*Juke turns to 102.3 on the FM dial. How fitting...they are playing "I Wanna Rock" by Luke."
You know, the key to fraternal bonding lies deep inside one of the oldest rituals ever known to man. Since the days of the ancient pharoahs...all the way through Mansa Musa of the Mali Empire...and even up to the barbaric tribes of Europe...men have bonded through one major rites of passage ceremony.
The Road Trip.
Yes...road trips are the little diddies in life by which men who are acquainted can become like brothers in a 36 hour time span. Road trips know no fraternal affiliation, and they hold no limits in terms of race, creed, or ignorance. They simply make returning to real life on Monday that much easier.
Now in order for road trips to be successful, there are rules to the game. And I wrote a manual to help facilitate the rules for those who need assistance in optimizing the road trip experience. The rules are straight-forward enough, but as you will see with the examples, the implementation is critical for the benefit of all who participate.
Rule 1: Never leave homies on stuck.
So Pretty Rickie, Big D, and I were on South Beach, and during Memorial Day, traffic on South Beach is about as slow as a Waffle House with one cook. Well, Rickie was driving, and Brian and I were riding like real Gs do. (This was before I found out the benefits of living above the streets...back when I was still in the drug game. Juke did it so that the youth won't have to do it.) Anyway, the strip was littered with women...short, tall, slim, thick, chunky, curly hurr, straight hurr, Hawaiian Silky no. 5. Any type of woman you could think of was out on the beach, and all they wanted was for some young, handsome mens to come and spend a little time and conversation. And we were happy to oblige...
Now the following sequence of events are kinda fuzzy, and depending on who you ask, they may or may not have happened in this particular order. But I am going to tell it as I remember it, and anyone who disagrees can chime in as needed.
Well Big D and I hopped out the truck and started politicking with the ladies that were on the block. I am sure Pretty Rickie would have jumped out too, but somebody had to drive the vehicle, and at the time, Big D and I weren't thinking about all of that. We just saw a few Big Booty Judys and was tryin' to get our flirt on.
Karma will always kick you in the ass.
Pretty Rickie parked 12 blocks away from where we were posted. Yes, I said 12 blocks away. Furthermore, he got all of his clothes for the evening ready so that when it was time to hit the club that night, Brian and I were stuck walking back 12 blocks to the car while he went to the club with the other bruhs that we knew from Miami. Had we just followed rule number 1, things would have been great.
But that actually turned out to be a blessing in the midst of the curse.
Rule 2: If it sounds too good to be true, do it anyway.
So Brian and I finally made it back to the truck. Fortunately for us, we always keep a grooming bag and some freshen-up supplies on deck, cause the ladies don't like men who smell like "all-day-long." After changing clothes, getting back in pimp mode, and hitting the nozzle on the smell good, we were off to hit the club (which, once again, was 12 blocks from where we were.) As we began the trek to the club, we ran into some of the Florida Memorial bruhs. They were ready to get the party jumpin too, so at least we had a group to hang with as we made that 12 block walk.
Well, on the way to the club, we saw a bouncer outside of a smaller establishment. He yelled to us..."You five dudes...come on in right now. It's free of charge."
Now let me put this in context. Out of all the clubs I have ever been to in Miami, I have never gotten in free to any of the ones on South Beach. And if I did, it never happened this easy. I usually had to call someone I know, flirt with the woman taking the money, and pretend to be someone famous and low-key. And that shyt only worked once. So imagine the shock when they were ready to let FIVE DUDES in for the free.
We huddled up.
1) Free entry
2) No Line, no wait
3) We could always leave and hit another one if it isn't poppin.
1) Could be a gay club
2) Could be empty
3) No one had heard of this spot before
4) Sounds too good to be true
With all of that tossed around, we came to a conclusion: F*ck it, let's do it.
We walked into the club, nervous about what may lie on the opposite side of the doorway. And then it happened...
The club was packed, wall to wall, with women. And there were literally NO MEN in the club. (Well the bathroom attendant didn't count.) 200 women, 5 men. Needless to say, the fraternal gods were smiling down on us that evening.
We tried to be calm as we walked into the den of estrogen, but within 5 minutes of us entering the club, the women jumped on us. You see, they weren't leaving the club because it was free, but they were upset that no men were there. So you could just see the mouths watering as they saw us walk into the spot. The music was humpin' too. I think they were playing "Booty Butt Cheeks" or something similar.
Sidenote: I don't know why women have a problem being treated like a piece of meat. Personally, it was one of the more pleasurable experiences of my life. LOL.
After about two hours of being groped and caressed by the supple hands of myriad females, my phone rang. It was Pretty Rickie calling from the other club. Now I know I was wrong for this, especially since we left him on stuck earlier. But I hit ignore.
And I ended up hitting ignore 8 more times before the night was over. Back then, the old school Nokias only had two basic function buttons, and ignore was my favorite that night.
It was four o clock when we left the spot. Not because the club died out, but because we literally couldn't take another lap dance. We walked down to the other club, still amazed and in a state of delirium from the encounters we just had. This is what being young was all about.
Rule 3: If you have fraternal connections, use them.
By the time we made it to the other club, it was going on 5:30 am. We went to a restaurant to eat food, met up with a soror named Quita who lived in Miami, and the group basically chilled out for the next two hours, dreading the 12 block walk back to the truck (somehow, we had wondered another 12 blocks in the opposite direction, so we had more hiking to do.) It was literally 7:30 am when we decided it was time to try and get back to bed before doing it all again the next day.
But that 12 blocks seemed so formidable.
As we set out on our trek, the gods saw fit to help us once again.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pretty Rickie saw a car with an AKA tag on it. Now PR was always "Johnny on the spot" when it came to solving emergency problems. This extended back to our crossing days, which will be discussed in a future blog post. Well, when he saw the car approaching, he devised a nefarious plot to save the day.
"John, you post up on the wall. Quita, you and Brian go hide around the corner. Let me do the talking."
PR flagged the soror down, and she and her friend pulled over to chat with frat. The conversation went something like this.
PR: Hey soror. (To the friend) hey baby girl. Y'all are out kinda early on the block huh?
Soror: Yeah, we are heading home, cause we are tired. Why are you out so early?
PR: We are trying to get to our car. Do you mind helping your pham out?
Soror: For you, bruh...I got you. You know how Lyle Love gets down.
At that point, Rickie yells for us to get in. You should have seen how big her eyes got as she saw four people rush her car to hop in. Now, let me paint the picture:
1997 Toyota Corolla.
Three dudes weighing a total of 768 pounds and a soror added to the mix.
Four people, almost a thousand pounds, in the backseat of a Toyota Corolla.
*Let that sink in for a second*
So we piled in. PR and Big D were on the outsides...I was in the middle. Quita laid across our laps in fetal position, and once we closed the door, you could feel the car drop about 3 inches. I clare fo lawd I think her shocks gave way on the way to the truck. The awkward silence in the car let me know that she felt duped, but I am glad that she still gave us a ride. That is what pham love is for, and if you ever read this soror, we love you for helping us out.
That was the longest ride ever. No one could move an inch, and we were stuck like that for 20 minutes. To add insult to injury, a group of Mexicans drove up next to us. Now, I may be just assuming they were Mexican since they had the Mexican flag painted on their truck...but I know that when they started laughing and pointing at us, the stereotype had just been reversed.
There are many more rules to a good road trip, but ultimately, the idea is to have fun. And we had tons of it. So for everyone going to Memorial Day in Miami, I can only pray that you have half the fun that we had that weekend. Be safe, and hump a little something in honor of your boys 7 D.E.P.
*Fade to Black*