True Story© Black Eyewitness Guy

     I think we can ALL agree that we collectively dislike 'black eyewitness guy'…

If you need a refresher on just who that is, let’s let Eddie and Huey bring us up to speed.

For those of us who grew up in or near the hood, we’re used to having the news around when some ill shit happens to pop off.  Let there be a police chase, a shooting, a stabbing, some local government corruption, a dogfighting ring gets busted up, a city councilman caught getting topped off by an MLK street walker on the corner of McGee St and Cedar in the front seat of his Suburban in 1998 (or was that 99?); the fake news media is COMING out.

     When I was little, I used to think it was exciting to be on the news and would gravitate to the camera when they were wherever we were at a given time and HOPED they would ask me a question so I could be on TV that night.
When I grew up, though, I learned this distaste for the media for the shit that they decided that our neighborhoods were, selling up that narrative in exchange for ad space purchases.  Plausibly deniable racism is apparently good for business, but that is another tale for another post.

     As an adult, I decided I would rather play up my learned disdain for the media by using it as my chance to waste their time with shit they would NOT be able to properly edit to put on TV if they wanted to.

Thursday June 18, 2015.
The Charleston Church shooting had been the day before.  As I belong to one of the larger AME churches in the district and since it so happens that our church is particularly popular with the local NAACP, the vigil was at our church was to be held that night.
My brother was working as custodian at the church at the time but was at the beach until the evening of the vigil, so he had leaned on me to straighten up the building in his absence that week.  On par with the rest of the week, I would come to the church with his keys and let myself in, clean and leave.  Normally it took no more than an hour since it was summer and very little was happening around the building.  Oh, but tonight?  I had one hour after work at my normal job to make sure the church was clean for what would be enough visitors to fill the sanctuary more than most Sundays do these days.
He called me as he got in town, having been made aware of the IMMEDIATELY cobbled together plan and came over to the church.  I had handled business and we were outside talking to the pastor before some people came and he had to hightail it inside.

…  then the news crew came.

Preston looks at me and goes “I ain’t talking to these motherfuckers,” to which I respond with “hell, I shouldn’t!”
[note: not a word about cursing in the church parking lot, you’d be surprised how many people do it if you hang around one long enough]
They approached, camera ready and my brother starts fiddling with his phone so as to not be addressed.  I had other plans…

Me: *head nod* “Hey, how’s it goin’?”

Reporter: “Pretty good, and you?”

Me: “All things considered, pretty good.”

Reporter: “You guys members here?”

Me: “Yep.”

Reporter: “Staying for the vigil?”

Me: “Nah, we’re just working tonight.”

Reporter: “Mind if I ask a couple of questions on camera?”

Preston: *shakes head*

Me: “Sure, I can talk.”

Reporter: “Thanks…  So what are your thoughts on the whole situation?”

Preston: *long slow eyeroll*

Me: “Oh, it was fucked up, dude!”

Reporter: *points to the TV van* “I understand emotions are kinda high right now.  So do you feel any kind of residual fear that someone may try this on you guys’ church?”

Me: “Oh, you mean like a copycat?”

Reporter: “Yes, basically a copycat attack.”

Me: *pulls airsoft gun from my waistband, looks at camera* “I say to ANY of you ma-fuckas watching at home… COME WITH IT! We ain’t laying down in this bitch.  We can shoot it out like Yosemite fuckin’ Sam in this bitch!”

Reporter: *steps back* “Sir…”

Preston: “dude…”

Me: “Y’all heard what I said, we ain’t just about to lay down and beg over here in East Greensboro, I will fight ‘til I die for mine!”

Reporter: “You would arm yourself in a chur--…”

Me: “You damn right I'mma arm myself!  What did those people gain NOT being strapped?  I am gonna be strapped like Wile Ethelbert Coyote”
Preston: "hehe, Ethelbert, man?!"

Reporter: *motions to the camera man* “Thanks…  I think we will get inside now.”

At least I had kept my finger off the trigger and refrained from referring to anyone as “cracka-ass-crackas” in this exchange.

Preston looks at me once we’re alone again, asks “where the fuck did THAT come from?  You don’t even take your gauge out of the house…  When you get a pistol and not tell me?” and chuckled when I came out of character and explained it was an airsoft gun.

     I didn’t hang around for the vigil, I went to my now-girlfriend’s house and we ate dinner before I made her let me watch the news that night to see just how much of my WWE Promo they would try to fix for television.
Disappointingly, the answer to “how much?” would be ‘zero.’