Not in the literal sense obviously. Otherwise, I’d be telling this tale from beyond like Tiger’s dad. Nah, this is a little different. Everyday after sundown since Easter has gotten progressively worse for me, not in a drastic way, but to the point where you say to yourself “What Next?” Kind of like John Calipari waiting to see who all was going to follow Wall and Cousins to the next level.
Yesterday, my work week was nearing its end and the thought of two consecutive days off was the only real thing keeping me going. I was all ready to go home and crash when TC hit me up about some listening party for a local cat. For as much as we try to keep up with the happenings of music, the goings on in our city tend to go about largely unnoticed by us. My instinct has always told me it was for good reason, but you never know. At the worst I’d get a few drinks, get wrapped up in a conversation & make a smooth transition into the weekend.
So we head downtown and after fifteen minutes of searching for a suitable parking location, we finally find a spot which didn’t appear to put my car in danger of being towed or ticketed. Go inside the spiffy restaurant and my first thought is “damn, Mr. Clean sure would enjoy this bar.” I’ve always said I don’t have a problem with gay people, as long as they’re gay on their own time–and boy were my words tested. Sensing our deer in the headlight glares, the guy at the door mercifully tells us to head upstairs for the party. Must’ve been our fitteds and Jordan’s that tipped him off.
After making the rounds of daps with familiar faces and getting a drink, we staked our spot out and started talkin’ with an associate. About 10 – 15 minutes in, I asked when they were gonna start playing this guys music? To which our man Trav said “I think this is it.” Uh-oh. Dude wasn’t flat out sorry, but play his music for ten people and ask for opinions, you’re liable to get ten different responses. I mean he sounded like everybody and nobody at the same time.
Fast forward to the end of the night and it had pretty much gone down as I’d expected. Leaving no worse for my troubles, we headed back to the whip. As we get close enough to unlock the doors via remote, I see something blowing slightly in the wind, held secure by my windshield wiper.
F#ck. Me. Pause.
This neighborhood was a little too upscale for street team work and none of the other cars had them. I investigate the litter and it’s a $40 dollar ticket for being parked in a permit parking zone (at least I wasn’t the only one). After a brief bit of frustration, along with thinking of all the tickets I’ve magically gotten out of over the last few years, I chalked it up and we headed home.
I took one for Hip-Hop. And for being lazy & getting tired of looking for a parking spot.
But mainly Hip-Hop: TGIF