Quick, albeit classic, story. To save $2.50, I decided to walk from Hyde Park to the Green Line in the middle of the night. This took me past the only emergency room in the area (the rest were shut down, probably for reasons relating to the story you're about to hear).
As I shuffled over the cracked pavement of the sidewalks, I came across two women engaged in a heated debate. So loud were these two dames of the street that I heard them before I saw them, as they partook in a discussion that frequently boiled over into argument. Due to the prodigious volumes they produced and the relative quietness of the city at this late hour, I could hear their conversation for several minutes and I approached, passed by, and then marched on into darkness. As a result, I got the whole story (or at least as much of it as they were willing to scream out in public).
Like many great tragedies, this one began with an unrequited love affair. The man in this story (real name: Levonte) had been in an affair with one of these ladies, who, in the absence of a name, I shall refer to as Woman A. Levonte had brought passion to Woman A's life in bounds that knew no limits; the expanse of their love was as infinite as the space that surrounds a teardrop released into the universe (or some appropriate metaphor that is better thought-out than the one I just crapped out).
Unfortunately, Levonte's passion was evidently too much for one woman to handle. As his passion for Woman A waned, our Casanova's eye traveled to Woman B and, after assuring himself of a soft landing, Levonte made the jump. Based on the friction between the two women, there MAY have been some overlap in Levonte's sequence of break-up/get-together, but that's really just a minor detail here.
Sadly, the male protagonist's germ cells were slow to get the message that it was over between him and Woman A; during one of the lovemaking activities that marked the end of their relationship, at least one of Levonte's spermatozoa successfully transited his partner's reproductive tract and merged to form what is either a baby (if you're republican) or a totipotent stem cell (all other political views).
While the dawn of a carefully-considered new life is cause for celebration for every taxpayer, this one struck a foul nerve with the Lothario of the story, as Woman A pursued him for money to get an abortion. Levonte, either low on funds or high in cunning, then attempted to convince his new paramour to pay for the abortion of the child being gestated by his former lover. Amazingly, Woman B's love for her new Romeo was so great that she agreed. Lancelot then further outsourced his remaining transactional duties (namely, show up for abortion) to Woman B, leaving it up to her and Woman A to hash out the pesky details of their ill-fated love affair. And so it was that Woman A and Woman B chose to meet in front of a health center in the middle of the night, with nary a Levonte present.
This palaver is where I enter the story, as negotiations between the two women intensified. I learned that the issue was not Levonte's betrayal in taking one woman over another or any of the ethical conundrums associated with extinguishing one's progeny. No, no, gentle reader; the issue at hand was the price of the abortion; Woman B thought the quoted price was too expensive, and was demanding a second quote, much as one would get for, say, a replacement carburetor.
Here is the signature line of the conversation, ebonics included:
Woman B: Fo-hunned dolla's fo' an aboshun??? Das too much!
Woman A: Mmmmhmmm.
This was, incidentally, the first instance of pricing I'd ever heard for that particular procedure. On face value, it sounded fair, at least in comparison to the cost of keeping an infant in diapers and puree. But apparently I was just a typical sucka consumer, taking the first offer of abortion I could find.
In closing, I have no idea whether or not the second quote came in lower. All I am certain of is that those women were going to find the lowest price for that abortion
This is a difficult story to relate properly, so feel free to reference the attached diagram.
Noah's Inner Monologue
Scribblings of a man who can barely operate an idiotproof website.