The NABJ Chronicles, Part 1

My good friend David Steele suggested that I do a series of blog posts about my time at the NABJ Convention in Tampa.  And that was before he realized how much I’d have to tell about a 15 hour trip.  Enjoy.
Well, I’m back from vacation.  Good thing, too, for life sure got eventful upon my return.  The rest was helpful.
Of course, I’m not sure “rest” is the accurate term.  After going months and months without a road trip (and I don’t think I’d been on one in over a year), I decided to hoof it to Atlanta.  Then hoof it to Tallahassee.  Then hoof it to Tampa for the NABJ national convention.
If you’ve read this blog for a while, you know NABJ is like Christmas to me.  Given that I kinda got into this industry from my dorm rooms and apartments, I love the chance to catch up with colleagues I haven’t seen in forever (and, in many cases, never seen at all in the flesh).  Was too broke — and unemployed — to go last year, so I was gonna make it this year, even if for just one night.  Yeah, it’s that serious.
The only thing…I’m more employed, but I’m roughly as broke was I was then.  The cheap registration for this conference had long passed.  I don’t know exactly how much walk-up registration was, but I’m pretty sure there was a comma involved.  No way, Jose.  If I put a grand on something, it better have a motor.  Or get my motor to start again.  Or knock so hard it’ll set off car alarms.  Either way, didn’t have a grand for fellowship.
Especially not when you can just show up and dare someone to put you out!
The moral of this story — I’ll never get too old to enjoy mischief.Considering I was a rather well-behaved child, it’s funny that I got grown and got into mischievous things.  They’re just fun.  Ad if it’s fun and doesn’t hurt nobody, I’m with it.
If you say there’s nothing fun about being somewhere you’re not supposed to be, or sneaking in a back door even though you have the money in your pocket, you’re lying.  Or you’re just not my kind of folks.  One of my fondest memories of living in Southern California was being locked out of my car after a movie screening on Sunset, waiting on the tow truck, seeing the Bishop Don Magic Juan’s Caddy pull in — and you know it when you see it — following him to where he was going, and sneaking into a lingerie fashion show while sporting a Gap pro fleece hoodie, cargo pants with tattered hems, and stepped on Tims.
I posted up in that party like I was supposed to be there.  And it was fun.
I like mischief.
Anyway, I just decided to show up in Tampa.  Went to a session or two.  One of the sessions, I should have stayed in.  I left for a second.  I come back, and there’s some white lady in a blazer standing by the door.  Now, I know that white woman isn’t here for the convention, so she’s some sort of security.  Checking for badges (which you get when you, yanno, register).  Just trying to kill all the mischief.  Haters even exist in the hospitality industry.
So I spent a while just posted up on a laptop “checking my email,” just waiting on her to turn her back.  I just wanted to do what I did when I used to sneak into the VIP (like I did at the big party at NABJ ’07) — just wait on shawty to turn her back, then slide in real fast and have the door start closing before she can see what’s good.
But she was on her grind.
I should have taken that as an indicator that to show up without registering — oh, and NO HOTEL ROOM — wouldn’t work out as well as I thought it would.  But oh well…mischief is no fun without a couple of small risks, right?
The next step — free food and drank.  When it’s free, it’s drank, not drink.
The good folks at ESPN had a reception.  I appreciate that.  Those free drinks sure were refreshing (note: NABJ counts as one of those “special occasions” where I’ll drink).  Had a couple of Jack and ginger ales.  Party’s getting started.  We went from mischief to free drank (at places where I didn’t need to be registered).  Giddyup, right?
Next stop — the Bay Area mixer.  Sure, I was invited…but the closest association to the Bay that I have is that Too Short lives around the corner from my parents in Atlanta (or he used to).  So when they went around the room asking everyone’s Bay connection, folks said they worked there.  Folks said they were from there. All that stuff.
Me?  I said my parents lived around the corner from Too Short.  And I ate free pizza (as this cat told me to eat as much as I can…you ain’t funny).
Free food?  Check.  Free drank?  Check.
Ready for the night?  Of course.
Next stop — the lobby of the Marriott.  Posted up with a lot of friends and just enjoyed the scene.  The thing about NABJ is that it’s a bunch of people that, quite honestly, work with a bunch of white people.  Black folks are not well-represented in the journalistic ranks, so it’s awfully relieving to be around folks that understand the stuff you talk and/or complain about.
Plus, the women are gorgeous.  And I do mean GORGEOUS.  So let’s reassess this, shall we?
Free food?  Check.  Free drank?  Check.  Gorgeous women?  Check.
The night is looking right.
Posted in the lobby some more, and caught up with some folks.  All the while, I was trying to figure out, in my head, how I was going to get into the party that night without, yanno, paying.  The theme here is “free,” right?
Whaddayaknow?  My man comes up, pulls me to the side, and tells me he’s got a VIP ticket, and he’s not going to the party.  Passes that on to the folk.
Free food?  Check.  Free drank?  Check.  Gorgeous women?  Check.  Free party?  Check.
Needed a place to stay, though.  My thought was that I could freak it like me and my man did when we went to Daytona in ’99.  We just showed up, and we worked the room thing out.  You’re probably thinking that it’s foolish of me to apply a collegiate strategy to an adult event, but that’s not true.  I once let some folks crash with me at the ACC tournament cuz they brought their on intoxicants.  It could be done.
Saw a friend in the lobby, and I know no real friend of mine would leave me to sleep in my car.  She had a second bed in her room, so we’re in the game.  Rolled another 7.
Party on.
(Now, it’s important to note that in this, I haven’t slept.  Pushed out from Tally at 9, got to Tampa around 1, changed clothes in the car (apologies to those that, for a brief second, had to see me standing in a parking garage in a beater and boxers, but I’m too tall to put on slacks in the ride).  From there, it was convention/kick it in that Tampa heat.)
Not sure what time we got to the party.  Just got there and kicked it til, I think, 3 in the morning.  I’m telling you…having a great night.  No need for a repeat of the checklist.
Now, in the course of the great time, I noticed I didn’t see my roommate anywhere.  But hey, didn’t think much of it.  Everybody and their mama was at this party.  I just didn’t see.  Shot a text, got no response, but that happens.  No biggie.
So now it’s like 4 a.m., I’m in the lobby of the hotel, and this lodging thing is still in the air.  Decide to put in a call and see what the deal is.  Got the message no Blackberry owner wants to see.
“Battery too low for radio use.”
Ruh-roh.
Not the one to call people from other folks’ phones, cuz you never know how that’s gonna know.  You can’t call a woman from a dude’s phone — whose number might be in there, btw — at 4 in the morning.  Let her see that number and think some cat was trying to…do the 4 a.m.  I’m messing up his rep.  I won’t do that.  The game is respected, whether I’ve got a room or not.
So, yanno, posted up with my folks in the lobby.  This is the time when your friends say, “hey man, we got you if you need it.”  You need them to say that because, when you decide to bum rush the joint and go cheap, nobody’s gonna want you asking to stay with them.  Shoulda paid like the rest of us, you cheapskate.
I could respect that, so I chose to dance around the topic.
“Man, I still gotta find a place to stay.”
*crickets*
“Yeah, this hasn’t gone as I planned.”
*tumbleweed*
“Well, I’ll hit the road and look for a Red Roof or something with an even number for the night.”
“OK, man…you gonna be around tomorrow?”
Again, no beef.  But I can’t lie…not the answer I was hoping for.
No biggie.  Wasn’t sure what the Roof was going for, but it couldn’t be that expensive.
Head up 75 North, look for the Roof, and I’d decide in the morning whether I’d kick it in Tampa for another day (note: I brought one day of look-nice clothes, and they happened to be in the trunk of my car when I got on the road…I was about to get extra bootleg).
Get to the Roof.  Break out the debit card.  Buddy needs me to give him my plate number, but I couldn’t remember it.  Go outside.  Come back.
“Strange, but your card’s not going through.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when the fun began.  Or started.  All depends on perspective….
Look out for Part 2 a little later.