A woman that is one level above a jump off but always a step below the wife, wifey, girlfriend. A side b*tch must know her part. She does not get holiday’s, birthday’s (other than her own). While he may meet your family. You will never meet his. A side b*tch is a woman who will have sex on Feb. 1-13 and spend Valentines day alone.
Saturday night, I was out in Uptown Charlotte with a gang of folks celebrating my boy Rodrique’s b-day. There were drinks, wings, bowling, and talking shit, i.e. a great night. The fun continued from the bowling alley to some random house party, then finally to IHOP. There are 9 of us seated at 2 tables—at least there are until Rodrique leaves for an unknown Charlotte, locale to pick up a woman, promising to return shortly.
We’re trying to wait for Rodrique to return before we order since it’s his birthday celebration. So to pass the time, we all chat idly. At my table, the topic of who pays for the bill on a date comes up. Kewon presents this scenario to Shalonda, “What if a waiter slides the check to you first? Would you pay?”
Shalonda ponders the idea for a moment. “Is this a first date?”
Kewon nods. “Yeah, it is, but in general would you pay?”
She shrugs. “Not a problem… if it’s not a first date, of course.” Pause. “And I’ll happily pay if I asked him out.”
Rodrique finally returns with his “friend” Tori (40 minutes later) and introduces her around to the crew. She’s a very attractive sista, and every dude held that same “DAMMMMN!!” look (dudes you know that look). After we meet her, she saunters to the other table and takes the seat next to my boy’s. He parlays with us for a moment and I resist the urge to dap him up on his latest acquisition. I’m trying to figure out exactly what she is – she’s new, so is this potential wifey? A J.O.? He’s bringing her out at 3am. Gotta be a J.O. Then again, she’s meeting all the crew, including the girls. The J.O., especially a new one, would never meet the friends at any hour. Must be a PoW (potential (of) wifey). Hmmm.
We order, we wait, we eat and then bill time comes. The waitress informs us that the checks will have to be divided individually because this IHOP doesn’t take different cards on a large check (you know Black people never carry cash.) She hands all ten of us our separate checks and nine of us proceed to pay.
Rodrique takes his bill, reaches into his wallet, and pulls out a $20 to cover his meal, plus tax and tip. Check paid and stomach full, he relaxes back in his chair without a care in the world.
Tori’s bill is resting on the table. She is looking at it the way a woman looks at a small insect (not roach) that has invaded her home—part fear, part curiosity. She stares, and stares and stares at the paper print-out for what seems like an eternity. I guess she finally realizes that Rodrique is not reaching back into his wallet for her, so eventually she goes into her pocketbook and fumbles for some singles or a ten, anything to pay for her own damn food. She settles her bill and looks off into the distance. Clearly she is pissed. (Me and my boys laughing at her from the other table hasn’t helped matters, I guess.) I feel bad for her, but now I know the right answer to my question.
When we leave the restaurant, the Uptown crew, who are copping a ride back together, give Rodrique and Tori space to walk ahead of us as we follow them to Rodrique’s truck. We’re far away, but not so distant that we don’t hear Tori hiss at Rodrique, ” I can’t believe you acted like such an asshole. I’m soooo embarrassed!!!”
I figure it’s gonna be a long time before we get back. This sista is about to flip and he’s going to have to drop her wherever she came from before we head home. Maybe she was–a PoW. J.O.’s play thier position. and this sista is about to spaz.
Tori gets in the car, taking the passenger seat. Reluctantly, we pile in the back. I’m only half-way paying attention, but when I become fully alert, I realize we’re on the highway, headed to Concord at 5:30 am—no detour.
I chuckle to myself and settle back to knock out till the truck pulls in front of my house.
Actions speak louder than words. Jump off. Definitely.