Ignorance Is Contagious!

Take 1: The Wing Man

The Story, by Abdul Majid

In February of 2004 during New York's fashion week, a friend of mine (who will remain nameless) calls me up and asks me to do him a favor. He said he's been talking to this woman who is a model for a couple of weeks, but she won't go out with him unless she can bring her cousin. He wanted to use my "man pretty" visage to keep her cousin occupied while he tries his full court press on the model. Now, I normally don’t do things like this because the role of the wingman is a thankless job that never seems to play out the way you've envisioned it in your mind. It’s tantamount to being cannon fodder for every war a black man has participated in that preceded segregation, and I ain’t about to be Crispus Attucks (and if you don’t know who he is you should be ashamed of yourself…but that’s exactly my point).
 
Trepidatiously I agreed to the date for two of the following reasons: 1. I'm thinking if she's a model, video ass shaker or otherwise, then her cousin must be off the meat rack (and by meat rack I mean an abundance of ass and titties…you usually take an L on the face…BBD said “You can’t trust a big butt and a smile,” but big titties have always been pretty trustworthy in my book). 2. My (so called) boy is gassing me up on some high octane shit about how fine she is. So poof pow, two days later we go to Harlem to hang out in the models apartment where I get to meet her zaftig, if not buxom, cousin for the first time.
 
We get to the apartment, and as I’m reciting to myself “Big money no whammies”, over and over, my boy knocks on the door and I hear a pleasant voice that says “Coming.” The door swings open and there stands the cousin. This (alleged) woman stood around 5'10, looked like Akon and was built like Karl Malone (yes nigga the Mailman). So right about now I'm fucking Yosemite Sam upset! My first impulse was to get on my Harriet Tubman shit and run for my freedom, but I’ve watched one too many “When animals attack” videos so I know what a wild bear can do to fleeing prey…so I just stood there trying to make no sudden movements. 
 
So instead of me deserting his ass like a slave fighting for the Confederacy (and against his personal interest), me being the good wing man that I am, I go along with this human sacrifice and walk myself into this Mel Gibson, Apocalypto ritual chamber of death. The evening goes off with out a hitch…or as well as a Death Row Records audition can go as you wait for the inevitable beat down. Towards the end of the night, everybody’s drinking alcohol (except me), feeling comfortable (except me), so we start to play a game of spades…
 
….but before I finish this story, here is a quick PSA…Never do anything on a first introduction that you wouldn’t normally do in any regular circumstance.  I haven’t had coffee in years, but that night I was so tired from the let down that I tried one of those espresso shots and maaaaan I was wired…but then 30 minutes later I crashed and was more tired than before I drank the damn thing.  So by the end of the night, I wound up drinking four more of those things just to stay even and I got all twitchy, sweaty and whatnot. I looked like a straight heroin (pronounced hair-ron) addict…and then came the shits…and that motherfucka was violent…I’m talking roid rage violent…I’m talking Suge Knight violent…it felt like my ass was holding Vanilla Ice over a balcony by his ankles…and then it killed Biggie.  So routine is of the utmost importance when doing anything for the 1st time…and now back to the story already in progress…
 
Now, already irritated by the nights events (and gastric trauma), during the game of spades the cousin, who for the sake of the story we'll call “Deebo,” reneged on a hand. I immediately call her on it and an argument ensues.

Me
Yo, you just reneged

Deebo
(With an attitude)
No I didn't

Me
Yes you did. You cut my diamond two hands ago and you just threw out a diamond.

Deebo
No I didn't. You just mad cuz you loosing.

Me
Nigga check your books

Deebo
I ain't checkin’ shit.

Me
Then I ain't playing

Deebo
Look I'm tired of "argering" so I'ma be "Pacific" when I say this....it's just a game so if we playing lets play.

Me
(Confused)
You gonna be Pacific? Like the ocean nigga?

Deebo
(With an attitude)
That's what I said!

Me
You win.

Ignorance is contagious people.....learn when to say when.

You can’t pick your family but you can pick your friends so choose wisely.

The Life Lesson, by James LeGrand

True friends are willing to do almost anything for one another as long as there is honesty and trust between them.  Betray that trust, and you might lose a friend.

In this situation, one friend was not fully honest with the other on what to expect in this dating experience.  When expectations don’t match the reality, discomfort is often the result.  One friend selfishly gets what they want in the situation (the ability to date the model) while the other friend is left feeling lied to, taken advantage of, and unwilling to trust that friend in the future.

Dates come and go, but true friendships are rare and difficult to come by.  If we are willing to sabotage our truest friendships over the temporary pleasure a date might bring, then what else are we willing to sacrifice our friendships for?  In the end, is it really worth losing a true friend’s trust over something so fleeting?

The lesson here is that when you have a friend that is willing to support you and your ambitions, you owe it to them to give them the facts in an honest and straight-forward way.  Without that level of straight-forward communication, you won’t have that friend available as your wing man (or wing woman) in the future.