Jacked!
Over the last 12 years there have only been 51 permits to build new homes in Asbury Park, New Jersey. From 1996 until 2002, there were no, ZERO, permits to build new homes.
30% of Asbury Park’s residents have incomes below the “poverty level.” The average annual household income is only one-third that of the rest of New Jersey. Unemployment is twice the national average.
Violent crime is almost 4-times higher in Asbury Park than the national average. Robbery is almost 5-times higher.
Many of the 12,000 or so residents living in the one square mile of the city are poor and hopeless; some are desperate.
:::
One summer evening, I drove an employee who lived in Asbury Park home. I dropped him off in front of his apartment. He left his window open and his door unlocked (WARNING: Literary device “foreshadowing” in use). No matter, I figured I would take care of them when I stopped — this was a work van, no electric door locks and windows here.
At a red light, I reached over and slapped the lock down. At-that-very-instant, a person I didn’t see attempted to open the door. I quickly rolled the window up and just as quickly the unseen person (now seen) reached in the window and attempted to unlock the door. Now his arm is caught and we are looking at each other, eye-to-eye.
«Pause.»
I am not scared. It’s not that I’m a super manly-man. It’s just that this happened far too quickly for me to be scared. Besided I have the upper hand. He is stuck, elbow pinned in my window, with his arm reaching over his head. He’s probably on his tip-toes.
«Un-pause.»
He is scared. He spoke quickly. “It ain’t like that! It ain’t like that!” Quietly yelling. Pleading.
“It certainly seems like that,” I answered.
“No. No. No. You don’t understand,” he continued, panicking. He thinks I’m going to take off and drag him at 30, 40, 50 miles per hour. He’s stuck and trying to get out of it.
As he’s begging, all I can think is, “What the hell am I going to do with this mother-fucker?”
He looked at the side of the van. It read OMNI Homecare and underneath was the phone number. And then his tone changed from pleading-panic to hope, “Hey, man. Is this your company?”
“No.”
“Are they hiring? Do you have an application?”
The light turned green. I opened the window a crack. The pinned man was freed. “Call the number on the side of the van,” I said as I sped off. “Use me as a reference!”
:::
A friend of mine, Randy (aka The Big White Guy), asked me to tell that story. I first told him that as we drove through Asbury Park on a picture-taking safari six or seven years ago. I hope I did the story justice.
If you liked that, maybe you will like this:
- Martin Luther King Boulevard
- Scared the Piss Out of Me
- Handling a Nosy Neighbor
- The Big Three, The Cops, and Me
- We’re All Angels
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