Getting jumped by 10 guys isn't as much fun as it's cracked up to be

So, a few days ago I met this cool Jamaican chick... cute, short and sexy, just the way I like 'em. I was in the dining hall earlier than usual, trying to get this whole 'eating so I can stay alive' thing out of the way so I could get back to tackling that History paper on Gilgamesh or whateva-him-waan-name. (Whoever invented food should be shot... it takes time away from the more fun things in life, like History papers and writing blogs.) So anywayz, as I made my way to a table, with a tray filled with enough food to last an Ethiopian till next semester, I noticed at the last instant that I was about to sit at the same table with a girl I'd recently downgraded from Friends to Other Contacts (long story, I'll tell you about it later). So, using a deft crossover move that would've made Allen Iverson proud, I switched my tray to the other hand and slid it onto the adjacent table, nodding casually in her direction as I glided effortlessly into another seat. Smooth, huh?

At first I didn't notice the girl sitting across from me talking to her friends. She's pretty and petite, but in a way that 37.4% of the girls on campus are pretty and petite. However, as I started slicing the chicken, which was unusually dry that day, I heard the beautiful sound of something I haven't heard in months: an actual Kingston-girl accent. Of course, I fell in love with her right away (love at first listen) and a quick glance across the table got me even more interested. I don't remember exactly what she was wearing, cuz her eyes have this sorta gravitational pull that must make neutron stars envious. As nonchalantly as I could, I caught her eye nonchalantly and nonchalantly asked "Which school yu used to guh?" All very nonchalant. She smiled and said "Wolmers." I was hooked.

So to cut a long story short (too late)... great eye contact, attractive smile, I'm making her laugh and vice-versa... she'd lost her Black Chiney 8.1 CD and I'd promised to burn her a copy, plus a Cash Money mixtape and some Vybz Kartel chunes (I'm working on a pantyripper mix of some of Kartel's slackest stuff... look out for it on Soulseek). On Saturday night around 9, I called her and told her I'd be coming by with the CDs. I also brought along Shottas on DVD, the best Jamaican movie of all time even though it was never officially released... although it's somewhat of a cult classic here in America most people in Jamaica have never watched it. On my way out, I ran into one a mi bredren, a Yankee yute we'll call Bryan. He asked what I was up to and asked if he could tag along, so I said sure. The more the merrier, right? Before we left we went back to his dorm and mixed up some rum & Coke, except he was outta Coke so I improvised by getting a bottle of Vanilla Pepsi from the vending machine. Hell, that stuff tastes better than Coke anyway... hehe. Even though he mixed it about half-and-half, that stuff was still wimpy... too bad he only had Captain Morgan and not the real stuff. I didn't even get buzzed from half-a-cup.

We went across campus to the girl's... let's call her Natasha.... Natasha's dorm building and I called her from downstairs. It took her an eternity to come down, but the old adage that "the longer a female keeps you waiting, the more she's worth it" was proven true when she finally graced us with her presence. I could see that my friend was visibly awed. She also brought her roommate down with her; while she'd been keeping us waiting I'd called her back and she'd decided she'd rather come over to our dorm... she said her room was too 'dry', dry meaning boring as I learnt later. Back in my dorm, I put on some reggae and we chilled for a while, talking, flirting lightly, dancing etc. Visitation ends at midnight here, so we walked the girls back over to their building after spending about 2 hours with them... this is when things got interesting.

As we were halfway between their building and ours, Natasha's roommate saw a large group of guys, about a baker's dozen, walking up behind us kinda fast, so she got nervous and suggested we walk faster. At first I figured that they were students so it wasn't anything to worry about, but as they got nearer I could see they were certainly not students, at least I sincerely hope they weren't as it would cast aspersions on the level of tertiary education in America if they were. One approached me, a charming young gentleman with bad teeth, bad dreadlocks and bad breath, spitting, "Whatchu got in your pockets?" Of course, I saw this as a rather personal question, perhaps more befitting of a second date with an attractive young lady than a first encounter with a snaggletoothed hoodlum in a dirty white 6XL T-shirt, so I answered accordingly: "Wha di fuck yu a ask mi dat fa battybwoy?" He seemed to take this the wrong way, as he responded with a right hook to the face. One or two of his colleagues also seemed to take offense, as they contributed positively to the debate with a few well-placed blows of their own. In fact, they were so vigorous in their rebuttals that one accidentally broke my front tooth, but they borrowed some money and left rather hastily before I could ask them to help me look for the fragments. At this point Bryan, who along with the two young ladies had ran away quietly at the opening lines to my discussion with my new friends, returned with some other friends of ours, perhaps hoping to arrange formal introductions between the two groups. Unfortunately my new friends had already absconded with the rather large sum of $5, so we may have to postpone the conference to a time more convenient to both parties.

Sitting in the back of a squad car at 12:10 AM with the left side of my face bearing an uncanny resemblance to Kanye West circa late 2002, a fractured tooth, and what felt like a concussion, one might have been surprised to see me smiling. Natasha had just leaned in and said, "Call me."

So what were you up to this weekend?