Sometime before the turn of the century, I was trying to impress some girl and ended up at a spirited hip hop concert in Hampton Virginia.
It was the mid nineties and I hadn’t yet discovered the medicinal effects of THC and somehow a chick with a mean shoe game convinced me into carting her to see this thing called the Wu-Tang Clan. I’d just procured a new-to-me white Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with the T top – white walls included – and strangely knew nothing of this Asian named gang of rappers.
The introduction was sweetly scary upon entering the venue packed with college students chanting “Wu-Tang Clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with,” as a stage full of weed carriers hype men lead the mighty chorus. Before long it was easy to spot the major players, considering the crowd craved their attention most… Old Dirty Bastard, GZA, RZA and even the Man with the Method.
Later, after the speakers were blown and a multitude of black ‘n’ mild’s were dubbed, we waded out of the concert hall and into the sea of cars buoyed in the parking lot. Somewhere out in the distance I spied my vehicle encumbered by a crew of men smoking and lounging on my pristine and clean trunk.
“Yo dudes, sup!?” I shouted sternly, doing my best tough guy stance, considering I had my girl in tow I couldn’t go weak.
“What u mean sup,” barked back a rather large guy not really asking a question.
Silence. Thinking of my next move, I took a deep breathe and clinched my fist before exhaling calmly, “That’s my car.”
“Oh word,” he spits back. He stares before straightening his cap and hopping off the trunk causing the car to exhale with a bounce.
“My bad,” he says walking off, henchman in tow. Realizing the situation could have turned dire, my girl explains why I shouldn’t have been so quick to run those dudes away from my car.
It just so happened I’d clinched my fist at Raekwon – the chef, which was pretty gangsta for a skinny kid that grew up in a cul de sac.
Images: Logan Mills
Tags: Method Man, People, Raekwon, Redman, RZA, Wu-Tang
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