Redemption Of The Wrong Black Girl

He’s got the wrong black girl, he’s got the wrong black girl. I pleaded to the crowd indignantly, after my entry to a gay bar was denied. A line of irises looked blankly up at me, not sure whom to believe, such was the passion on both sides.

“She’s not getting in, you were an asshole to me on Thursday.”
“Thursday? Are you kidding me? I wasn’t even here on Thursday. I was at work. This is crazy.”
“You’re not getting in.” It was final. His beady blue eyes peered at me through round, wire framed glasses. He had a gray goatee and wore his staple black beanie. His hefty weight spilling over his wooden throne. His skin against the background looked like a dollop of milk just as it drops into coffee. Stark pale white against the darkness and smoke.

Why wasn’t anyone defending me? Looking at the faces of my friends (there were four of us total), who were unusually quiet. One of them shook their heads, signaling we should go. The doorman sat pompously, as if he had righted some great injustice.

“We were here on Thursday.” Jamal informed me.
“What…?”
“You really don’t remember? I was like wowwwww she really believes her lie.”

I had no recollection of Phoenix. Zilch.
Thursday started with five of us meeting to celebrate one of my bosses birthdays, at the second restaurant location in the East Village. On multiple occasions including that very night, Val and I ardently vowed never to touch the punch again. It tastes like juice, sneaks up on you and blacks you the hell out. Upon arrival my manager handed out round, after round, after round of shots of this exact punch. Followed by continuous cups of the same. I never turn down a zero dollar drink.

We were spinning free, dancing, joints were passed, harder liquor drank. Next thing I knew we were sitting on a stoop up the block from The Box. An aerial view of Jamal’s bald chocolate head, as we waited for Tessa’s cab to arrive. Keep in mind this is a PC version of the events that’d occurred.

Between punch and the stoop we went directly to the Phoenix bathroom for a half hour. When confronted that we needed to buy a drink or leave, I screamed. The male bouncer was in the women’s restroom, accusing him of all sorts of perversion. Interrupting me he pointed at Jamal stating the obvious, he’s a man too. Both of them gay. Apparently that didn’t matter to me so he went to get a female employee.

“What’s the problem?”
“Y’all have been in here for thirty minutes and haven’t purchased a drink.” The scantily dressed brunette told us.
The damage done, our offer to buy drinks was rescinded and we were told to leave. Please note my posse has been kicked out of this place countless times over the years. I mean an astronomical amount. He always let us back in next visit no matter how mischievous, errant, or disorderly. Smugly I remind him of this on my way out, according to Val. Which is why he made an example of me Saturday night. He in fact had the right black girl. From the jump it was asinine, my signature coiffure could not be mistaken.

I was flummoxed, not that I just bragged earlier that evening that I hadn’t been kicked out of a bar in years, not only because I returned two days later after my statement, but because I should be eternally banned. Hand to god a group of people wouldn’t have deserved it more. Never have we exhibited any signs that we would behave. Time and time again we’ve only proven that we weren’t about shit, lawless heathens the lot of us. And still we are redeemed. Via: Afropunk

A Brief History Of Us: Genc Jakupi

Genc Jakupi always looked out for me, which made the target on my back bigger when he was away. A playboy, or a womanizer, the semantics are up to you. He’s had his fair share of staff members, models, socialites, actresses…So when he treated me special, green-eyed monsters awakened en mass. Women would flock to the restaurant to see me, the girl that suddenly gave him a heart. This was a man who was feared, admired and had a new lady on his arm every single night. Charismatic, intelligent and fun, they literally threw themselves at him. Young, rich and handsome with a full head of hair, it was a no brainer for ovaries.

Eyes locked. “Do not have sex with that hot neighbor.” I told myself, having no idea he was an owner. I found him sitting in one of the booths before open the next day, I had half a mind to tell him service didn’t start until six. For some reason I bowed as a hello, then left him to stare out the window broodingly as it was in his nature to do. Always donning that long black peacoat like Christian Slater in The Heathers.

Valentine’s Day at The Box, he asked me if I was going. I said no. A rule of thumb, don’t eat where you shit, is one I take to heart. Roommates, coworkers, bosses and clients are a big hell no. It gets too convoluted. I try to avoid drama as much as possible, even though my life is a soap opera continuum, says Melinda. The irony. For some reason I trusted him, which was unnerving. How could you trust someone you just met? Everything about him freaked me out, my physical reaction to his physical presence roamed untamed. Butterflies flew from unknown fields in my stomach, as though frightened to flight. My heart bashed my ribcage trying to abandon my chest. Somewhere along the way I believed him to be my twin flame, I sought out the equal and opposite piece of my soul desperately.

Everyone else had, let’s say a different view of him. When he entered a room terror permeated. No one wanted to get on his bad side, a side I’d never seen. He was revered and feared. Apparently the leader of the you’re fired squad. People who would be complete assholes to me would do a 180. Treating me like the queen of fucking everything. I felt safe when he was around.

His parents were my first friends at a hostile work environment (I didn’t know they were his parents then). Agron humored me when I talked to him about karmic cycles, planetary alignment and retrogrades. Turns out he didn’t know a lick of english beyond the basics. We developed our own understanding, able to communicate our way. Those are the most beautiful types of languages. Returning from trips I would hug him, he was missed. Feride his gorgeous, over protective mother was my favorite. She was out for a good time. When I appeared topless in a red sheath on New Year’s Eve, she gasped “You look beautiful.” I was so relieved, my own mother would admonish me for this dress even when wearing a bra. That night I stopped working and danced the night away with her. I should have been fired when I went to sleep in the front booth, but I wasn’t because of Genc.

Jordan Barrett made me feel so disloyal. I wanted to be around him all the time, usually guys try to tame me, but Jordan would let me run wild. I dreamed of him, craved him, he was infectious. How could I turn my back on someone who defended me on numerous occasions? Who took care of me in their own way? I was the only employee to receive paid vacation. But at this point Genc moved to Europe, he wasn’t there, what was I waiting for? We never had a conversation, I never knew what he was up to. Still I waited, hoping not in vain.

There was only one member of his family that irked my soul. No matter how many olive branches I extended, attending his birthdays, trying to be nice to him, he snapped the twigs. Despite popular belief Taurus and Pisces in my experience (from my sister on) have a horrible dynamic. We just don’t mesh. Making it messier was when I blacked out and led him on. Genc was dating Romanian actress Madalina Ghenea, one of the women who came to see me. His brother was wearing his shirt, a long sleeved blue with white polka dots thermal type top. One I always affiliate with Genc from photos. In a drunken stupor Lupe the busser told me I was with his brother and tried to make out with the blonde lady, who turned out to be Dua Lipa’s mother. Ashamed I swore off the bottle for thirty days.

It all ended in a cataclysmic, inevitable shit show. After I left with my karmic justice. He started to keep an eye on me in ways that were invasive. At first I excused his behavior, this was a man who walked over dead bodies in a war torn country, but soon it got dark. The methods in which he kept tabs were toxic and took a toll on my mental well being. So finally after a breakdown I confronted him, calling him out, in hopes that he would realize this isn’t the old country, I am not your property. I’m also not going to throw myself at anyone, women need to remember they should be coming to you. This world has been constructed in favor of the patriarchy, putting women down as inferior, conditioning us to hate ourselves and each other. That’s not my vibe, which infuriates powerful men.

Without Genc I wouldn’t love myself, so I don’t want to paint it one way. This was one of the most crucial relationships of my life. I started taking care of myself, he made life worth living. Still when the milk spoils you have to throw it out (https://sainttwenty.com/2019/08/15/learn-to-let-go/). Via: Guns X Bibles Mag