Close Call

What do you do when you leave the club late at night and have nothing else to do? Before you go grab something to eat with ya peeps you get someone arrested. Whuh? Ya’ll didn’t do that? Oh, so it was just me and my friends? Well, here’s what happened anyway.

A group of five of us decided to go out. We chose this mixed crowd club in downtown. The thing I liked about this spot was it wasn’t as hot as the sweatboxes that we usually go to were and you didn’t have to worry quite as much about bouncers/popos coming through the party cause somebody done started some ish. If you don’t know, and I’m not generalizing this is a fact, white girls love to dance on a pole, especially if they’re drunk. Talk about laughing and having a good time watching them drunk white girls make their best attempts at twerking. You could find a couple of nice ones who have some melanin too. Good times to be had by all.

Anyway after we left the spot this particular night we were driving around downtown because were started to hit one more club before we called it and got something to eat. You know how downtown they have those one way streets and stuff and you have to go over a block or two and loop back up to get where you’re going? I mean, it’s like that in a lot of the cities that I’ve vistited. So yeah we were navigating and saw this white boy in the middle of the street. From what I remember he was about 5’9” 150 lbs with some matted brown hair. Nothing that really stands out. Twan was driving and said casually, “I’m bout to act like I’ma hit ‘em.” Although he said it casually everybody knew, well at least I knew, that he was definitely going to make good on his statement.

He accelerated and slowed down when he got close to the guy. I think he waited a little long to start decelerating but I guess that was to make the ‘scare’ more real. The white guy—let’s call him Scott, doesn’t flinch. He stands there in an altered state of consciousness and then begins to verbally assault us. He let’s loose a string of expletives and like a tree planted by the rivers of waters lets us know that he shall not be moved. This of course pisses Twan off so he backs up and says this time he’s not gonna stop. I’m like oh hell. What in the world? I hope Twan doesn’t hit this dude. I don’t remember what we were saying in the car to Twan but everybody was kinda indignant that Scott didn’t move from in front of the speeding vehicle since he was after all standing in the middle of the street. I mean it was late at night like 2 a.m. and even though there’s very little traffic, when you see cars you need to Ludacris.

Twan puts the car in drive and picks up speed towards Scott. Even though it wasn’t that long of an amount of time it seemed like a while because we continued to get closer to him and I didn’t feel the car slowing down. Eventually I was like slow down man don’t hit him or something like that. Twan was like no this ma phucka needs to move. Twan slams on brakes when it’s almost too late and the car appeared that it was still gonna tap Scott. In a fit of desperation and seeing that his life was probably about to take a turn for the worse, Scott jumped in the air and landed on the hood of Nesi (Twan’s nickname for his Nissan Sentra), ran up the windshield onto the roof of the car and made a dismount once he reached the trunk. When he stepped on the roof of the car the roof caved in near my head. I felt like I was in danger because he could have stepped on top of my head and hurt my neck or something. It was at this point that I felt Scott had gone too far.

It was clear to us that Scott used his spare time to partake of some of the sniffable organic stuff that the plants on God’s green earth provide. This dude was stoned—I mean so high it didn’t make any sense. Twan was silent. Not a good sign. He and I are alike in that regard. As long as I’m still bitching at talking to you, I still care and you still have a chance to win me over. If I stop talking leave it alone. All hell could potentially break lose cause at this point I no longer give a phuck. Twan broke his silence and was like oh phuck no. This ma phucka done walked on Nesi. He put the car in reverse so that he could get out the middle of the street. Meanwhile Scott is kinda meandering in the street all the while shouting more curse words and pretending that we were trying to hit him. Clearly stoned.

Twan exits stage right from the driver’s door to go to his trunk. Still on stage (inside the car) we’re all discussing what just happened and how wrong Scott was for jumping on the car yada yada. Twan is loading his gun. Right about this time a police officer drives by. I beat on the back window to alert Twan and he slowly closes the trunk. Mike gets out of the car to flag the officer down, who I’m sure was gonna come over anyway to see why these black dudes and a white dude were in the street with the white dude shouting at the group of black dudes. Twan approaches the officer and tells him how the guy just ran up on the hood of the car.

Scott is standing near too so he’s trying to over talk Twan and keeps telling this ridiculous story about us trying to hit him and all this nonsense. By this time I’m out of the vehicle too because I feel like a victim cause he stepped near my head. I suggest to the officer that I think the guy is high and needs to be tested. I mean I don’t know much about drugs but I wanted to plant the seed if it wasn’t clear to the officer that this dude is on something. The officer didn’t respond to what I said. I don’t know if it was because it was already obvious to him or if he didn’t agree with me. The officer is trying to get the whole story and Scott gets so loud and obnoxious that the officer has to cuff him and put him in the back of the police car.

At some point during this whole information gathering session T took Scott’s shoe and dropped it down a storm drain. The shoe came off when he ran on top of the car. Scott saw T drop the shoe down the drain and became even more loud and belligerent and told the officer that T dropped the shoe down the drain. When the officer shifted his focus to the car to see if there was any truth to Scott’s assertion, T acted indignant. He was like what shoe? What are you talking about? That sent Scott over the edge. He started hollering even more and eventually kicked the window out the back of the police car with his shoeless foot. Only a stoned out fool would do some ish like that.

The realism is that that’s just what we needed to convince the officers that Scott’s story was bogus about the attempted hitting and to believe that he was high. That could have went either way because from the officer's point of view there were five black dudes and one white dude. It could have appeared that we were doing something wrong. The officer was like he’s definitely going downtown now for destruction of property. The officer dismissed us and said he’d handle it from there. We drove off relieved that everything went our way and grinning because we definitely were culpable in what happened. What did we do next? Waffle House foo! Nothing like some omelets, orange juice and laughs to end the night. Especially since none of us left the club with anyone.

Update

The work stalker, as Rashan so eloquently put it, just texted me to tell me he purchased a phone just like mine. Oh brother.

Tag - You're It

I'm a tag virgin, but Pocahontas tagged me. Since her hair is so luxurious right now, I had no choice but to oblige.

Here are the rules:

1. Link the person who tagged you…

2. Mention the rules in your blog…

3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours

4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them

5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

Here are some unspectacular quirks about JayBee:

1. One of my pet peeves is hearing people mispronounce words. If you want to raise my ire just say aks instead of ask. If you committed this cardinal sin of mispronunciation, someone I used to know would say, “If you aks me I’ll die, but if you ask me I can answer.”

2. I’m allergic to shellfish. I’ve never been able to successfully ingest anything with a shell on it. When I’ve attempted in the past I gag horrendously and my throat sometimes swells.

3. I do not like excessive amounts of noise. The only exception is when I’m hanging out. Sometimes even then I think the noise level inside clubs and bars is too much. In the classroom any noise other than the calming sound of my voice is not welcome. That includes, but is not limited to, talking, tapping, beating, sniffling, coughing, laughing, etc.

4. I’ve only been in love twice. You know they say the third time’s a charm. Maybe the next time it happens I’ll be crowning the future Mrs. JayBee. That is of course if everything checks out (including the credit score).

5. I’m a mild control freak. I don’t like for other people to drive because I think I do it better, plus I trust myself more than you. I don’t like to be absent too much from work because I don’t trust anyone else to do my job as well as I. I pretty much like people to agree with me even if they don’t agree. I reward people when they do just as I’d like them to.

6. When I go to funerals I give “awards” for most dramatic presentation. No, I don’t relish in peoples’ grief. I just like to be entertained. I like the you-ain’t-dead-daddy-take-me-with-you type performances. At my grandmother’s funeral no one really ‘showed out’ as we like to call it. If I had the day to relive, it would be acting a monkey fool at the funeral. I’m so serious. At the recessional when the funeral was over I did start to grab at the casket when it rolled by just to set it off. I didn’t do it. I wish I had.

So there ya have it. Some uninteresting quirks about me. I’m tagging:

Chris, The girl that I never had, [Pop That]Cherry, This Crazy Monkey, Da Vinci, and M.E. – maybe she’ll post something now

[You're Doing It] Again

Don't you just love Again by John Legend? Just got off the highway. I got another speeding ticket. This time it was for 82 in a 65. Okay. See that's reasonable. No I'm not happy about the ticket, but at least I can understand this one. I didn't say much this time because I was hoping that he'd feel sorry for me and let me go. He didn't let me go but he did reduce the price of the ticket from $175 to $76. Keep in mind the ticket for five miles over is $155.Here's what I thought about. If I'm gonna spend $130 in gas and pay about $100 for a speeding ticket when I drive, then it would be the same as me purchasing a plane ticket. The only thing is I'd have to rent a car once I arrive. The alternative of course is to slow my azz down, but that's probably not gonna happen. I wonder how many points I have on my license. I might need to go to driving school to see if I can get some of those points shaved off my record.Can we all get together and buy JayBee a radar detector?

Anyway, that's not the point of this post. How do you tactfully tell someone to leave you the heck alone? There's someone on my job who has attached themselves to me without my consent. Everytime I look around I'm getting an unsolicited phone call or text message. I know you say, well JayBee you must have given out your number. You'd be correct. I did. I was just being polite though. When I give someone my number I'm not looking for them to call all the time, especially not at first.*Insert quick English lesson. "A lot" is two words.* You know how when you're starting a friendship with someone sometimes you talk a whole lot and at first and then it fizzles and sometimes things take time to build before they really pick up. Well, this person has created this alternate reality where it's like we've known each other for a long time and I still feel like I don't know him. *notice the pronoun--I did that for ya'll who relish the details* He'll invite me to hang out and I'm like giving him the brush off. When I finally agree to hang out, it's like it becomes front page news. Why you got to run around the job telling people that we hung out or letting it "slip" in casual conversations with other people that we're supposed to be doing something?

I don't have to tell people on my job what my plans are after work. Why do you feel the need to do so? On top of that you make sure that you find a way to be in my face at least twice a day. I mean, ma phucka teach something. Let me do my job and that'll free you up so that you can do your job.

What I resent is when he's running around telling people that we went this place or that place it makes it seem like there's this buddy buddy friendship thing going on and it's clearly not that deep for me. What's lost in translation when he's recounting tales of when we hung out or whatever is how many times I said no before I finally, reluctantly agreed to go anywhere in public with you. It just makes it seem like to others, and we know that JayBee doesn't seek or need external validation, that we're just super cool and in this thing together. That's simply not the context of our relationship. I see you as a colleague. You cannot force a friendship. Am I culpable? Yes, absolutely. Perhaps I did not demarcate the boundary lines in such a way as so be clear just how far I intended to engage him.

I'm annoyed when I walk down the hall and you pop up Again. I'm annoyed when I'm teaching and you interrupt to let me know that you have something to tell me later Again. JUST TELL ME LATER (or don't cause I won't give a phuck anyway). I try to be polite, so I guard my body language and that's perhaps why he doesn't understand that I'm just not feeling this whole trying to be cool thing like he is. I don't need anymore people in my circle (not with all my blog buddies!). I just wanna go to work (not really but I have to), do my job and go the heck back home.

In other news, I saw Tyler Perry's play The Marraige Counselor. Thought it was entertaining. That same Tyler Perry formula, but hey, it works for him. It was my first time going to see one of those live plays. So good to see all my peoples out and about having a good time and not having any arguments. Such a far cry from the night before across town when I heard there was a shooting at that fashion show thing at the Compound. Glad I didn't roll over there.

Yesterday

In case you haven't heard, there was another celebrity sighting last night at the Copelands in Buckhead. You must not watch the news. JayBee was in the place last night! The media frenzy was unreal. No one was taking photos of me walking into the spot, but once I got on the inside the camera flashes didn't stop. Damned paparazzi! I was famished because I went to work and then drove to the area without eating or drinking anything. If any of the ATL area bloggers were in the area don't feel cheated. You wouldn't have been able to get in. The crowd swelled after I got there. Maybe some other time.

Here's where a part of the celebrity treatment falls apart. They took forever and a day to come and take my order. I was seated in the bar area but not at the counter facing away from the bar. The dude behind the bar straight acted like he was super busy. Finally I had to pull someone and tell them my I-just-drove-300+-miles-story so that someone would come over and hopefully expedite this whole thing. After all, I didn't want to have to keep taking pictures or sign any more damned autographs.

It so happens that this guy named Antwan hosts a networking event at this spot every Thursday for black professionals. Before I found out what was going on, I couldn't figure it out. I was observant. I noticed people carrying gift bags. I noticed women and men approaching the dude in charge and exchanging greetings. I saw a woman with upholstery swatches or maybe they were curtain fabric or something. I was thinking that maybe someone was getting married and buying a home and they called together some vendors to help them make their selections. I was way off.Anyway when curiosity got the best of me I asked a lady who was seated a couple of chairs down from me. She filled me in on all the details and introduced me to the dude in charge. I didn't even ask for all that, but there's nothing like that southern hospitality.

At some point after I finally began to replenish my strength with some sustenance, I was joined at the bar by this dark skinned cutie. Definitely fit the profile, with long hair to boot. We talked about why she was in town and why I was in town, about her irresponsible behavior son and a host of other things. We probably chatted for about two hours in between she and I both taking calls on our phones. I enjoyed the conversation but wasn't pressed so as I was preparing to leave I casually mentioned that maybe she and I would run into each other again at this event, since we're both planning a move in the summer. She didn't seem receptive to that. I guess because she felt like it was too risky to leave it to chance, so she asked me for my number. Is this standard practice? I'm still not 100% over the way things went down with her, so I'm not really "on the scene", but I didn't know women were asking dudes for their number--especially an attractive woman who I'm positive could have a slew of dudes.

Fib

Shakespeare said a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. This is about whether something is a lie. I wrote fib. Remember when you couldn't say lie as a youngster?

Is there such a thing as a lie of omission? A colleague and I disagreed on the point. I said if you choose to leave something out, that’s not a lie. It is an omission but not a lie. To me telling a lie is an active thing. Failing to mention something is more passive. I concede that it might be deceitful, but it, in my opinion is not the same thing as willfully telling a lie. Basically, I had to do an interview about my supervisor. I said some things in the interview that could be considered a stretch. I didn’t tell any lies, but I certainly didn’t show my principal in a bad light either. Although there are things that I don’t agree with sometimes, I chose not to let that be the focus of the dialogue between the interviewer and I.

The interviewer is working on an advanced degree and needed to interview people on the qualities of an effective principal. Anyway, like I said I just chose to focus on the positives. Think of it as journalistic spin. However, my colleague maintained that in not telling about the negatives, which I really don’t have a whole lot of problems with my supervisor, that I was lying. What upset me most is that I absolutely do not like anyone attacking my character. Your good name is all that you have. Plus another one of my mantras is, “If I can’t believe everything you say, then I can’t believe nothing you say.” I truly believe that. What bothered me most is in knowing that I believe the aforementioned, then that gives her cause to disbelieve anything else that comes out of my mouth. It’s not so much that I need her validation. As a matter of fact, nothing could be further from the truth. It’s just that for many people perception becomes reality, hence the phrase perception is reality. I don’t want her or anyone else’s perception of me to change. I absolutely cannot be associated with lying. I’m a lot of things; a liar is not one of them.

Merriam-Webster defines a lie as: a: an assertion of something known or believed by the speaker to be untrue with intent to deceive b: an untrue or inaccurate statement that may or may not be believed true by the speaker

Based on the definition, failing to include information is not a lie. It is, as I have admitted deceitful. Merriam-Webster defines deceit as: to cause to accept as true or valid what is false or invalid.

Some people may argue that this is semantics. There is however, I think, a difference between a not revealing everything or holding something back and telling an out and out lie. Plus I had a vested interest in doing what I did. It is not appropriate to tell bad stuff about your supervisor. I’m the type of person that I like to handle things in house. So, if I have a problem with you, I’ll step to you and let you know so that we can work it out. More likely than not, I would never put you on blast in front of “company.”

Thoughts?

Untitled

Only three others share this secret, our friends the Sorceress, Man-At-Arms and Orko. Together we defend Castle Grayskull from the evil forces of---oh wait, I just had a HeMan flashback. Seriously though not a lot of people know what I'm about to share. It is our life experiences, environment and level of exposure to sundry things that shape who we are, influence how we behave, and provide a framework from which to draw expressions used in common vernacular. One of my expressions is "I don't hook for free." Let's examine where that came from.

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Lisa was my skinny aunt who was maybe fifteen or sixteen at the time. I was roughly five or six. I wish I had some baby pictures on hand from that age. I was so cute! Anyway, not the point of the story. Actually Lisa wasn't really my blood aunt. She was my grandfather's adopted daughter. Rumor had it that she was actually another man's child but he adopted her anyway. My grandfather and Lisa's mother had three other daughters together, but Lisa was always rumored to the illegitimate child of Deloris, Lisa's and my other aunts' mom. Everybody engaged her like they did everyone else because for sure the four girls were sisters even if her paternity was in question.

We stayed in a small town in southeast Georgia. The population was 702 at the 2000 U.S. Census. That small. There was a set of railroad tracks that separated the "sides" of town. My granddaddy's property was about 2.5 acres and had two houses on it. We lived in one house and he lived in the other one. Since the houses were only yards apart sometimes we ate dinner at either house. It was not uncommon for my mom to cook at our house and then walk down and cook at my grandfather's house. Mind you, he had four daughters living with him, but my mom would still cook over there sometimes. He was particularly fond of her potato salad and pig feet. Yeah, that kinda country.

I don't remember exactly when it happened, but it happened over a period of time. When I would come inside from being outside playing or when Lisa would come outside to get me from playing we'd go "make up granddaddy's bed." That was the name assigned to the deed. What it really meant was we were going to go in granddaddy's bedroom and hunch, at first. Then it progressed to me having to take off my clothes and attempt to penetrate her. She guided me though the process of how to "make a woman feel good." What a foolish proposition to think that a 5-6 year old boy could make a teenager, much less a woman, feel anything.

I knew absolutely nothing about any of the other mechanics necessary to engage in copulation. I can remember her becoming annoyed when it would slip out and she'd have to put it back in. The realism is that you can see how that could happen at 5-6 years old. If I didn't seem into it she also become annoyed. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I was young.

It didn't always just happen when we were home alone. Sometimes my grandfather would be in the front room asleep. He slept so hard because he worked at a factory and did hard labor. She would usually put the night stand in front of the door to prevent anyone from barging in on us. After a while I began to tell her that I didn't want to do that anymore. Each subsequent time she would tell me that it would be the last time and that she was going to buy me some Ruffles Sour Cream and Cheddar potato chips and a Sprite. These happen to be some of my favorite junk food snacks even now. She even told me that my younger brothers didn't mind making up granddaddy's bed with her and that she had already bought them their chips and soda. In my ignorance I reluctantly agreed to continue with hopes of securing my prize for my obedience.

Like Chinua Achebe entitled one of his books, "Things Fall Apart." We had no reasons to expect anything to go wrong because we had gotten away with it for so long. Notice the pronoun shift. Even though I was young, I knew this was wrong. I did not try to stop it. I could have told my parents, yet I let it persist. The last time it happened my mother came down the hall pushed the door slightly, felt the resistance of the night stand, but was able to peer into the room and see what was going on. I know she got a full eye view because I would see her eyes through the crack. I was scared and nervous as hell, because I knew this wasn't going to be pretty. I'll skip the details on the fall out but I'll say it included a belt, a knife, some blisters and closer monitoring.

To top it all off I still didn't get my chips and soda. When people ask me to do something and I remark, "I don't hook for free," this is where that saying came from. I don't like to be taken advantage of. I like to know what you're going to be able to do for me before I put myself out. Some people might think this extremely crude that I would make light of this situation. To the contrary, I just can't profit anything from dwelling on the past. I allowed myself to be abused for the promise of some goods in return. That's pretty much was hooking/prostitution is. I remember the first time I said it to my supervisor when I agreed to be chair of the leadership team. She was looking at me like she had no clue what I was talking about. For a brief moment I thought I had gone too far, but after I asked her if I was going to get an extended contract, she came back (she looked out of it for a second) and told me yes. I mean, the situation is different because I was a child, but it's pretty much the same. I don't have any hard feelings toward her and I think I'm pretty well adjusted. Prior to reading this, would you have ever guessed?

The subject of child molestation, especially among black families is taboo, but happens so much more often that most care to think about or admit.

Off the subject, but what is it about saying, "This shouldn't leave this room," or "Don't tell anybody," that makes people just run and tell whatever you asked them to not tell? I know that usually when people say that to me, I interpret it as only tell the one person who you always tell stuff. Sometimes though depending on the seriousness of the issue it really means don't tell anyone at all. A situation happened this past week on the job when we were in a meeting and asked to not divulge what had been discussed. It got out and I had people coming up to me on Friday asking about what was said at the meeting--including the building principal. Why can't people keep their mouths closed?