Friday, July 09, 2010

The 7 D. E. P. Chronicles: Where's The Beef

*Juke turns the radio, and the sounds of Lloyd Banks's "Beamer Benz or Bentley" comes across the speakers.*

I've never been to jail.  That is something that, at the age of 29, is a good thing to be able to say.  That is not to say that I have never done anything that could have landed me in jail. (Then again, I really haven't, in retrospect.)  But I can say this...I hang with some real killas, and some real criminally minded individuals, so don't test me.

It's always good to have those types of people on your team, and each one should have a niche.  For example, Deep Phreeze is the money man...you give him dirty money, he will clean it for you like brand new.  Ice Tre...he's the enforcer.  He knows how to set plans in motion and trim the dead weight when others aren't pulling their weight.  And Black Ice...well, he's the getaway driver.  His job is simple...make sure that we all get home in one piece. 

Doesn't mean it can't be adventurous while doing it...

The Run-In With Elsie

It was a wonderful fall evening, and the brothers of 7 D.E.P., along with their revered prophytes, decided to make a trip to Macon, GA to hang out with the bruhs from Gamma Zeta (at Fort Valley).  The mission was simple...we were going to kick it with pham, hunch on a few freshman women, and then come back to Albany.  (Seems like hunching on chicks in the club will be a recurring theme, but hey...don't judge.)  The evening, as I remember it, was a crunk one.  Club Money, which has to be the most blatantly coonerific name for a club, was jumping, and the girls were all over ya boys, just as they should be.  It was a night that would be a dream to most people, but for men as suave and debonair as our line, it was another day in the life.

Well, after the party, we kicked it a bit with the bruhs from FVSU.  There was some libations being consumed, a few friendly challenges here and there (and Bear, you still won't admit that I chumped ya, big brother), and some overall good times being shared.  As we saddled up to leave for home, Black Ice and Silent Ice-sassin cranked up the vehicles and prepared for us to head home.

*PAUSE*

The following sequence of events was not done with the best consideration to safety or common sense, so do not attempt any of these feats at home.

*PLAY*

Because we trusted Black Ice with our lives, we all took the liberty of falling asleep with the confidence that BI would get us back home safely.  Somewhere between stage 1 and stage 2 of REM sleep patterns, I heard BI yell...

"Oh shyt!"

I woke up just in time to see the car barreling towards, of all things, a cow in the middle of the road.  Now, granted, the cow was dead, so it was laying on it's side and therefore wasn't as dangerous as if it was standing straight up in the road.  But still...it was a freaking cow.

The key to being a good getaway driver is split second decision making.  Now BI had several choices.  He could have easily swerved left, but that may have put us in a ditch.  He could have swerved right, but we would have hit another car.  He could have simply hit the brakes, but that was too much like right.

His decision...he decided to gun it and jump the cow...in a Honda Civic...with passengers in the car...doing 90 mph.

So as we hit the poor bovine, the car goes in the air, somewhat reminiscent of the Dukes of Hazard and the General Lee.  Time stood still during this accidental liftoff, and somewhere in the background, I could hear the narrator taking us to a commercial break.  Once we landed, Black pulled the car over and we sat there in amazement.

"What the *&%! did you just hit?" I said, still dazed and confused.

"I think I just hit a cow."

We looked under the car, and all kinds of hooves and beef meat were dangling from the undercarriage.  To make matters worse, the bottom of the car was burning hot, so for the rest of the ride home, we smelled the delightful smell of dead cowskin cooking on the bottom of the car.

To this day, we still don't know why Black decided to take that option, but as it turns out, he has a penchant for choosing the most exciting (even if the most dangerous) outcomes when he has to make a choice.

One Times Got No Chase

About a year or so later, Black Ice and I were traveling to Columbus, GA for the FVSU/ASU Fountain City Classic.  This game pits Albany State University against its perennial football rival, Fort Valley State University.  The game is usually the centerpiece for a weekend of debauchery and no-goodness, and we are always desirous of being in the belly of that beast.

On the way home, Black and I were reminiscing over the ignorance that the weekend had brought us.  The big chicks and Que pearls who were trying to get at us...the fraternities fighting their own members at the game...and the chicks with matching neon beige hair weaves.  This was before the advent of reliable camera phones, so memories would be all that we could retain from the weekend.

Somewhere during the process of reminscing, Black Ice didn't realize that he was doing 95 miles an hour.  It wasn't until a police officer, traveling on the other side of the median, flashed his lights at BI that he realized that he was speeding.

*PAUSE*

The following sequence of events was not done with the best consideration to safety or common sense, so do not attempt any of these feats at home.

*PLAY*

"Oh shyt!" Black exclaimed.  Turns out that whenever he says this phrase, the next few minutes will be life changing.

Now Black had options.  He could have hit the brakes and taken the hint.  He could have even gradually taken his foot off the gas and coasted to a reasonable speed. But like all of BI's driving decisions, he went to the more exciting option.

Instantly, we are doing 110 mph.  Why this dude thought that gunning it would be the best decision, I WILL NEVER KNOW.  All I know is...in my mind, I saw the police beating us, sodomizing the driver with a night stick, and then dumping us off somewhere on highway 82. (Yeah, I know that was a little much, but you gotta realize...Oz was still on TV at the time, so all of those possibilities run through your head when dealing with police and the justice system.)

"What are you doing?" I yelled, as I saw the police car attempt to turn around in our rearview.

"I got a home boy that lives up here by Turner's furniture.  If we make it to his crib, we straight."

As we reach the subdivision where Black's friend lived, my heart was racing about as fast as the car.  We pulled into the driveway of his friend's home, shut off the lights, and leaned our seats back.  The whole time, I prayed to God to just let us get home safely.  Meanwhile, my driver is thinking...

"You think they spotted us?"

"WTF you think, dude?"

"Well, I just know I can't get anymore speeding tickets, so I had no choice."

This kind of thinking is what usually gets people arrested in all of the movies. Fortunately for us, after waiting for about 30 minutes, we were able to slowly make our way back to Albany.  I spent the next 30 minutes on the side of my bed, giving thanks that the night turned out in our favor.  Clearly, someone upstairs didn't think that this night was the night for us to be victims of police brutality.

Conclusion

Ultimately, Black Ice has never failed at his job.  He always gets us some safely, and he is the best wheelman in the business.  Still, my mind thinks back to some of the mishaps that we have had, and Iam convinced of one thing...

You always need God as your co-pilot, especially if Black Ice is your driver.

*Fade to Black*

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