Martin Luther King Boulevard
The only other time I thought I was going to be killed in a felonious assault, I was working for the same company: OMNI Homecare.
I was in a town not dissimilar to the aforementioned Asbury Park driving along Martin Luther King Boulevard. You remember what Chris Rock said about Martin Luther King Boulevard:
If a friend calls you on the telephone and says they’re lost on Martin Luther King Boulevard and they want to know what they should do, the best response is ‘Run!’
I was looking for a certain apartment complex so that I could deliver some medical supplies. The problem was that none of the apartment buildings were marked. I looked woefully out of place as my white work van crept down the road.
That’s when three young Young Turks, hanging out in front of one of the buildings, waved me over.
“Maybe they saw the name on the side of the van and know that I’m there to deliver something for one of their neighbors. They’re helping me,” I thought. At the same moment someone else in my head said, “These guys are up to no good. I can smell it. Don’t trust them.”
I pulled the van up to them, but not straight on to the curb. I needed to make sure I could get out of there in a hurry just in case these Ne’er-Do-Wells decided to do something not too well to me. I didn’t even put the van in park.
I rolled down the passenger window and asked them, “What apartment building is this?”
“Which one are you looking for?” asked one of the Street Punks.
Ha! A setup! “No, no, no. It doesn’t work like that. You see, no matter what apartment building I’m looking for, you’re going to say that this is the one. I get out of the van and then you jack me. Just tell me what apartments these are.”
In the middle of my statement one of the Stoop Rats reached elbow deep into a bush. Uh-oh.
“He’s going for a gun,” I thought. “He’s going to shoot me because I have a big mouth.” I punched the accelerator and squirreled out of the parking lot. I looked in the review mirror and expected to take a couple of hits from a Saturday Night Special.
But that wasn’t the case. The Young Man didn’t reach for a gun; he reached for a baggy, which he held in the air as I sped off.
While I thought was going to be robbed and beaten, these Poor Sods thought they were going to make a dope sale and have some extra cash for lunch.
Typical misunderstanding.
If you liked that, maybe you will like this:
2 Comments