Professor Finesser: A HoodRat Tale

They dubbed me Professor Finesser. Professor because I’m well versed and finesser because I will finesse till the day I die. What is finesse? It’s figuring out how to bend the rules to your liking. I’m the master of bending rules to my liking. It’s a bit of my disdain of authority and a bit of my need to be rebellious. Now, I’d like to preface this story by saying that I am not the same person. I have grown. I have changed. I am transforming.  I’m also lying like hell. I do this stuff all the time. I’m pretty much filled with shenanigans. Now follow along.

The infamous hoodrat

The infamous hoodrat

It was a lovely day in Capetown, and me and the girls were out on the town exploring. We headed out in the afternoon and spent all day wandering through the streets. We headed back to our hotel room to change into warmer clothes-it was getting a little chilly. The girls took it upon themselves to sprucen up. Not I. I lounged. Picked up my leather jacket and was ready for our next adventure. They all looked so presentable. Lovely skirts and tops, jewelry, and even some light make-up. Me? Ha! Well, I had on flip-flops and a leather jacket. Casual stunt.

We ate, we explored some more, and as the sun escaped us we found ourselves on a randomly popping street. Bars everywhere, clubs everywhere, people everywhere. How did we end up here? I have no idea. Walking through the streets, one of the girls noticed a sign and claimed, “someone told me this place was popping! They have Afro-beats and Caribbean vibes, let’s go in!” I mean, all I had to hear was “Afro-beats and Caribbean vibes” and I was totally game! Now I’m yelling at them, “Come on y’all! The Afro-beats are waiting!”

Walking up to the place, we notice a long line forming. I mean it was long. Like long enough to force our group to stop and contemplate whether it was worth it. Now, I would like to say that I am not an avid club-goer, but when I do decide to grace a place with my presence, I refuse to stand in some line. And more than anything, I refuse to pay. I left that in my freshman year of college (before I knew any better). This sounds hella bougie, but this is real life. I’m not pressed enough to wait in line for a club--sorry.

So I look at the line, Afro-beats popping on the other side, I look at the excitement slowly draining from my girls’ faces, and I decide to take action. “Have my back and follow me”, I casually said. As I walked past the people in line, the dirty looks I got were comical. I had no idea what I was doing, but what could go wrong? When I reached the front of the line, I casually told the gatekeeper that we were on the list. He checked and didn’t find our names. Duh.

I insisted. Gatekeeper insisted. We were shortly transferred to the woman who collects money at the door. Now we all know that it is much easier to finesse a man in these situations than a woman. She gave no fucks. Told us we would have to pay $20 each. To our outrage she graciously changed the price to $15 a person. I wasn’t having it. The girls wanted to pay, I refused. As luck would have it, the club owner came down at this point in time.

He asked about the issue and I casually explained that we were on the list and had talked to a promoter earlier in the day. “Who was the promoter?” FAHHKKK  I don’t know! What am I supposed to say? Damn this is going to be so embarrassing. “I forgot, but I think it starts with an J….maybe Jayson?” I said confidently. He thought about it and said “You talking about Jamal?” An olive branch! Dear Lord! Yessssss “Yeah, that sounds right!” He checked Jamal’s list and didn’t find our names. Duh.

He looks at his security guard and says “go get Jamal”. I’m shook. Jamal is about to embarrass the hell out of me and I’m standing there just as casual as ever. I turn to my girls and they are all looking at me like I’m bat-shit crazy. And I can’t blame them...I AM. Who the hell does this? I sat there patiently waiting for Jamal to come down and blow my cover.

Jamal comes down…

The boss looks at him and says, “You know these girls, they said you put them on your list.” Jamal looks at us and I wave to him, “Hey! Remember we met you earlier on this street and you said you’d put us on your list.” He looks at me, looks at his boss, then looks back at me, then looks back his boss. Say something Jamal! SAY SOMETHING!  “Yeah, my bad, I forgot to put them on there”. WWWHHHHAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT. Did this random man just have my back??? What the hell is happening?

The boss looks at Jamal and tells him he needs to tighten up. Jamal acknowledges and heads back towards the Afro-beats. Before the boss grants us admission, the gatekeeper says, “they’re not even in dress code”. I look around at the beautiful women in heels and cut-out dresses staring at me in my flip-flops and leather jacket. Damn. I look at the boss and say, “really, after all you just put us through?” He looks at the gatekeeper and says, “I said let them in!

BOSSS UPP!!!!!! He just sonned the gatekeeper on my behalf!

My girls looked at me in disbelief. Bitch how? I had no answer for them. I still don’t know. They dubbed me Professor Finesser. I wore the title with pride. We made our way to the Afro-beats and Carribbean vibes only for me to find Jamal hosting! I thanked him profusely and he let me on the mic for .2 seconds. He realized how wack I am and cut my mic. Regardless, we were granted entry. We made it to the Afro-beats! Can’t nothing keep me away from my Afro-beats. Believe me.

When was the last time you finessed? Let me know in the comments below!


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Happy Wandering...