Sunday, July 15, 2007

Why I'm NEVER going to Roscoe's

Yeah, I said it. I'm never going to Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles on Susent and Gower again. The love for the ecclectic mix of waffle and chicken is still there, but I can't take going to that establishment. It's painful. Like, sliding into salt and vinegar after tussling with a tiger painful. Like, having pushpins stuck into my skin one by one very.slowly. from head to toe painful. Like, watching BET's version of "The Hills" painful.

I'll recap the Reader's Digest version for you:

Before I got to the entrance with my friends who were visiting from out of town, I was called a "b*tch " for not responding to the cat calls of "Ay, bay-bay!" coming from an overdone truck driving by (I was texting and walking; paying attention to fools in cars was not on the menu at that moment).

When we got up to the door, we were told that the wait was 45 minutes. This is typical, but at 2:00am coming off of a long day, that wasn't really what I wanted to hear. Sure the place is the size of a shoe box with a newly added wing, but damn.

So, we're waiting outside among a sea of half-nekkid women with TERRIBLE weaves engulfing men that were extremely starved for attention. I mean, yelling to people 3 football fields away from them, making sure the wrist with the sparkly watch on it was in full view of everyone, taking off running for seemingly no reason, the whole nine. I was so undone. Then there was a 700-decibel argument about the aforementioned lay-ties being from the valley vs. Los Angeles (this is a big debate out this way...believe me). This mess was just ignorant.

I won't even mention the myriad of cars that passed by with radios up to 40, mashing out and looking out of the windows.

Stunting. In front of a restaurant. Wow.

An hour passed. We sat outside. For an hour. Outside. Having to look at all of this mess. For.An.Hour.

When we finally got in, the A/C was on full blast in the back...SO NOT COOL. Well, actually, it was quite cold, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, black folks post club were in full form: loud, ornery, and overloving. I'm going to need for men to not try to holla at people that are two tables away from them. I'm also going to need for people to learn how not to fill an entire room with the caucophany of their conversation about the night's dealings. I was trying to eat my waffle in peace. I really was.

We finally finished, but upon exit, my group was met with a near table's judgment on how the girls I was with compared to the women on Flavor of Love. I think I was Buckeey. Tiff was Pumkin, Ash was Hoopz. Lovely.

Thanks, guys. Thanks.

I think because I wasn't drunk and I haven't been out in a while, I forgot that this is normal Roscoe's on a Saturday night. Do better. Please and thank you.

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