Honesty, Brutal Honesty

One time, I was at summer camp. And I was in line getting food from the warmed trays that the kitchen staff was refilling. And One of the staff, this shorter black lady with that trademark spunky attitude that black women are known for, she was going on about what some cop had said to her as I was passing by, and she said something to the effect of, "I told him, 'You better arrest me right now, before I go 'head and arrest YOU and YOUR punk ass!" and the rest of the kitchen staff was cracking up. And I was curious, so I decided to ask what that meant, so I said, in so many words, "Arresting the cops? What the hell are you talking about?" And not in a flippant or disbelieving way, but trying to understand better. And this woman turns to me, and scoffs, and says, in words I will never be able to quite shake off, "Don't you worry about it, lil' BOYYYYY!" and she makes this really demeaning face when she says it, so I just kind of take a step back, incredulous that anyone has labeled me like this. I even retorted back at her, "Little boy? Me?" I wish I had had more to say back than just that, but I got at least that much out of my face. She just shook her head and kept laughing, carrying on with the rest of the kitchen like I already wasn't there. One of the other guys back there, a young scraggly looking white dude with a bunch of tattoos and a beard, just shook his head and chuckled at me. "Bertha's not to be trifled with, little dude!" It was a turning point.

I finished getting my food, paid for it at the counter, and walked over to the table with the other counselors that I was working the camp with. And I couldn't stop looking at the shirt I was wearing, with yellow and green stripes. And one of the other counselors asked me what was wrong, and I looked at her and asked, "Be honest. Do I dress like a kid in middle school?" She gave me a wide eyed, surprised look and stumbled through a response that didn't answer my question. That's how I found out I needed to update my wardrobe the first time in college. And It wasn't the fellow counselor that I was friends with, whose opinion I actually valued, that made the difference. It was little ass Bertha in the kitchen, calling me a little boy with her snap judgement evaluation of who I was based on (I have to assume) the clothes I was wearing.

And okay, maybe it was the glasses and how my hair would have looked, and maybe even just the way I carried myself. But the point is, she looked at me and saw a boy. And it made me realize that I kind of did, too. And that was what I needed to hear at that moment.

Now, a quick note: I could have told this story differently. I could have just left it as:

I was a summer camp counselor once. It was a lot of fun and it taught me a lot about myself. Particularly that I needed to update my wardrobe.

That's what I could have said. But that would not have been owning up to what the moment really was for me. I've had many moments of embarrassment and self-deprecation throughout my life, many of which I continue to share in this exact forum. And I've learned something from most of them. But each and every one of them, for one reason or another, I have had to own up to, because these are some of the most honest moments a person can know. You see, it's easy to own a proud moment, that you want to brag about and show off to the world. Anyone can take their best side and polish it up, and crop out the love handles and adjust the lighting to the best side of them, and show that off. But it ain't real.

Few people will show the uncut, raw, silly, unkempt, slovenly, crude, obnoxious, or sheer unappealing side of themselves. Nobody wants to be a villain, or a schmuck, or just whatever they truly are in their core if their core isn't pure gold. They always want to present a representative. They want to show the ambassador side of themselves because that's the side that people feel the most comfortable sharing. No one wants to share the posts they made that sound slightly homophobic, racist, or chauvinistic. It's about seeming like an enlightened, majestic aristocrat with a sense of humbleness and humor. No one wants to present the side of their relationship where they look like a villain that has their spouse on a tight leash or they don't value the opinions of their coworkers and customers at work or they park like a douchebag every morning at their favorite coffee shop because they're the only one in a hurry whose time matters. People want to be seen as confident, secure, and the epitome of loveliness, for all of us to envy.

Not only that, but I know a lot of people get brave over the internet through all of it's anonymity and would never say half of the shit in person. It's easy to talk shit about someone's music when you see the video on youtube, but then you still want the autograph and the selfie in person if they come to the same mall as you. I have no issue with being brutally honest unless you don't have the balls to bring that same honesty in person. And it's not just an internet thing. Say what you were willing to say behind your least favorite coworkers back to her face too. When that snarky barista asks what you said after you make a backhanded comment about her service, tell her and fill out a negative comment card, just make sure you have your coffee in hand and you don't plan on coming back for a couple of weeks until this blows over. That cop that wrote you a ticket that you know you didn't earn? Don't say a god damn thing, you don't need this ass whooping. He isn't wearing a bodycam and there's no traffic to witness this, just be polite, take the ticket and get the hell out of here, what are you, crazy? Being honest is not worth it every single time. Keep your comments and your mouth full of teeth where they are.

In case you missed it, that was more honesty at the end of that paragraph, just to honestly convey that it's not actually always worth it to be honest. But sometimes, being honest and owning up to exactly where you are and what is happening actually makes sense. Sometimes, honesty is the one reason that things come back to a sensible station instead of spiraling into something really stupid and unnecessarily painful.

It was Halloween of my freshman year of college.

I won't go into details, but Halloween in Madison, WI is kind of a big deal.

Just saying, people know about it. Except I didn't really know about it until I was here for it.

I first figured out that there was something abnormal going on the morning of the friday of that weekend when a large group of students ran into my Calculus lecture and put on a performance that can only be described as, "what it looks like in Pac Mans world when he gets a power up." As in, there was a pac man costume, there were ghosts, there was once of the power up balls, and they actually simulated pac man hitting the power up and chasing the now white colored ghost out of the lecture hall. Best part about it was that the professor, this little Asian lady, tried to teach over top of this 'performance' and the pac man music that they brought in with them.

I'm not saying that happens to everyone's calculus class, but it definitely happened on my watch.

That's not the moment of honesty I'm talking about.

That moment came later on in the night. It came after a party that was spirited and boisterous and loud and all the things you expect from a typical Friday night on most college campuses, and that would have been fun enough. The notable thing is that after this party, a number of guys at the party decided to dress up in different costumes and begin running around campus like insane people. Now, you may ask, what were the costumes that these young men changed into? And my response is, they all had on man thongs, bright colored sunglasses, and gigantic afros. And basically not much else. Yep, you read those words right.

Now, it's important to note that the party I was at was for track and field team members, which I was a part of. The guys in afros were mostly short-and-middle distance runners, all of whom had just finished a long and grueling training season and were now preparing for the end of the semester before competition in a few months. They all had running shoes on as well, in case that isn't clear, and they are all familiar with this tradition that has been passed down for several years throughout our team around this time of year. But again, I knew none of this was going to occur.

Also keep in mind that this was right around the time that social media was becoming a huge thing, but not everyone had camera phones that could accurately depict what people looked like when they were moving fast enough.

Anyway, suffice to say, I was drunk at the time and thought this was both insane and hilarious. I might have been more disgusted if not for the fact of how hilarious this shit looked in person while intoxicated for the sixth time ever or so (I didn't drink in high school prior to this, so being drunk in itself was new and insanely entertaining despite the fact that I had no idea what I was doing on a nightly basis). So when these wigged marauders started jogging and chanting "Hoo-rah!" towards the campus and capitol building, of course I tagged along. I felt I had to see where this went. And it was a ton of fun, running along such ridiculousness and being connected to it but still not technically being a participant in case things went downhill fast. Which it really could have too. But it was fine on that Friday. I even jettisoned my shirt and jacket in a strategic spot that I knew I could probably retrieve it from along the way, and ran along with the group shirtless, adding to the chanting and running. It was way more fun than it probably sounds like, I totally get that.

But there was one moment that would have otherwise marred my entire weekend. Or semester, for that matter. And this is where the honesty comes in. And I understand the irony of talking about honesty on a night like Halloween. It's a day marked by dressing up and pretending to be something other than what you are. It's basically the third least honest day of the year, behind Valentine's Day and New Years Eve. Halloween takes lying and makes it fun for all ages. It's cosplay for amateurs, and it's festive and there's a dark scary history for some and, yeah, whatever, the day is about lying. And so I will do my best to tell the truth about exactly how this moment happened.

We had run all the way down State Street and were on the front lawn of the Capitol building, and were essentially catching our breath. And I realized, in the midst of how much fun I was having, that I had to piss terribly. I had been holding it in and all of the sudden it was a very serious need all at once. So I looked around for a likely restaurant or something that I could use, only to remember that we were surrounded by bars and restaurants that would all be absolutely packed full, and I couldn't get into the bars because I was 18 at the time, so I was very much screwed. I thought I was going to just piss myself right there on Capitol Square, and just blame it on the absurdity of the night and claim someone spilled a nasty drink on me or something. But then, to the left, I saw an upperclassman that I respected enough to not mention his name here, relieving himself in a nearby bush, with seemingly no consequences. So I shuffled over, not widening my stance too much, and proceeded to do likewise.

The instant I begin my stream of relief, he finishes and scurries away, clearly not proud of what he had just done from his gestures alone. I turn and watch, curious why he felt the need to flee the scene like that, and then I see it as I turn back around to mind the target I'm painting. The corner of my eye catches the lights on top of a bicycle riding on the ledge right above where I am let the river run. It's an older looking guy with unnecessarily tight shorts on for an October night, and a helmet and gloves on, and he has a toothpick in his mouth. And he shakes his head and calls out to me, "Come on up here once you finish, son."

I turn, and look at the guys I came into this situation with are standing there, trying not to look but obviously watching the situation unfold. A few are laughing openly, others are trying to keep it together in case I get taken into custody. In their position, I'm not sure which role I would fulfill. But I digress.

I was going to run at first. Partially because I had no money to afford a ticket, I was barely able to pay for all of my books and tuition and food as it was, so this would be much more than just embarrassing, this would be expensive, at least to me. Not to mention, I had yet to establish if police in this town were friendly or antagonistic, since I had not lived here long and generally assumed that police in the midwest were not fond of black dudes. So I was planning on running, after I finished peeing. But lucky for me, I had to pee a whole lot. Like floodgates, it just kept coming out, and I realized, standing there, trying to rush out the pee so I could flee the scene, how much I must have drank to pee like that. And I had an honest moment with myself:

Oh shit, I'm drunk. Like actually drunk. Running from the police is not going to be a good way to improve my situation. They will not be cool with that.

I also figured that with all of these mostly naked dudes in afros having accompanied me, one of them was sure to spill the beans on who we were and therefore it was possible that even if I somehow got away, I could later be tracked down and cited for resisting arrest (which was a long shot to even be a problem but I really thought I could get away in my mental state at the time, so again, pretty good thing that I didn't run). Last, but not least, I remembered a bit from Chris Rock, a favorite stand-up comedian of mine, whose advice was, put simply, "If the police have to chase you, they're bringing an ass-kicking with them." And I did not want to provide reason for anything like that.

So I resolved to face whatever music awaited me. I finished peeing and climbed up onto the ledge above, and hopped the mini fence area to where the officer stood next to his bike. Yeah, I forgot to mention, he had a bike. So I never would have gotten away regardless.

"Okay, let me see some ID." I hand over my drivers license. He takes a half glance and seems to get actually mad.

"Now tell me you didn't come all the way from Texas for a god damn Halloween party!"

And here was where more honesty came into play: I actually was a student here, and had not come to Madison, WI for Halloween alone. It took some convincing to get him to believe me, though. I didn't have my student ID. But for some reason, I did have my athletic ID that let me get into training facilities. So after a minute or so of going back and forth on where I had come from to party, I found this in my wallet and showed it to him. And the conversation completely changed.

"Oh, you're...heh heh you're a track guy, huh? Good thing you didn't try to get away from me though, huh?!" The guy started cracking jokes and completely opened up to me about chasing people on his bike or training for a half marathon. I did my best to keep it together during the conversation, but I was flabbergasted that not running had turned out to be the right decision. Two other cops came up to us and joined in on the conversation, and struck a similar, friendly and understanding tone. I learned that while my decision was not a particularly good one, it was not even close to the dumbest thing that they had seen that evening. They were telling stories about some dude that tried to scale a building in a Spongebob Squarepants outfit, and had actually hooked himself on a window sill and had to be rescued. They kind of forgot I was there for a bit.

But at one point, the first guy turned back to me, and I had my final, sobering, honest moment of the story. I looked him in his eye and said:

Sir, I have no idea what came over me. But I don't have a good excuse for what I was doing. And if you have to write me a ticket for it, I understand.

Because I did. There was no defense for peeing in the bushes of the capitol building of the state. This could be seen as a fairly direct way of pissing on the state of Wisconsin. This, or what the Dallas Cowboys did to the Packers several times throughout the 1990's, as I was reminded of many times right after becoming a Packers fan a few years ago.

The three cops all nodded at me, and the guy handed me back my license. "You seem like a good kid, just don't do it again, and try to have fun that's not gonna get you in trouble." And I kind of was taken aback a bit, but I wasn't gonna sit and ask if they were sure or anything. I just started thanking him, and I reached out and shook his hand.

And then we both remembered at the same time that I had just taken a piss and had yet to wash my hands. So he was a bit disgusted by that and, yeah, kind of a weird moment in time there. I asked if he'd prefer a hug, and he said he would not. So I thanked him again and ran before he actually did change his mind. The other guys I was with all thought it was lucky that I got off with a warning at the time, but I got some shit for it the rest of that year, which is a pretty small price to pay considering I might have had to explain my way out of police custody if I had decided to try to flee.

All I'm saying is, you're going to need that brutal honesty now and again, when other forces are telling you that you've already studied enough, or that fight with your spouse wasn't your fault at all, or that you definitely aren't too drunk to outrun the bike cops.

Until next time.