The weekend before last was your typical weekend of gambling, fine dining, plush hotel accomodations, and brush with a rap artist. Through a connection with a friend, I spent two nights in the Ritz Carlton Hotel in Battery Park in NYC. It was a nice contrast to the ultimate goal of my trip - degenerate gambling at Belmont Park for the Breeders Cup. After Friday night dining at a 2 star seafood joint, my friend and I walked back to the Ritz. Who is walking to entrance at the exact same time...none other than 50 cent with four of his boys. Not only do we walk in together amiss calls of "Hey, Fitttty," but we ride in the same elevator. Apparently, when rappers ride in an elevator with their posse, they stand in Boy Band formation for security purposes. My friend and I are standing left center of the doors while Fifty's muscle is standing in wall-like formation. Fifty is staring at himself in the mirror (in the opposite direction that everyone else is facing).
There are many things that I could have done so Fifty would remember me. There are many articles of clothing and body parts I could have asked him to autograph. I did nothing. I was going to just let him walk out of my life without anything to remember the experience except the "I'm Fitty!" stare he gave himself in the mirror.
As the elevator stopped at his floor, Fifty was apparently not content with me rising to a higher floor than him without doing something so I would remember him. As he got off the elevator, he stopped, gave me the once over (not like he would give Beyonce the once-over; more like how he would give a skinny white boy with glasses the once-over)...laughed...and then walked onto his floor and out of the elevator.
He has ignored many men in his day. Made friends with even more women. However, there are few among us who can say they have been mocked by 50 cent. And, that, is better than an autograph.
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