In The Club
My Labor Day weekend went off without a hitch. I got things done, I ran errands, I partied, I potlucked. There were so many people in town that I had to schedule my weekend activities on Outlook. I got new followers, new “friends”, new subscribers and nobody got arrested; it was a win.
The highlight of my weekend was the night I had at the club on Saturday. I knew there were going to be a lot of people in town, so I wanted to roll deep in the club and stunt, flex, rage and go ham. I decided to invite everyone to the club with a “diverse crowd” that Saturday. I knew the novelty and energy of the venue would provide the right mood to celebrate these laborious days. Once I started getting confirmation texts, the next plan was afoot. You see, most club experiences are wack. For me at least. Unless, of course, I get THE SECTION. You know The Section. That spot in the club that isn’t quite VIP, but is still perfect for posting, dancing, drinking, sitting, EVERYTHING. I needed that section and I would do anything that night make sure that my friends and I owned it.
My party and I arrived at the club later that night. We entered the first floor and a cover band was performing an Outkast song (I love that). We went upstairs to the dancefloor and the place was already crowded. I looked to the left and The Section was still kind of open. It was a small, 40×40 foot stage next to the DJ booth, and it was where we needed to be. Some of my people were still “on their way”, so I didn’t have enough bodies to properly Deebo the stage and there were hundreds of White people flowing in with LMFAO thumping through their ears.
My crew was only five-deep and White girls were beginning to dance on much needed posting areas. That phenomenon where White women veer away from groups of Black men does exist when the Black Eyed Peas are playing. My homegirls from out of town weren’t even in the club yet, and I wasn’t trying to have White people spilling beer on my friends, they wouldn’t react well. Something had to change quickly.
Luckily for us, the DJ started mixing things up a bit and suddenly I heard a voice over the speakers that resembled someone trying to talk while eating a sandwich. It was Rick Ross, and things were about to get real gangsta. Don’t let a group of Black dudes get to swagging out on some hood Rick Ross track. I looked around and started noticing that the White people in the crowd were moving away from the Black folk getting hood.
I realized what I had to do. I had to get gully. No more Dougie, and certainly no more fist-pumping; just posted like a G with my mean mug.
As you might have guessed, White women were turning 180 degrees and going in the other direction (Black guy turning White women away. We killing stereotypes outchea.). The next thing I knew, we damn near had the whole stage to ourselves, and the rest of the crew was just arriving. We ended up 15-deep in The Section and we went in. I looked across the crowd and saw another section filled with Black people. One of them raised their drink in my direction.
The same behaviors and attitudes I dissociate from in the office to keep Kathy or whomever from misunderstanding me, are the same ones that gave us an upper hand at the club. Manipulate perception and the possibilities are endless.