The other day I was invited to the 21st birthday party of my friend Ron's kid brother, Michael. Michael has turned out to be quite the young man, smart as hell, responsible, great taste in Hip Hop, and on top of that he is headed to a prestigious law school pretty soon. It seems like only yesterday I was teaching him the proper way to "knock a motherfucker out", how putting visine in someones drink will get them sick as shit, and teaching him that there is nothing wrong with hitting someone with a chair if the opportunity presents himself. Then immediately I thought, "Damn, me and Ron could have really fucked this kid up. Instead of heading to law school, he could be headed to cell block D, washing the underwear of an ironically nicknamed inmate named Tiny." Thinking about the horrible things that we taught him, I started to feel like a father that abandons a child, and then that kid turns out to be a huge star despite him. Depressing the shit out of myself, I walk around the party and greet everyone, I was having a great time until I came upon Ron and Michael's mother named Jackie. Jackie says, "Who in the fuck invited you anyway?" I smile and say, "It's wonderful to see you too Ms. Smith, boy do you look lovely today!" She grimaces and says, "Fuck you HumanityCritic!!!", and walked away. What was her problem, what did I ever do to her???? Then I realized the problem could have been either one or both of the following: 1. When Ron and I were kids Ms. Smith had a boyfriend that smacked her in front of us one day. Ron and I couldn't have been 14 years old, but we jumped that guy with an anger that could only be rivaled by how one feels after viewing "Mississippi Burning". After that incident he promptly left Ms. Smith and she has blamed us for her failed relationships ever since.. or 2. When Ron and I were teenagers we beat up two individuals that had tried to sexually assault Ron's sister, Rita. They had called the cops on us, but the only guy they could identify was Ron. Even though I told Ron he could say I was with him, thus lessening his penalty, he refused to snitch on me and did a brief stint in a Boys home.(I love him for that.) OK, I can see why she hates me, I get it.
Later on when everyone had left, it was only Ron, Michael, and myself were having a few beers on their deck. Michael kept talking about his eagerness to go out to clubs, experience the nightlife, and meet a shitload of girls. I told him, drunk off my ass that "there are certain rules you should follow when going to clubs youngster!!" He gave me a "shut the fuck up you old bastard" look and said, "What rules do I need to know HumanityCritic??" Here are some of the rules that I had drunkenly told him that night, I hope he takes these incoherent ramblings with a grain of salt.
Bartenders: When it comes to bartenders of the opposite sex, view them like strippers: Don't mistake their kindness as them "liking you!" Just like a stripper, they will smile and endure your horseshit conversation just for the tips, that's all Casanova. Tipping is important, not only because that is how these individuals make the bulk of their money, but there are some selfish benefits also. Keep stiffing that bartender his/her tip and you will see your rum and coke quickly become 85 percent coke in a New York minute. Not only that, but if you continuously hook the bartender up they will throw you free drinks occasionally, or give you a sweet deal when the bill comes, or both. If you are indeed a cheapskate, I advise you buy only bottled beer because there is no way they could water down that, they will just give you shitty looks as they hand it to you, you cheap son of a bitch!
The "DJ": I believe that you treat DJ's like children, in the sense that you have to disciple them or they will run all over you. If the DJ at your local watering hole is bullshit, tell him, or that sorry motherfucker will continue playing Mike Jones records until you feel a homicide coming on, you will have that asshole thinking that the crowd is digging his musical choices. The other night the DJ was playing one of my favorite songs by Prince, "Darling Nikki", the this fool grabs the Mic and proceeds to sing along, badly. I ran up to the both and loudly yelled in his ear, "SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP!", his ass gave me a pissed off look but he got the picture. Or you have DJ's who will play a decent song but they scratch the shit out of it to the point that you can't enjoy it, so if you are a DJ who does this you might need to calm your ass down Kid Capri. Or you have what I call "cock-tease" DJ's, ones who will play a great record but refuse to play the best part of the record. Everyone knows that you play the last verse(Fatlip's verse) in the Pharcyde song "Passing me by", everyone knows you play Busta Rhymes verse in "Scenario", and everyone knows that if you play a Fugees song that not spinning a Lauryn Hill verse will get a turntable smashed over your head.
Bouncers: Even though my history with bouncers is shakier than Robin Williams on a 12 hour crank binge, I try my best to be cool with certain bouncers at bars that I frequent. Being cool with them, learning their names, asking about the family, and having brief conversations with them is sort of an insurance policy for me. For one thing, if you get in a fight while you are at said establishment you won't be the one that the bouncer will be punching in the back of the head when he attempts to break it up. Also, those few times that you are caught sleeping and suddenly realize that you are outnumbered, he will save your ass by throwing the other guys out, thus buying you time to gather the troops and even up the odds a bit. But Michael, if you are reading this let me say that fighting is bad, very bad. Don't do it.
Altercations: For Michael's sake, fighting is never the way to go and it takes more of a man to walk away, just remember that. OK, now that we have that Public Service Announcement out of the way I have a few theories when it comes to bar altercations. If someone comes up in your face talking absolute shit to you, the safe bet, especially now that I am 31 and have long dreadlocks that someone could drag me around by, is to play the "I don't want to fight you, I'm scared as shit" role. Usually the other party acts one of two ways, they either back down and accept the fact that you don't want to fight, or they get overconfident and talk even more shit. If the person does the ladder, you also do one of two things. 1. Immediately try to knock him clean the fuck out, with a staggering punch or a wind taking throatchop. The logic behind this is that it's my opinion that motherfuckers watch too many movies, where both men have lengthy "macho" banter before engaging in fisticuffs. While he is trying to poetically relate how many ways he will whip your ass, interrupt him mid sentence with a punch that his momma can feel. or 2: Continue to play the "scared" role and walk away to buy you some time. The logic behind this is it gives you a chance to size up the situation, see how many guy's he has with him, then react accordingly. The smart choice, for people who aren't as stupid as myself, is gather your shit and go home. Or, you can watch him, see that he is by himself, then quickly pick up a pool stick and test its durability by smashing it over his vertebrae. (By all means people, hit him with the solid end, didn't any of you see "Roadhouse"? Jesus..)
Jealous Boyfriends: Even though I have my faults, and lord knows I have many, one thing that I am proud of is the fact that I have never been a jealous boyfriend.(I have an ex who reads this blog that would disagree with the previous sentence, but I think that any man would want to beat a dude senseless who tried to serenade his girl in front of him. His nickname is "Jedi" and you better believe that he would have "felt the force" that day.) Sorry for the rant. I never understood jealousy, especially in a club, because if a guy looks at my lady I feel good because "I" am the one who is going home with her that night, not him, so who cares. I also never understood guys who express their jealousy to you by saying, "What in the fuck are you looking at?", when their girlfriend is wearing next to nothing. I mean, his dumb ass knew that his girl is out in public showing off her best stripper uniform, either deal with it or ask her to change into something less "prostitutey". When I was staring at a woman who literally had a see-through shirt exposing her breasts, her boyfriend had the audacity to say, "What are you looking at?" I took a swig of my drink, looked at him and said, "I was staring at her tits, I thought the visible erection and me salivating like pavlov's dog was a dead giveaway. How much did that run you anyway?" Or this one time when a guy got in my face and said, "What in the fuck are you looking at??" when I was staring at his girlfriends incredibly short skirt. It was "I could basically see her asscheeks" short. I simply replied, "Judging by the length of her skirt, I'm trying to see how long it would take me to actually see her ovaries." After saying all of that, I really hope that Michael continues to not take my advice.