The Name Game
OK, I couldn't possibly make this up if I tried. Funny and scary all at the same time.
I was sent to investigate a child neglect complaint - which, of course, isn't funny. According to our complainant, his baby's mother is a crackhead and she leaves their little baby girl alone in the apartment while she's out scoring some rock. So I go over to the apartment to find out what the deal is.
When I get there, I literally arrive at the door at the same time Cracky McCrackhead does. I don't really know where she's coming from, but she looks like a train wreck so I'm assuming she's coming back from a two day bender.
Anyhow, I tell her why I'm there, get a little ghetto attitude from her (which I promptly put a stop to 'cause we all know I'm never in the mood for that shit), and then we go in to check on the little girl. The kid, fortunately, seems fine, healthy, fed, clean clothes, etc. But since the kid's father is making an allegation, I have to collect some information and forward a report to Child Protective Services so that they can follow-up. So here was a part of my conversation with Baby's Mamma:
Me: How old is the child?
Crack Whore: 2
Me: Does anyone else live her besides you and the little girl?
CW: Some of my sister's people stays here sometimes (WTF does that mean??!)
Me: What is the child's name?
CW: Ikea.
Me (perplexed look on face): Ikea? And it's spelled "I-K-E-A?"
CW: Yeah.
Me: You named your daughter after a Scandinavian furniture store?
CW: A what?
Me (shaking head ruefully): Never mind.
That officially takes the #1 spot on my all time fucked up things to name your kid list. That spot was previously held by a young man named "LaBron Da'Vic (I don't even remember what his last name was 'cause it's totally irrelevant).
I was sent to investigate a child neglect complaint - which, of course, isn't funny. According to our complainant, his baby's mother is a crackhead and she leaves their little baby girl alone in the apartment while she's out scoring some rock. So I go over to the apartment to find out what the deal is.
When I get there, I literally arrive at the door at the same time Cracky McCrackhead does. I don't really know where she's coming from, but she looks like a train wreck so I'm assuming she's coming back from a two day bender.
Anyhow, I tell her why I'm there, get a little ghetto attitude from her (which I promptly put a stop to 'cause we all know I'm never in the mood for that shit), and then we go in to check on the little girl. The kid, fortunately, seems fine, healthy, fed, clean clothes, etc. But since the kid's father is making an allegation, I have to collect some information and forward a report to Child Protective Services so that they can follow-up. So here was a part of my conversation with Baby's Mamma:
Me: How old is the child?
Crack Whore: 2
Me: Does anyone else live her besides you and the little girl?
CW: Some of my sister's people stays here sometimes (WTF does that mean??!)
Me: What is the child's name?
CW: Ikea.
Me (perplexed look on face): Ikea? And it's spelled "I-K-E-A?"
CW: Yeah.
Me: You named your daughter after a Scandinavian furniture store?
CW: A what?
Me (shaking head ruefully): Never mind.
That officially takes the #1 spot on my all time fucked up things to name your kid list. That spot was previously held by a young man named "LaBron Da'Vic (I don't even remember what his last name was 'cause it's totally irrelevant).
posted by P. at 11:37 AM
2 Comments:
P - Poor kid, it must be hard not to want to do more. On the name game, this is no joke he was in the practice that I went to when my kids were born..OB/Gyn..Dr. Harry C. Beaver ;)
Go 'Canes!
So, wrong. Just so, so wrong.
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