Friday, November 09, 2007

 

Phone Shots

In honor of my boy WillisB, this post is entitled "Phone Shots." WillisB created phone shots to keep in touch with his out-of-town friends and to keep a buzz going. Currently, WillisB resides in Phoenix, the home of his long lost older brother Steve Nash, and Aunt Edna's dead body. Whenever he is at a bar having a good time and wants to share the experience with his boys still living in Detroit Rock City, he will, with shot in hand, give someone a call and announce that phone shots are in affect. At which point the person he called is expected to get a shot (usually of Cuervo 1800), so that they may share in a round of shots over the phone. The phone shots calls are never predetermined or scheduled. You may never know when you receive one. But whenever you do, you're expected to respond to it accordingly and quickly. It's kind of like the Bat Signal. Anyway, the point is that phone shots are random, and so is the content of this post. It is going to be a random story that hasn't made it into any other post.

Some unfinished "Monkey Business" - Back when I was still training, a group co-workers in my class decided that we should go to the local bar to celebrate once we "graduated" from our training. They made sure the whole class was invited and planning on coming, as they were not taking "no" for an answer.

I agreed to go and figured it would be interesting to see these guys outside of the office. Because based on how they acted in a work setting, God knows how they acted outside of one. Especially in a place where alcohol is served.

So after work, a bunch of us met at T.G.I.Friday's. If you've never heard of this place, it's a bar where they celebrate the weekend by having the servers wear "funny" buttons on their suspenders and having "wacky" signs on the wall. Needless to say, the place was ROCKIN'!

When we first get there we bellied up to the bar, at which point I noticed 6 or 7 guys from our group are suddenly missing. I am then informed that they went to go smoke down to "celebrate our graduation." Of course thats why they decided to smoke weed; in celebration. Otherwise they wouldn't have had smoked at all, because they wouldn't have had any reason to. (The reason I'm being so sarcastic about this is that I'm just hurt that I wasn't invited to join them. Just because I'm white means that I don't want to commemorate finally becoming an official full-time employee by disregarding our company's drug policy? )

Anyway, once the stragglers get to the bar we all order our drinks. We're talking and drinking for a little while when my buddy D (the one who ate at his desk after being told not to, and the guy who broke the sad news about Gerald Levert's untimely passing) proposes that we do some shots. I agree, because it has been my experience that shots of any kind make me charming and witty. He asks what I'd like to do a shot of. I say it doesn't matter, but my friends and I will usually do tequila without the training wheels (limes and salt). D has no problem with this and suggests Cuervo 1800.

This is the part where D's opinion of me skyrockets and I possibly set a historical precedent by being the first white person to ever teach a black person something "cool." As everyone knows, it is usually the other way around.

So D asks if I'm cool with the suggestion of Cuervo 1800 as a shot. I reply "You're gonna call 1-800-MIXALOT? Sounds good to me!"

He. Was. Floored. "Oh my God, I've never heard that before, that is pimp." I tell him I know. (Heh.) He then goes and gets a couple of other co-workers and tells them what I said. All of them get a kick out of it too.

Then
D calls somebody on his phone. "Yo, you now how we're always drinking 1800 at the clubs, get this. Get what my boy calls it. " He hands me the phone and I explain that my friends and I say we call drinking Cuervo 1800, 1-800-MIXALOT. I hear cackling on the other end, so I give it back to D. D continues, "Ain't that great? But get this...he WHITE! Yeah, my boy WHITE. Can you believe that shit?" The guy on the other end couldn't believe that shit, so D talked with him a few more minutes convincing him.

He gets off the phone and sits down back to me. "Whoo boy, I didn't think you had it in you. You were so quiet in class, but I'd catch you saying some pretty funny shit, all sly-like. But man, you hide it well. You low key, man. You're smooth." I say thanks and tell him I appreciate it and suggest we do the shots.

We do the shots (they were delicious), and D slams down his glass and looks me right in the eye and gives me the nicest compliment I've ever received: "Jim, you're the coolest white nigga I know."

Again I thanked him, and told him I've never been complimented with a word that I'm not allowed to say. D laughed (thank god) and said "See? That's what I'm talking about."

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