Ok, first thing’s first- I don’t call all Black people niggas. I would consider myself a traditionalist when it comes to the use of the infamous "N" word. Traditionalist in the sense that my Dad taught me how to distinguish a Black person from a straight up nigga by how that person carries him/herself. But more on that later (maybe).
So, last week I get invited to a networking event disguised as a Hoilday Party at a fancy hotel in the city. I (nearly intentionally) totally forgot about the damn event, except that I got a text from the host guilting reminding me that I said I would come. So, I shut down my work laptop for the day and make my way over to this shit. So here’s why I hate Niggas sometimes:
Now, before I tear into this fuckery festival, let me first state that it was not the fault of the host that I was SO disappointed at the goings on. She picked a nice venue and did the best she could with the assumingly small budget she had to work with. Disclaimers now in place, here we go…
1. WHY do we always have to start shit/arrive to shit late????? You niggas cant read a clock? You can’t figure out little hand vs. big hand placement? When you look at a digital clock, do you confuse the numbers with a taxi meter? I swear I sat at the bar bullshitting with some suspiciously feminine dude for at least 45 minutes. You think I left the office and didn’t go straight home for this? Drinks with a male Fantasia? NEGATIVE. I called the host to see WTF was going on and she said they were still “setting up” (more on the “set-up” next). Word?
2. The “Set-Up”- So I suffered through 45 minutes of “conversation” with Man-Tasia for cupcakes and Reece Cups? And NO drinks? Word?
3. So the host starts introducing me to some other entrepo-niggas people who were in the media and music business like myself. As I make my way through several introductions, I notice that this one chick won’t leave my side. She’s chubby, she’s loud, and she’s slightly tipsy. I’m not really interested in making the rounds as I am now planning my escape route, so I entertain Yaphet Kotto’s twin sister and her pickled pig feet breath for a few minutes. I pretend to listen and engage her saucy ass for 15 minutes and when she asks for my card, I know it’s time to bounce. But she served as a great cover- long enough for me to appear to have “been there” for the host.
4. The Straw That Broke the Camel’s Back- So I’m explaining to the host that I really need to leave for another appointment that I’m now late for. In all honesty, I DID have somewhere else to be. But, I probably would have made up some shit if I didn’t anyway. Not that the event was ALL bad; I just wasn’t up for being social anymore. So the host goes into this mad dash to introduce me to as many people as possible on my way out. I must have shaken hands with about 10 people in a 3 minute period- none of whom I remember as a result. But here’s the bullshit that got to me: NOT ONE OF THOSE NIGGAS HAD A BUSINESS CARD!!!!! A DAMN BUSINESS CARD?????!!!!! I mean it’s not like you cant print and cut them shits up yourself at home nowadays! So you mean to tell me you knew you were going to a networking event tonight- you are trying to build your “business”- and you walked up in that shit with NO way to be contacted? And you think I’m going to exchange cell numbers or emails with you on my way out? NIGGA PLEASE.
So here’s the message- The White Man is not the problem. The “system” is not the obstacle. Apparently, niggas are just too lazy to be prepared for success. That or Fed Ex/Kinko’s is keeping the Black Man down. Fin.
