I was on the way to the Paul McCartney show at Carter Finley Stadium in July of 1990 with Stonewall in the passenger seat when I was motioned over to the side of the parking lot I had just entered. It was a Raleigh policeman and he had seen the Budweiser can between my legs in the seat. I was ordered to pour out the remains. Stonewall and I stood outside as the nice officer searched the entire car. He found my hemostats in the glove compartment, but there was no weed in the car, so he wrote me up for open container and we drove on in. That was embarrassing because everyone saw me and what was happening as they drove in so all you could hear were jeers and catcalls directed towards me the whole search.
“Hey officer, I’ll take that weed off his hands so he won’t smoke it!” someone yelled leaning out of their car as it rolled on by. The police officer was giggling and laughing the whole time he was writing. I wanted to laugh too, but I thought that would be pushing it. Stonewall had to turn his back he was giggling so loudly.
“You Blade ain’tcha” the policeman asked.
“Don’t you know any better than to drive with an open container into
a high security area?”
“You got any marijuana on ya?”
“You got a lot of friend’s ain’tcha?”