The post title is inspired by Kem’s song “Brotha Man” from his “Kemistry” album (2003).
Brotha’ man can I help you
Let me cut to the rhythm of your attitude
Understandin’ love patience a little kindness
Will help to relieve your spiritual blindness let us
Break the metaphysical down to the marrow
God loves you still he keeps the sparrow
In his hands He’s got a plan yall
And I’m sure it’s gonna be groovy
So think about the days when livin’ wasn’t easy
Think about the times when life was so misleading
Think about the days before they had any meaning
Think about these things what a difference you’ll make
Tonight, I ventured downtown Ann Arbor for a little window-shopping & a bit to eat alone since all my girls were on a ladies only shopping trip. My first stop on my date for one was the toy & comic bookstore Vault, which I managed to leave without spending any money. After a mouthwatering experience @ Vault, I headed for Grizzly Peak for a bit to eat & a dirty Martini (what’s dinner without a martini?).
So, as I was walking toward the restaurant, I saw a man panhandling for a meal. When I crossed his path, he was like “brotha man, can you help a ‘brotha’ out, we’s the only ‘brothas’ out here & you gotta help me out.” Usually, I do not help the homeless/hungry/crackheads etc. cuz I just don’t give a fuck, but I decided to give homeboy the last dollar I had in my pocket. The only reason, I had this dollar was because I found at home between some pillows so maybe it was meant to be.
Anyway, so I gave him the money, & as I walked away, I was like, was that “brotha man” bit an attempt to make me feel like we had a connection or was it someway to get me to buy into his plight.
Five minutes later, I arrived at Grizzly Peak to find that it was jam packed with very unattractive people, which meant that a table for one was a forty-five minute wait. Since I was hungry as hell, I went to see if I could get a seat at the bar, & luckily there was a lone seat left.
So I sit at the semi-smoky bar seated to this burley white guy drinking beer, who looked like he had 3 to many. Then Biff the bartender approached, & asked for my drink order, & I blurted out, a dirty Kettle One martini. As Biff prepared my drink, the burley white guy next to me turned to me and said “happy new year brotha,” I then reciprocated the sentiment, then he left. Moments later, Biff placed an almost perfect martini in front of me & said enjoy. As the martini started to quickly disappear, Biff asked if I wanted to anything to eat, so I peeped the menu out & decided on the chicken club with sweet potato fries. After he got my order, he said, it will be right up brotha.
OK, so in one night, within one hour, I was called brotha three times. I know why the 1st time, but I am wondering why the last 2 times. Do white guys call each other brotha regularly, or were they subconsciously trying to appeal to me to be cool, or maybe they were intentionally trying to call me out???
Well, I finished the marginally delicious meal & hit the road headed for home pretty much feeling dissatisfied from the meal & curious about being my brothas keeper.
Image courtesy of Stoneth on Flickr