The 7 D.E.P. Chronicles: When Wingman Goes Wrong

*Juke puts a quarter into the juke box and selects a song worthy of this blog.  The song: Body and Soul by Anita Baker*

Greetings readers.

So I have decided to revamp my old blog and use it to release some creative energy.  I have had a lot on my mind lately, both good and not-so-good, that I feel I need to get on paper before my time expires.  So today, I present the first installment of the 7 D.E.P. chronicles.  I hope you enjoy.

Before I begin, maybe I should tell you what 7 D. E. P. is.  7 D. E. P. is the line name I share with six other men who, on Dec. 1st 2001, enter the brotherhood of Alpha Phi Alpha through the Delta Delta chapter at Albany State University.  The D. E. P. stands for De'phi'ant Elite Pharaohs, and I don't know if the prophytes knew exactly how accurate that name would grow to be, but we lived up to it.  To this day, we are still supportive and protective of each other, and I honestly couldn't have seen myself on a line with any other brothers other than these gentlemen.

WITH THAT SAID...These muthafuggas have gotten me into some major situations at times.  This especially applies to Rickie Frazier and Brian Dawson.  So these excerpts are my attempt to catalogue the memories that I share with these fellas and to share with you, the viewing audience, exactly how innocent I was before I started dealing with these dudes.

When Wingman Goes Wrong

Rickie (aka Black Ice, aka Big Rick, aka Pretty Rickie, aka Westside Pimpin') has probably been the one LB that I have roadtripped with the most...primarily because we didn't have shyt to do during our last year at ASU. So whenever there was a party to attend, we were there.  (See, the key to being a true scholar is the ability to enjoy life while learning...and we did that often.)

The Alphas at Ft. Valley had a party scheduled, and like any good brothers, we decided that we needed to be in that number.  We loaded up Rickie's truck and headed to the Valley in search of some ignorance and mayhem, and based on the previous track record with the Ft. Valley parties, we knew some good ol' hunchin' and maybe a few lap dances from the wonderful FVSU freshmen girls would be in order. (Don't judge...this was undergrad).

BOY WERE WE WRONG.

We got there, and there were 7 bruhs, a DJ, and 5 young ladies.  No dancing was going on.  None of the legendary hunching that usually accompanies the undergrad parties.  Just a bunch of empty space and sad faces.  But we drove an hour and a half to get there, so Rick and I decided to make the most of it.

As we walked through the party, I saw my LB stop dead in his tracks. There she was...the most beautiful young lady that (up to that point) he had ever seen. (As a side note, my LB is married now, so obviously, he found somebody more beautiful, but at the time, this was the pinnacle.)  As he gazed at her, their eyes locked, and for some reason I started hearing Strawberry Letter 22 by Brothers Johnson playing in the background.  It was something out of a movie of sorts.

Rick made his move towards the young lady, and they began chatting.  There was an instant connection, primarily because there were NO OTHER CHICKS to connect with.  Her name was Dee, and she was, in her words, "happy to see some sexy, suave, and debonair young men finally show up at the event. " (Of course I am paraphrasing, but it was something similar.) But beside every beautiful, attractive young lady is a hating ass friend that is always "ret to go."  And that is why you have a wingman.

*pause*
Lesson for the ladies:  Fellas have an understanding with each other that (unless the men are married or in serious relationships) we will play wingman for our homeboys in order to facilitate conversation.  This is in the Man's Handbook pg 4, section 2a: "How to deal with cockblockers."  Use that to your advantage next time your friend's watch is stuck on H8 o clock.
*play*

So instantly, I do what good brothers do...I take the friend to the side and begin chatting with her.  We start talking a bit, and I throw out the charm in order to make her feel better about being at this social gathering of picayune proportions. The understanding was that I would chat with her while Rick worked his magic. Overall, it should have been about 30 minutes at the most.

We start talking about the basics: she was Christian, a junior in college, really funny and smart...almost perfect. She was into me, and enjoyed the fact that besides being light-skint, bow-legged, and cute-faced...I also treated her with respect during this meeting.  Of course, as the time drew to a close, I started to wrap up the conversation by exchanging numbers with her.  This would signal to Rick that it was time to end things, and we could make our next move.

That's when I see this mf-er driving off with Dee, leaving me on stuck. 

With almost impeccable timing, the friend (which we will call Q) begins to tell me all the reasons why she is single. And believe me, the list was long.

Now I have a theory that crazy people KNOW they are crazy, and therefore have developed ways to hide it until the right time.  And for her, the right time was now, since I had no ride, couldn't leave, and had to listen to her chat.  She starts telling me how she was on two different anti-depressants to keep her mood elevated, how she always felt sheltered by her parents since they were preachers, and how God led me into her life that night for a reason.

I love God, but he and I gotta work on our communication, cause I did NOT get that memo.

I start getting edgy now because she is basically letting me know, in so many words, that at any moment she could mentally go bye-bye, and I wasn't sure that I was ready for that.  Well, the party ended at that time, and I was forced to sit in the car with her until Rick came back. (Incidentally, it was two hours before he actually came back.)  While in the car, I am trying to look straight ahead, and she is staring down the side of my face. 

So she asks me what kind of music I like.  I said Anita Baker.  Who knew that I just happened to be sitting next to the BIGGEST ANITA BAKER FAN ever.  And when I say the biggest fan, I mean, she was a member of the fan club, dues paid and all. Why the hell did I say Anita Baker?

For the next hour and a half, I was treated to a solo concert of all of Anita's greatest hits.  I didn't even realize Anita had that many songs, but I heard each and every hit.  It got so bad that she began to sing the ones that NO ONE REMEMBERS a capella.  All the while, I am sneaking to text Rick to tell him to bring his ass on, but of course, this was during the time of the old school Nokia phones, so there was no way that he would get the text in time.

Finally, this dude decides to come back.  I jump out the car, jump in his truck, wave to Q and Dee, and say "Rick, let's go."  I didn't say anything to this dude for about 30 mins into the ride home, but I was just glad to be done with the situation. (Or so I thought.)

For the next week, this girl called me every three hours of every day. I woke up to a phone call from her, ate breakfast with her calling. Lunch time...same thing.  I couldn't take it.  That's when I learned a valuable lesson: do not give out your phone number during the first conversation if you can help it. Like Chris Rock said, you are not meeting the real person...you are meeting their representative.

I tried ignoring her texts, but she would just call Rick and curse him out as a surrogate, and he would relay the message to me.  I tried ignoring her calls, but *67 is a powerful tool for blocking your number.  Finally, I told her to never call me anymore, and hung up. I didn't want to be mean, but clearly, the message was not being received.

To this day, I still wonder if she ever got the help she needed.  But I am glad that heifer left me alone.  Being a brother to your LBs has many perks, but every so often, you have to do somethings that you just simply wouldn't want to do.  With that said, I am glad Rickie found the love of his life and married her, cause I don't think I could survive another outing like this on his behalf.