Friday, November 04, 2005
Crackheads Are Nice People
In 1996 I met a guy at a club in Los Angeles. His name was Marcus. After talking to him the first time on the phone he seemed a little weird, but he asked me out to dinner. I love a FREE DINNER.
We went out to dinner a few nights later, and I noticed he kept mentioning his ex-girlfriend. Yawn. He was boring me to death with his sob story, but he was providing a FREE DINNER.
I continued seeing Marcus for a about a month, and he continued talking about his ex-girlfriend. I didn't quite understand why they broke up, but it seemed like she had dumped him against his wishes.
Marcus lived in South Central. I went to his house one time. He still lived at home with his mom which was a major turn-off, but again, he had taken me out for a FREE DINNER, so I suffered through the obligatory tour of his mama's house. When we reached his room, I was shocked to see at least 8 different photos of some chick on the wall. "Who's this?" I asked, peering closely at the pictures. "Oh, my ex-girlfriend." Psycho.
Now, most girls in their right mind would have left this man alone, but I can't turn down a FREE DINNER. One night Marcus called my house because he was in Santa Monica and wanted to say hi. After stopping by he asked, "Want to ride with me to return some movies?"
5 minutes later we were flying onto an onramp onto the 10 freeway. "Where are we going?" I asked suspiciously. "To take the movies back. In south central." "Oh, okay." I answered. "So, since we're already going to be there," he started, "Do you mind if we stop by my godson's house?"
Now, I'm no idiot. I instantly recalled that he had once told me his ex-girlfriend was related to his godson. "You're not taking me somewhere where your ex is going to be, are you?" "Of course not!" he snapped.
15 minutes later we were in south central. It was dark. We pulled up to a house and suddenly Marcus seemed nervous. "Come on," he said. "Oh, no," I protested. "I'm not going in there!" "Why not?" he answered annoyed. "Why not?" I felt my voice rising. "Because I think your ex-girl is in there and you're trying to set me up or make her jealous or something." "Whatever!" he said and stepped out of the car.
Marcus stayed inside the house for about 10 minutes. While he was in there, I sat in the car fuming. Several people, or shall I say crackheads, peered into the car window, smiled, and waved. God, hi, it's me Jaimie. Please, I promise, if you get me back home safely, I will never date anyone who I meet from a club again.
Finally, Marcus came back to the car and got in. He seemed pissed off and quickly turned the key in the ignition and started to speed off. "What's wrong with you?" I asked. "She was in there, wasn't she? Why don't you just leave her alone? I mean, I can't believe you did this to me! There were crackheads looking into the car!" I don't remember the rest of the conversation, but I do recall using the words asshole, hell, and shit quite a bit.
Suddenly Marcus pulled into a 76 gas station. "Get out." He said. "What?" I answered. "Get out," he said again calmly. I looked at the street sign. Florence and Normandy. Reginald Denny. Shit. "Ok, Marcus, babe, I'm sorry. Sorry I used all of that really foul language. That wasn't very ladylike of me. So, um, just get back on the freeway and take me back to Santa Monica and it's all good."
"You heard me bitch. Get the fuck out of my car."
Seeing that the man was about to lose his mind, I calmly opened the car door and put one leg out. The car started moving. "You're such an asshole!" I got out of the car. Off Marcus sped, back in the direction of the house.
I grew up in Santa Monica. I have no survival skills whatsoever. I walked (quickly) over to the gas station attendant. He was behind a thick pane of gas. "Hi," I said with my best cheerleader smile. "Um, yeah, hi. Can I use your phone please?"
I walked to a payphone near the gas station. There was a crackhead standing right next to it. "You sho' is pretty," he said. "Thanks," I answered. "Do you have 20 cents?"
The crack head handed me a quarter. I called my mom.
me: Mom, it's me. Don't have time to explain because I'm about to get eaten alive, but um, can you pick me up on the corner of Florence and Normandy?
me: Just do it!!! That asshole Marcus left me here!
mom: What'd you do to him?
me: Ma, I'm about to get killed here. Can we talk about it in the car?
mom: I'm on my way.
Everyone knows that any destination in Los Angeles can be reached within 20 minutes, but somehow my mom made it to south central in a record 19. She pulled up, and I was never in my life so happy to see a red Honda Prelude.
"You better not ever see that Marcus again!" my mom said. This was a completely ridiculous statement. Like I would?
I didn't hear from Marcus until 3 months later. "Hey," he said casually when I answered the phone. "I just out of jail. Can I come by and see you?"
I am proud to say that Marcus never saw me again, and where he is today, I do not know. I did learn one thing from this situation: Crackheads are nice people.
Posted by Jaimie ::
4:19 PM ::
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