Fall of my sophomore year, A Tribe Called Quest reunited for the Rock the Bells Tour. I LOVED ATCQ at this point in my life (still do, for real for real), so I desperately wanted to be at that concert. Unfortunately the closest the tour was coming to my school was this little town about an hour/hour and a half from campus. NO RIDE to get out there and of course, the bus and train did not stop there from Providence. I bought my ticket anyways and put a notice up on my school's online campus bulletin board looking for a ride.
In class a few hours later, I heard that some guy named Wendell* was going to the concert and driving himself and some friends there from my school. Sweet. "Wendell" of course turns out to be Wendell, RFK's grandson and JFK's nephew (I think that's right... eh, it's big family). We didn't run in the same circle of friends at school so I knew very little about Wendell other than his douche-tastic Facebook picture at the time, which was him, shirtless, with "THUG LIFE" written across his stomach Tupac-style. Not the best first impression.
Imagine this... on a pasty, rich white dude. Yeah.Anyways, I figured I wasn't in this to make a new friend or even like the guy on a basic level; I just needed a ride to that concert.
Game day comes around and about 5 of us pile into Wendell's weathered BMW headed for the Tribe concert. From the time we left Providence to the time we partied with people Wendell knew in the town where the concert was playing to the time we actually MADE it to the concert doors is mostly a blur, but I do remember the concert itself being pretty awesome. It's after the concert that things started going downhill.
So Wendell and maybe 3 people in the car decide they want to meet up with some more people they knew in the town the concert was being held. It was about 1 am at this point and me and this hippie girl we rode up there with were wondering when the eff we were all gonna leave, as some of us had class and ish in the morning.
Wendell and his 3 friends decide they are too wasted to get back to Providence that night and say they're all gonna crash at their other friend's place.
"SO HOW THE F*CK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET BACK TO SCHOOL?!" me and this other chick wonder out loud. Wendell basically says that's our problem and goes off to rejoin the party.
"THAT'S WHY YOUR DAD'S A DRUNK!" I screamed. I think it fell on deaf ears (most definitely drunk ears), but I thought it was a clever and appropriate comment at the time.
Me and the hippie chick looked at each other blankly for a few seconds before realizing we need to think quick to get out of this hicktown (OK, not really, more like a small city... but no buses or trains stopped there! That equals hicktown to me) and back to civilization.
There just happened to be some random guy from the concert who followed a group of us to Wendell's OTHER friend's house, the one where he stranded us, and who kept staring alluringly/creepily at the hippie chick I was with. We thought maybe he went to school with us or somewhere in the vicinity of the concert, but after chatting him up for a few minutes, turns out he was just some kid who lived in his grandma's basement. Chatting him up for a few more minutes, we found out he has a car (!), that his grandma's basement is in Providence (!!), and that he was trying to go home THAT NIGHT (!!!).
Then, and I kid you not folks, right after finding that out, the hippie chick I was with and this dude go to a nearby parking lot where "supposedly" his car is located (REMEMBER: We're stranded at this point, this guy could very well be a serial killer, yo... I know I wasn't going anywhere with him alone!). I asked the chick if she wanted me to come with her; I know I would want witnesses if a trial were to go down over this mess. She said "Nope, just chill here for a second" and her and the guy walked off into the moonlight.
Fifteen minutes of standing awkwardly outside the party later, Hippie Girl and Possible Serial Killer Guy drive up in his old white Nissan. To this day I don't know what that b*tch did to get both of us a ride back to Providence that night, but whatever it was, it worked and we're still alive.
Anyways, moral of the story is: Sorry your great-uncle or whatever died, but damn you Wendell Kennedy!
*Names have been changed to protect the douchey.
