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With all the Kevin Nash threads up lately, I feel like I need to get something off my chest.
In the summer of 1992, I was in Detroit, Michigan on business. I worked for a supplier and was sent to hash out a contract with Ford Motors. When I finally closed the deal I had decided to go out and celebrate.
I pulled into a gas station first, a BP or Citgo or something, I can't remember, and I noticed a bar across the street from it. I headed inside the gas station, feeling the cool a/c wash over me, dispelling the blistering heat that plagued the summer that year, and inquired about the bar I had noticed with the clerk. The bar was called "The Mandingo Room" or something along those lines. Looking back it may have been a gay bar, I don't know. It was the 90s and this was back when homosexuality was rightfully viewed as abhorrent. Anyway, the clerk warned me to steer clear of it, as a lot of criminal types frequented it (it was 1992 and African American gang culture was hitting it's peak) I heeded his advice and instead grabbed a 24 pack of Bud Light from the cooler (Again, it was the 90s and transgenderism had yet to be invented by the 2004 hit movie "White Chicks") and went to the counter. I gave the clerk a 20 and asked for 10 bucks of gas for whichever pump I was on.
As I left the store and began pumping my gas, I heard a man yelling. I looked across the street and seen 5 or 6, maybe more, large African American men dragging an even larger Caucasian man out of the bar, heading toward a van with the back doors open. One of the black men noticed me watching and shot a mean look my way, lifting up his white tank top, covered in various yellow stains, to reveal a handgun tucked into his waistband. I understood his nonverbal warning and looked away, finished pumping my gas and got into my car. As I pulled out in the opposite direction, I looked in my rear view mirror and seen the van rocking violently. I shook my head of any impure thoughts and went back to my hotel.
