How I met my Italian boyfriend

The other night I was riding my bike home from the bar at about 3am. At one point in the ride, there is a passageway that takes you under the highway and a train crossing. I am always on alert at this point in the ride because it’s a little bit sketchy. It’s a dirty tunnel riddled with graffiti, I have to get off my bike and walk it because of the stairs, and I can’t ever see who is on the other side until I am right up on them. Somehow there are always voices at the end of the tunnel. I amuse myself each night by imagining who they will be. One night it was two old ladies and a dog. The next, a few people in their mid-twenties standing around outside of their car. Usually pretty benign stuff. Nonetheless, I always mentally prepare myself for it to be a group of drunk thugs looking to wake some snakes – just in case.

This night was no different than the rest, voices on the other side speaking a language I couldn’t understand, tunnel smelling of piss and old garbage. As I began to make my way up the stairs at the end of the tunnel, the passageway turned and there were four young men and one older fellow scattered around the steps, a couple drinking beers, a cigarette here and there. I sized them up quickly. They younger ones looked pretty, um, hip-hop, sideways hats and big t-shirts, baggy jeans, piercings, tattoos – generally the type of riff raff your mother wouldn’t want you cavorting with abroad. I probably would have been worried had it not been for the older man. He was about 60 with long white hair and a kind face and he was chatting with them, calmly, not drinking or smoking. They looked pretty relaxed, non-threatening. They didn’t take too much note of me, so I gave them a quick “Ciao” as I passed, and kept on. But then one of them asked me a question in Italian. I slowed down a bit as I asked him to repeat it in English.
‘Ah! English. Yes. Um… would you like to be in our rap video?” He said in a thick Italian accent.

I sort of giggled as I stopped walking, still holding the bike.
“Um, rap video?”
“yes! We are making a rap video! You want to be in it?”

I looked at him sideways and squinted an eye. “Does that mean you want me to wear tiny booty shorts and dance like this?” I asked, doing my best to demonstrate that I may not have been the best candidate for said task.

“No! No, you just… Do you want to do it?” He asked again.

I stood there contemplating for a minute, looking them all over. They didn’t seem creepy. They weren’t invading my personal space or acting drunk or strung out. I looked at the old man. He was waiting calmly for the answer just like them as he shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘why not do it?’

“Sure. Per che no?” I answered, engaging my bike’s kick stand. Why the hell not?

They sprang to action. One of them readied the video camera, while another busted out the boom box. Another guy explained that I was simply to stand next to their friend while he rapped and just sort of groove and look cool while he put his arm around me. Easy enough.

They started the camera and hit play. He did his thing. It hit me that I have no idea how to compose myself and look cool in a rap video. My dance floor charm stems from my refusal to refrain from dancing, despite my incredible whiteness. I realized that the closed-finger robot/mannequin hand just above the face wasn’t going to fly here. So I laughed the entire time. WTF? How was this hard?
They stopped the tape and were laughing too.

“Noo! You can’t laugh. You must have serious face like this.” I tried real hard this time. For whatever reason, I decided that of everyone I know, my friend Sierra would know how to best handle this particular scenario and not look like a chump. Why? I have no idea. Sierra is neither black or particularly skilled in the art of hip hop video dancing, but I guess you could say she’s pretty good at looking super chill in awkward situations. So I tried real hard to look super chill next to this guy I didn’t know who smelled kinda like B.O. and was spitting mad Italian slang through his late night beer-breath. I was pretty sure the result was going to be nothing short of cheesy as hell, but it must have worked because they high-fived and thanked me afterward.

*The video is posted on my facebook wall, if you’re interested in checking it out.
Also available here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=CxMUsXa85RQ#!


(P.s. No, dad, he isn't actually my Italian boyfriend. It was just a catchy title.)