The Year: 2000
The City: Orlando, Fl
The Players: Obi Wan Bendover, Poopy Pants, Darth Pimpin’

Nightclubs are a funny thing. I can remember when Obi Wan and I first started clubbin together. Let me tell you, we did it in style. None of this low budget ‘I can’t do too much cause I aint got no money’ clubbin. I’m talking balls out, dropping loads of cash every time we hit the spot. We were men among boys. No… Scratch that, gods among ants. I hear people all the time talking about how they were ‘ballin’ at the club’. Look, just cause you and your 8 friends split a hotel room in Vegas and yall took pictures all night at the club does not qualify as you as a baller. In fact, realistically, I never was big on taking pictures when I went out. If any of my nights out were photo-documented, it’s because some cat or some chick had the presence of mind to bring a retarded ass bulky digital camera for posterity. It’s been said ‘we take pictures so we can remember’, but honestly, if you come away with 150 pics from one night out, you really didn’t do much partying. You were posin’ tryin to get enough fodder to give everyone on MySpace the impression that you know how to have a good time. It works on some people, but not on the professionals, k? You wanna talk clubbin, then you talk to me about the time you and your dawgs were sitting in your office a few days before Memorial Day Weekend and decided on the spur of the moment to fly out to London just to play. Talk to me about being in France partying until 5AM, knowin damn full well your dumb ass has to be at work in 2.5 hours surrounded by stinky Frenchmen with no patience for arrogant Americans. Talk to me about your motorcycle entourage 21 deep racing across Florida to get to South Beach on a Friday night after work, not having any clue where you’re gonna sleep because you KNOW that you’re gonna end up meetin some cool peeps and crashin at their pad. And it’s not because we’re special, or try hard. It’s because we figured out a secret most of you don’t know. We just didn’t give a ****. Life was all about the NOW. Tomorrow was not in the contract, homie, you better make your mark today! That’s how we lived. Granted, we made a little more money than the average 20 somethings… OK, we made more than the average 40 somethings, but that wasn’t what it was all about. It was about having no fear, and knowing that talking about it didn’t make memories. Taking pictures all night took away from playtime. We had a job to do. We had to **** some **** up. Now, some nights were less spectacular than others obviously. Sometimes we did our solo thing, either because we needed a break from the “show”, or maybe we were out scouting new places for future nights of debauchery. One such night, I went out scouting new frontiers. The club was called Antigua. It was the new hot spot in downtown Orlando, and I’d never been. Obi was never big on going to new spots unless there was a review, but I was always eager to check out the unknown, so this night, I went solo. Let me tell you, the club was hot…

Have you ever noticed that relationships that begin in nightclubs, regardless of the nature of them, usually end in nightclubs? This is one of those deals.

I was chillin at the bar, minding my own business, checking out the vibe, mentally recording the décor, the music, the drink selections and prices. I was scouting, after all… All of a sudden, my view of the hot Cuban and Puerto Rican girls on the dance floor was obstructed by a pack of girls dancing just off the dance floor. Why do chicks travel in packs? Safety in numbers? Hmph… Anyway… My attention was quickly captured by one girl out of the group. Can I be honest? This girl was fine…. She was perfectly sculpted. Short, long auburn hair, green eyes, fair skin, and the details of her flawless body are for my memories only, guys. But that’s not where it ended. She owned the dance floor. She moved with a rhythm and smoldering sexuality that got every brothas attention in the club that night. Believe me, many tried, and many failed. I was actually having a blast just sitting back and watching busta after busta roll up on her and get shot down. It was like watching one of those bug zappers in the south in the summertime. Dumb ass bugs never seem to pay attention to the flies and moths before them, they just keep ****in’ flyin head first into the light, only to end up face up on the bottom of a damn plastic catch pan. I’m an arrogant bastard, but I have my pride, I was damn sure not about to be brotha 952 that got zapped. **** that, I’m not even here for that tonight anyway.

But… I couldn’t help myself. If you know me, you know I am a glutton for punishment. I have to try. But before I made any kind of move, I had to craft a strategy that would let me save face if she wasn’t feelin me. I thought of being charming, being “hard”, just dancing up on her… Nah, everyone was doin that. Somewhere between choosing which words to say, and whether or not I was going to do this on the floor or wait for her to get to the bar, I remembered something. I really don’t give a ****. What’s the absolute worst that could happen? She says no? OK, and? I had to get up and go to work the next morning either way, so chances are, I’d probably forget any potential embarrassment in an hour or two. Man, the power of positive thinking was real that night, because as soon as I finished thinking about how much I didn’t really give a damn if she talked to me or not, I looked up and she was walking right towards the area of the bar that I was occupying. What ****in luck!

So there we were, inches away from each other. Hell, I didn’t have to walk to her. I did exactly what any other abstract and random brotha like me would have done (which would be absolutely none)… I bent down to her eye level, stared in her eyes, totally straight faced and said the following words “Please, don’t stand so close to me. There’s plenty of bar over there. You smell funny”.

Yeah. Right. You’re thinking “I woulda slapped your retarded ass”. Truthfully, I have no idea what possessed me to say that, and I wondered for a split second if I’d just effectively ruined any chance at a conversation. But then, she looked at me with no small amount of confusion and bewilderment, and told me to go **** myself. Heh… This was going well. I laughed, relaxed, and touched her arm and shook my head. “I’m just kiddin, ok, I saw you doggin out every other brotha on the dance floor, and I just wanted to distinguish myself from the rest of them. If I’m gonna get blown off, it’s gonna be on MY terms, and not YOURS.” Surprisingly, this not only got a laugh from her, but also her friends as well. Ahhh… Laughter is the best medicine I tell you…

“Cute…” she replied

“I know…” was my retort as I paid for my drink, nodded to her, and walked away to an empty table near the dance floor. I tell you, the rest of the night, she stared me down. I resisted the urge to talk to her until the moment was right. That moment was delivered to me in a red bow by a backwoods Florida boy with a mouth full of gold teef. He was persistent, I’ll give him that, but there was a point where he was starting to cross the line. Sensing my moment of opportunity, I rose from my seat, walked over to her, and gently wrapped my arm around her waist in a non threatening way. The 5’9” Trick Daddy wannabe looked up and me, and of course started his apologies.

“You just have no damn sense at all, do you?” She laughed.

“Not a ****in drop” I smiled back…

Needless to say, the rest was history, we talked, laughed, danced, drank and at the end of the night, exchanged numbers, and went our separate ways. The next day, I called. She was cool. I have to tell you, it started off well. She was not only beautiful, but she had her own place, a nice ride, a decent job, and was equal parts sophisticated and hood. Hell, she even taught me a thing or two about Reggae. It was great. We became friends quickly, and there was no need for any panty chasing, because honestly, I thought we clicked on a pretty cool level.

the narrative's got movement and sass. i liked the line starting in a nightclub and ending there but you don't tell how it ended in the nightclub. so i felt there should be more. ah well, call me greedy.