A night at front.

By "front," of course, I'm referring to the Waterfront, Elizabeth City's harbor, if you can call it that, which can be used for all kinds of recreational activities... For example, Dad and I put our boat in there; the town miscreants drink and smoke pot there. Whatever rubs your Buddha, I suppose.

I lived in Elizabeth City eighteen years without "chilling," to use the vernacular of the time, at "front," also to use the vernacular of the time. So, after my triumphant return from Germany, I allowed my good friend Crystal to talk me into going down there Thursday night. Crystal's friend, her boyfriend, her boyfriend's friend, and I took up our little corner of the lot leaning against or, in my case, sitting on our cars. I traded glances with some guy wearing a Jack Daniels shirt EXPRESSLY, I am convinced, to torture me. I met a bunch of Crystal's friends whom, if I didn't like, I at least didn't totally despise, and agreed to come back the following night.

That night was more boring, though, I left after about twenty minutes and drove around talking to Dave, who was trying to explain tortellini. I didn't want to waste gas, so I parked in the sports bar's lot (strike one) with my windows down (strike two) and my car off (strike three!). After a moment, some guys came out and started shouting at me. It went a little something like this:

Dave: I can't BELIEVE you don't know what tortellini is.
Kat: I'm from the South, Dave.
Idiots: Heeeyy, girrrrlll!
Kat: (on the phone) Uh-oh...
Dave: Do you know what ravioli is, at least?
Idiots: Heeeey! Come on out of the car! Get out of the car, girl!!
Kat: Uh... what?
Dave: You don't know what ravioli is?!
Kat: Of course I know what ravioli is... *frantically trying to put the car in reverse, before realizing it's not on... quickly turns it on*
Idiots: Heyyy, come onnn!
Dave: It's a little like ravio--
Kat: DAVE. There are some guys yelling at me. I'm a little distracted!
Dave: What?
Kat: *explains while rapidly driving out of the parking lot, then pauses* Oh, crap, they're following me!
Idiots: *prepare themselves to chase Kat out of the lot*
Kat: HAHAHA. That's right! You try and take my car! TRY IT! (I was out of the parking lot, up the road to the main street, and past the next stoplight before they were out of the lot.)

I went back to front to pick up Crystal, as promised, only to find two warring factions. Apparently Rodney (henceforth referred to as King Hick) had "beef" with Isaiah, because, swearing omitted: "Thet [beep] wuz tawlking [beep] about mah boy's cah, and yal dahn't dew thet!" There were two other more personal complaints about Isaiah... I think he muttered an insult to the King Hick under his breath, or something. Whatever.

Crystal, using her impressive presence of mind, stole King Hick's switchblade, which didn't take too much wind out of King Hick's sails. The two warring factions, half assembled around Isaiah, half around King Hick, were sending messengers back and forth... yes, messengers. Remember middle school, when you passed notes?

King Hick lost patience and stomped over, so Isaiah headed to someone's car, and King Hick jumped up on the picnic table and stared after him broodingly, while muttering "Yeah, THAT'S right!" I feelingly said, "Oh, that's hardcore, man. You jump up on that picnic table." King Hick yelled back, "What, thet's nawt tuff enuff fah yew?!" and took off after the car.

At this point, Crystal was ranting about how it was, not censored, "a bullshit fight, man, you don't start that fucking shit with my friends, man, that's bullshit" while sitting (also broodingly) on the picnic table King Hick had abandoned, staring at the action unfolding around Jessica's car (in which Isaiah had taken sanctuary). King Hick had planted himself behind the car so they couldn't back out, so some chick got out and started screaming about how he was immature... this did not wound King Hick's sensibilities.

Let me point something out here. These people are not heavily muscled 6'2" guys having a turf war. They're short little rednecks (at least one of whom has a "REDNECK" tattoo), the oldest of which is maybe 20, few of whom will ever graduate... and they think mud riding is a legitimate sport.

I started to pull out but stopped for Crystal, who had no other ride; as I tried to convince her to get in, a COP PULLED UP, blaring his siren and spinning his little lights.

This went a long way toward persuading Crystal to leave, so we escaped to the other cultural center... Wal-Mart. Movin' on up.

Just another night in Elizabeth City...