KING KLASS
Making Way For the Crowd In P. Diddy's Mind
IHAD JUST GRABBED A SLICE OF PIZZA AT RAY'S IN MIDTOWN WHEN I WAS ENGAGED in the bad habit of walking down the sidewalk while texting.
Suddenly, I hear a deep voice.
"Excuse me! You're not coming in here, are you?" booms the voice.
I look up; the voice is coming from a large man in a sharp looking jacket and black driver's cap guarding the entrance to the building next to Ray's.
I'm confused. After all, I'm a good 10 feet from the door and making a B-line for the next block. I stop and look at him, puzzled.
"I'm sorry?"
"You ain't coming in here I hope!,'' barks the man. "You ain't trying to get in, are you? You can't be coming in here right now! I can't let you in!"
This guy is adamant about keeping me away from a door that I have no intention of entering. That's when I realize I'm outside the entrance to Bad Boy Entertainment Worldwide, the business umbrella of Sean John Combs, a.k.a Puff Daddy, a.k.a Puffy, a.k.a P. Diddy, a.k.a Diddy, a.k.a Cheesy Poofs, a.k.a Rumplestiltskin (because, why not?).
"No, I- I'm not- what? I-," I stutter. And now I want in because something obviously going on!
That's when I see them: two men walking up the sidewalk and heading for the door, and one of them is most definitely Seanie Poofs himself. His head is buried deep into the hood of a white goose down coat (likely his own line), and he has his signature shades on. He walks swiftly and vigilantly toward the door with the second man nearly glued to his hips. I presume: the body guard?
Someone must have called ahead to let the doorman know Puffs was approaching so they could clear the path for him.
Cause, Lord knows how dangerous this area can get! A big name like Seanie Poofs could get swarmed by book editors, concert oboists, bike messengers, even hot dog vendors! He has to move swiftly and incognito to his office, lest the self-proclaimed fragrance King be harassed on his way to approve T-shirt designs!
But here's the funny thing: I looked around...and... there is... nobody on the sidewalk but me. All the hullabaloo is much ado about nothing.
I mean, if the Puffer gotten out of a cab by himself and strolled down the block without his face covered, no one would have noticed. I wouldn't even have known it was him. It's New York, for pissant's sake. We've all got things to do.
"Oh," I say to the doorman, "that's your man, huh? The guy who runs this place?" "Nah, nah, nah. That ain't him.
"Nah," as if to say, "Move along, now, layman."
It's obvious that Seanie Poofs has an incessant need to feel powerful and important, hence the theatrics involved in making his way to a door.
It's okay, Seanie Poofs. You're important. I've been to the less affluent neighborhoods in Brooklyn, where I've seen middle aged men walking down the streets with your signature hooded sweatshirts (which retail in the neighborhood of $140). Why they're such suckers for brand recognition, I don't know. But you've managed to sucker them all. I guess that makes you important, or maybe just rich.
Peter Lawrence kicks up the dirt while pounding New York City's pavements. You can email him at PLawrenceNYC@gmail.com.Permalink
Posted February 2, 2009
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