You would think by now, (after four years at NYU) I was used to being one of the only Black people in various social and sadly academic settings. However, I received a rude awakening about two months ago when I went out for one of my good friends birthdays and I’m pleased to inform everyone that I will be returning my token card. I am no longer here for it, I’m sorry. If you would like to invite me anywhere from now on, I’ll ask you to find some poor Negro and invite them along to be my companion because this is just exhausting. Either that or you can come up to 125th street and hang with me.
Let’s get into the tale shall we. I was really excited to see my friend. I hadn’t seen her since her epic holiday party at the beginning of December and honestly I was becoming a hermit due to the “immediate ashyness, frigid death weather” that’s been blowing thru NYC. I decided to brave the cold and trek downtown to grab drinks with her for her birthday and that ladies and gentlemen was my first grave mistake.
When I finally arrived at the Jane Hotel after walking across some three avenues (of course it was that pungent time of night when there are literally NO CABS available) I was already OVER IT. I had on a skirt and i didn’t even have on my appropriate coat because I called myself being cute (SMH, that was my second grave error). Of course the place was slave ship packed so we all hopped in cabs to make our way over to The Park (another venue close by). Now don’t get me wrong its a stunning venue, and I’m sure I would enjoy being bougie in the atmosphere on a warm spring day. However, when it comes to nightlife and club interaction. I will NEVER again be here for it.
I should have realized as I was getting my arm stamped that the only people around that looked like me were the bouncers. I probably should have pulled up a stool and sat outside with them smh.
Anyways once we all shuffled in (after placing the gentlemen strategically around us so that we all got thru in a timely manner :/… I can’t) we all headed over to the coat check. My third grave error of the evening. This is when the “angry black woman” started brewing inside of me. Literally Uncle Ben from the rice box was taking our coats. Now, The Park is a relatively young place (I would estimate that most people are under 30), so why was somebody letting their old as dirt uncle work at this place for these bratty ass NYU grads?!! I was so pressed. What totally set me off even more was the fact that when I FINALLY got up to the front of the line the poor man’s tip bucket wasn’t even full.
But that isn’t was took the cake, NO MA’AM. I am turning in my token card because of last grave and final error of the evening which involved me screaming at the bartender.
I’m still cold at this point and I kind of wish I was snuggled up in bed watching Bridesmaids, but alas its my good friends bday so I’m attempting not to have an attitude. I saunter up to the bar to order my drank and the bartender asks to see my stamped wrist. I hold up my hand to him and he tells me he doesn’t see anything. I look down, and where everyone else has a loud black stamp I have a faint ashy ass few lines. I try to explain to the bartender that I am Black and also very chocolate skinned so the ish isn’t showin up on me. He proceeds to catch a tude’ with me and tells me that I either need to try and get closer so he can try and look at it better or I won’t be getting a drink. Now girl…., I’m usually not the one to go off on people but I gave him a smooth piece of my mind. I do recall bellowing out “I’m Black bitch, I suggest next time you get a phuckin pennant marker outside”.
Needless to day I’ve pretty much put myself on punishment since then. There is a reason I chose to leave in Harlem and I’ll pretty much be remaining here, with my peeps at least until the weather is tolerable
xoxox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxox