Oh You Comfy Huh?: “My Neighborhood”

Oh You Comfy Huh?

I rode with some of my homegirls  to a nightclub in Atlanta this past weekend.  We were full off of beer and wings, and a parking spot was available right in front of the club. Winning.  The parking space was kind of small, so the girl who was driving was having some trouble fitting her car in.  On her third attempt, a White guy in a draw-string linen shirt, a blonde hair treatment and Moses-sandals walked from the White bar next door and  up to my window.  He tapped on the window and I rolled it down.  He brought his head down and said to my friend in the driver’s seat,

“You’re f*cking it up from step one!  What the f*ck are you doing?!  Can you drive?  What’s wrong with you?”

At which point, I had to tell dude to fall back.  I told my friend to ignore him while she parked the car.  The White guy was still standing outside of the bar, so I hopped out of the car and told dude that he needed to chill the fuck out.

To which he responded,

“Well, this is my neighborhood.  I’m just watching out for things.”

And yes. He put emphasis on “my”.

At that moment, I was already thinking of different ways to knock out this Tommy Bahama racist.  But I knew better than that.  Punching him in the face would likely lead to a ruined night, an uncontrollable brawl and/or jail time.  None of which was I particularly willing to risk.  So I just said, “What’d you mean by that?  What do you mean it’s your neighborhood?”  The dude flashed a smirk to his friends in the bar, said, “It’s just my neighborhood,” and shrugged…

"Dont go to jail. Dont go to jail. Dont go to jail..."

My mind writhed with so many thoughts that I could hardly speak.  We were in Atlanta, Georgia.  A city that has had only Black mayors since 1973.  A city that’s 54% Black.  And this guy still feels like he owns the place.

All minorities should be aware of the dangers of this illegitimate sense of ownership.


 We weren’t in front of this White guy’s house, we were at a club that was surrounded by15 other bars and clubs.  All of that shit was his neighborhood?  Well damn.


My deep thought was interrupted by a frantic voice saying,

“Come on guys.  Let’s not do this!”

I looked to my left and there was a Black guy with an unpicked afro, a faded Old Navy t-shirt and Skechers standing on the steps of the bar.  I hadn’t noticed him standing there the whole time, watching the potential catastrophe ensue.  Jägermeister and Hennesy could be smelled in the air, echoes of Nickleback and Young Jeezy resonated down the block; he knew that nothing good could come from adding racial confrontation.  The sincerity in the Black guy’s voice brought me back to Earth.  I realized that the White guy was simply scared.  Scared of losing his precious comfort.  Scared of the fact that the club next door seems to have more and more Black people every weekend.  It’s ironic how White people throughout history have taken over countless cultures and countries, and yet so many of them currently fear other  races “taking over”.

There goes the neighborhood

When I thought how hilarious that was, the racist-“my neighborhood”- dude just seemed infantile and idiotic. Sobered and grounded, I looked at the White guy and said as I walked into the club,

“Watch the car.  I’m about to make myself comfortable,”

Nice neighborhood.

3 Responses to “Oh You Comfy Huh?: “My Neighborhood””
  1. L.A. says:

    Great ending to the story.

  2. @TheKnatureBoy says:

    Lol, were you near Hole in the Wall?

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