also posted @ real talk LA


Last week I hooked up with a friend of mine for another session at the Hooters in Pasadena.

As soon as we were seated, a familiar face in orange and white approached with a smile that was more ‘In-n-out drive-thru” than ‘do you want a lap dance. ‘This 18 year-old has taken a liking to us over the course of the last couple sessions. Perhaps it’s because we’re satisfied with slick peeks and just the numbers on the receipt, but she’s felt comfortable enough to open up. She’s interrupted heavy conversations about balancing fatherhood, our wifeys and the grind for our dreams. The interruptions are welcomed. To get a glimpse inside the mind of a Hooters girl in addition to some cleavage compliments the chicken and beer.

We cracked up when she talked about how in the beginning the customers flattered her with their advances, before she realized “ain’t nobody that cute!” She went from side talking about co-workers to how her parents, who conceived her when they were barely 18, talk to their teenage daughter (who is so well endowed she probably didn’t have to fill out a job application) about safe sex and birth control. As a 26 year-old with an eight year-old, it was a scary glimpse at the future. She showed us pictures from her prom night where she stood alongside a young buck wearing a bright ‘Piru red’ (that’s what she called it) zoot suit. She liked his suit, and I told her it was okay, she didn’t know any better. After all she revealed, the thing that stood out the most was her youth.

While my friend and I discussed the upcoming Rock the Bells concert, we soon found ourselves in a quicksand of a discussion about the current state of hip-hop music and pop music in general. We asked our young friend if she knew about the concert. I don’t think either one of us thought she would, but it didn’t stop us.

“No… Who’s performing?” “Cypress Hill, Public Enemy, Rage Against the Machine-"
“I’ve heard of them, but don’t know who they are.”

My hairline felt that much thinner. It was like walking up a flight of stairs and getting to that one step that gives away the age of all the rest.

The next time she came around and took a seat I asked her what type of music she listened to, and she said hip hop. Nooooooooooooo- If she’d said anything else, my hairline might have grown back. I tried to relate some other way:

“Who’s your favorite rapper?” Please say Lil Wanye, Weezy F-baby, Weezy, either way I got you!
“T-Pain.”

Now if I hadn’t been there for the wings, I might have left at that moment. Is T-Pain even considered a rapper? I couldn’t help it, I went for the jugular:

“Do you know why I don’t like T-Pain. have you ever heard of Roger Troutman,” I said anxiously waiting to prove my point.
“No.”

Ouch! She was killin me softly. “Okay, I know you know Tupac.. California Love?” Forget about it, I threw in the towel.

When I got in my car that night I checked the radio just for fun. No T-Pain, but I still felt too old for what was playing (or maybe I’m just out of touch). So I opted for CD mode, ‘Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik’ (that’s what I’m talking about), and drove home stomach bubbling to the bass.

Labels: hip hop rant