White Dopes on Punk, pt. 1

On a very cold, rainy, February night - in '86 or '87, can't recall - I went with a few friends to The 930 Club in Washington, D.C. to see T.S.O.L. This was when the 930 was on F Street, right around the corner from the FBI building you see in nearly every episode of The X-Files. We parked on that block and made our way to the McDonald's across from FBI. My friend Shawn had a six-pack of something, and he wanted to use the restroom to somehow hide it in his trench before heading to the show. The place was crowded, and every single person there was black. Being pretty typical suburban honky teenagers, we decided that Shawn and George would go to the men's room while I waited in the restaurant area with Brigette, who obviously could not go into the men's room and did not want to wait alone.

So Brigette and I hang and chat and try not to look petrified. I actually wasn't all that nervous. We had been to this McDonald's before, it was only about 8pm, and no one looked like they were there for a CRIPS convention. What we didn't know, however, was that about ten minutes before we walked in, a black kid in the McDonald's had gotten into a brawl with some white punker around the corner, and we were the first - and only - white punkers to walk in. A couple kids started talking some shit. Having no idea what had happened, we just stood there trying to figure out what was happening and hoping Shawn and George would hurry the fuck up. I got sucker punched - just a nick, really, didn't even knock me sideways, but it draw a drop of blood from my lower lip. Just as Shawn and George appear, with WTF looks on their faces, two older men, who had up to this point been sitting in the corner drinking coffee, intervened and convinced the crowd that we were not "the white boys" they wanted. I'm sure they knew this by the stupid looks on our faces. By now, though, about a dozen of these kids had gathered right outside the front door and were obviously waiting for us. One of the men told us about the brawl and how the crowd outside wanted to kick our asses. Then he instructed us to follow him and his friend out the door, and he'd take care of the rest. They talked the crowd down and escorted us about halfway up the block. "Now y'all head up around to yo club and maybe don't come back round here tonight."

Thank you, kind wise black man, sir. We headed around to the club, in the freezing rain, and the show was sold out. I had a cut lip and the next day, a cold. Punk rock, baby.