you guys talking about your wish and I hate to see a guy leave unhappy. Would you settle for fifty bucks?”
“Sure!” I said without hesitation, but Pancho was not having it. “Fifty bucks? What about the rent, money bags?”
“I got your rent, Pancho. ¡Calmate!
They began to argue in Spanish and that caused yet another genie to emerge from the lamp. This time it was a woman who was cradling a newborn child in her arms. She started yelling at Pancho and Flaco, telling them to stop yelling because the kids were sleeping.
“Go back inside, vieja!” demanded Pancho, and she went back inside without another word.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Nobody. Just my old lady.”
“Damn, Pancho, how many people you got living in that bottle?”
“Like eleven.”
“Eleven? Why are you perpetuating the Hispanic stereotype of housing a bunch of Latinos in one tiny living space?”
“Stereotype?” interrupted Flaco. “¿Que’s eso? Like audio equipment?”
“Callate, menso,” said Pancho and Flaco shut up.
“Why don’t you guys get a bigger lamp?”
“‘Cause we’re poor, fool,” started Pancho. “Why do you think I can’t afford to hand out a buncha wishes like those other fancy genies? ‘Cause we’re on government aid. We get wish stamps and shit.”
“En serio,” added Flaco. “We’re not even supposed to be in this country.”
Pancho slowly turned and looked at him with daggers. “Didn’t I tell you not to talk about that shit?”
“He’s not gonna talk.” Flaco looked at me. “Right? You’re not gonna tell anybody.”
“Hey, as long as I get my fifty dollars, your secret is safe with me.”
“See?” Flaco grinned and then handed me a credit card. “Here you go.”
“What is this?”
“That’s an EBT card,” he said. “That’s good for fifty bucks at any mercado in town.”
“Aw, come on, man. That’s chicken shit. You were supposed to give me fifty dollars cash. Not this welfare card.”
“I never said that.”
I shook my head. “You guys are shady. Why do you keep perpetuating these Hispanic stereotypes?”
“I think you’re the one that’s perpetuating, puto!” yelled Pancho. “Why do you keep saying all that when you’re the one that keeps asking us for shit? Maybe you should be the one giving us something instead.”
“Like what?”
“Like respect. We’re not crooks. We’re just genies trying to get by like everybody else, and I’m sorry if my life creates a stereotype that bums you out, but you’re loco if you think we’re living in this barrio lamp by choice. Nobody’s dumb enough to want this kinda life for their family.”
I felt terrible. “You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry. Here, you need this more than I do.” I held out the EBT card and when Flaco went to grab it, Pancho slapped it away.
“You keep that shit,” Pancho told me. “We ain’t got much, but we got honor, and a deal is a deal.”
“Will do,” I said, putting the card in my wallet. “And I still get to be a millionaire for a day in fifty years, right?”
“Sure.”
“Excellent!”
The two genies went back into the bottle and the next day, I sold that lamp and the welfare card on the internet for sixty bucks.