QUOTE, UNQUOTE...

We agreed to meet at the Cameroonian restaurant in Albany. I drive into the parking lot and spot a black Ford Explorer with the windows rolled down, blasting African music so loud that people from inside the restaurant are looking out the window. It's him. I park my car at the opposite end of the lot and walk slowly. He spotted me drive in, but is pretending as if he didn't see me. He continues to blast his music and now his eyes are closed and he's rocking his head. I can't believe this shit. I ignore him and walk in the restaurant.

Three men are sitting at one table, speaking French and a white couple is sitting at another table. The three men spot me and one stands up and walks towards me. "I know you. You're the Jamaican girl with the red BMW. You used to come to my restaurant when it was opened in Oakland. N'dole with plaintain, right? HA! I never forget a face!" When he reaches me, my date, Thomas appears from nowhere and puts an arm around my waist, tagging me so the owner keeps his distance. I break away and continue the conversation with the owner. "yes that's me, but I don't have that car anymore. I remember you, Frrrroh hoh is your name right?" It's the type of french name you have to say through your nose and rrrrroll the R's. He is about to hug me, then Thomas interrupts and starts speaking in French to the owner. His smile disappears and he slightly bows and tells me, " Enjoy your evening, my dear."

I'm furious. "What did you say to him?" Thomas and I sit down near the window, far away from the table of men. "I tell him I am here with my woman and we want to eat." His thick ass accent is stomping on my last nerve. When he speaks he uses the quote, unquote gesture (two bunny rabbit ears in the air) but he does it at the wrong time. My eyes bulge out as I finally catch a glimpse of his outfit. He's wearing an aqua blue African gettup. His top is long, like pajama's and it has two slits at the side, completely covering the pants, made of the same material. There are black sillhouettes of women dancing on the front. He's also wearing white socks with brown sandals.

A woman takes our order and he exhales and says, "So we are finally here." I look around avoiding eye contact, trying really hard not to show the look of disgust on my face.
"So (quote, unquote) you know the owner?"
"Yeap."
"You are (quote, unquote) a popular lady, I see."
"Yeap."
"I always date popular (quote, unquote) ladies, in my time. I've been (quote, unquote) all over the world and I date a Japanese, Chinese, White, Black, everything." I'm beginning to think he suffers from Tourette's Syndrome. When he talks his eyes roll in the back of his head, like he's having an orgasm. He bobs his head back and forth like he's personating Bill Cosby. Where is the fucking food?

I hear reggae dancehall music coming from outside. I look and spot a black BMW with tinted windows park. A tall, slender man glides out of the car. He has perfect dark chocolate unblemished skin and a small fro. He enters the restaurant and takes his shades off. My jaw drops. He walks over to the table of men and start speaking French. He smiles and his straight white teeth sparkle against his black gums.

"Did you hear me what I'm saying?" Thomas says annoyingly.
I look and our food has arrived. I didn't even notice. "What?"
"I say are (quote, unquote) you rasta-ing your hair?"
"I don't understand."
"You know, rasta, nappy your (quote, unquote) hair is."
"Uh, yeah, thank you. Let's eat." His fresh of the boat ass is really cramping my style.

We fnished eating and the check comes. He pulls out a charge card. "I believe they only take cash because they just opened." I tell him, hoping he has cash in his wallet. "No, no. This is an establishment. He should be a smart man and take my card.I know he will take it." WHAT THE FUCK DID HE JUST SAY? He speaks to the owner in French and it sounds like they are arguing. The other men start frowning at Thomas, then they look at me. I want to walk away. Hot chocolate looks at me, then nods his head and smile. I cheese so hard, my eyes turn into slits.

"I will be right back. I have to get cash from a machine. He won't take my card because he is a behind, so I must leave you for a moment and get money." I can't believe this shit. He leaves and the owner, Froh hoh approaches. "Is that your man?" "NO!" I exclaim and he laughs. "Well your date asked me if he could have the food for free." I couldn't believe it. That's why they were looking at him crazy. I can't believe this shit. We continue our conversation and we exchange numbers. I realize 30 minutes has passed and he still hasn't returned. The other men are now at my table and we're all talking. Hot Chocolate is staring at my boobs, smiling. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't speak English. Great.

Another 15 minutes pass and still no sign of Thomas. "I don't think your date is coming back." The owner tells me. "Don't worry about it. I know who he is. I will make sure I get my money from him. Don't you worry about it." I'm mortified. I'm beyond embarassed. I apologize and thank the owner. I tell him I'll be back, but by myself.

Thank God I drove my own car. As I pull out of the parking lot, Thomas pulls in and honks his horn, with a confused look on his face. I turn up my radio and pretend as if I didn't notice him. I turn my phone off and head to the donut store near the Berkeley campus.