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Out of Place but What an Adventure

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no whites

I was in a restaurant by myself with my laptop open, having lunch. Two men were at the bar laughing, their energy effusive. Upon leaving the bar, one stopped by my table and struck up a conversation. We chatted a short while and he said,

“If you ever get to [city], look me up. I would love to show you the town and all the hot spots. It’s fun to hang out with people who have good energy and you do.”‘

We exchanged cell phone numbers. (This one wasn’t SUPPOSED to be a date.) He would call me periodically to inquire if I had any plans to get to the city. Finally I said yes, I would be in town and we could go out. My children had plans, the youngest with his father, and I was giddy with my freedom. I wanted to be shown the BIG CITY — go out dancing to fancy clubs, stay out late, and other big city things I cannot do in my sleepy little town.

booked a hotel and explained to him that I would be staying in my own hotel, and that this was not a date per se. (My prior naiveté in these situations still makes me cringe when I remember situations I got myself into thinking NOTHING of it. Now, I am all about full disclosure!) On the long drive there, I was chatting with my girlfriend who said,

“You are driving xxx miles away, to meet a man you know nothing about, you don’t even know his last name, and you don’t know where you are going. Is that correct?”

“Um, well. Yeah, I guess… you are right. Oh Shit!! What do I do now?! I know, I’ll take a picture of his license plate and text it to you. At least you will know where to look for my dismembered body parts.”

And that’s what I did. Sneakily I took a picture of his license plate when I sauntered to his car. Of course, in my clumsiness, I cut off half of it! Luckily for me however, his license plate was his name. Hardly the modus operandi advertising campaign of a serial rapist. 

He took me to a bar on the questionable side of town. (Think East Detroit.) Not the fancy, glitzy nightclubs you see on TV that I thought he was going to weave me through in my “paint the town red” tour he described. My first sign should have been when he had to tell two doorman, “She’s OK; she’s with me.” What the hell does THAT mean? We go inside, grab a seat at the bar and the woman to my right hisses,

“That seat is taken.”

“Oh I am sorry.” I relayed to my new friend that the seats we were in were taken. He replied,

“Don’t worry about it; sit down.” ?????????? Are you sure? Ok. I sit down.

This woman with 9″ fingernails (NO artistic license or exaggeration used here; they were 9″ long!!) continues to mad-dog eye me. I was fascinated thinking about how she zipped her pants, picked her nose, picked up a quarter. Hell, how did she masturbate without piercing a body part? In fact, I was mad-dog eyed by ALL the women in there… and some of the men, for that matter.

Determined to make the best of the evening, after several drink later and earning respect on the dance floor, I took a break to go outside to the smoking deck. Striking up a conversation at a table of mixed men and women, I asked,

“What the hell is up with this reverse discrimination and calling me the ‘white girl’?” 

“This is an all black bar because we want it this way. These women think you are stealing their man (men) and they will fight you for them.” OOOKKKKAAAYYY. Dismembered body parts. License plate.  Trail….


Filed under: dating, identity Tagged: black clubs, Dating, discrimination, private clubs, reverse discrimination, standing out

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