…In broad daylight.
It was the summer after I got my drivers license, and my first car. The symbol of Freedom for an American teenager.
It was a humble get-up. A red 1999 Kia Sportage. It had the usual inoperable combinations of many of the first cars out there. Driver’s door worked fully, passenger door only opened from the inside and the window only operated from the driver’s controls. The back doors were split, I can’t remember exactly how. The passenger door was not original to the vehicle, funny story how that happened.
Have you ever witnessed something, in person, with your own two eyes and ears only to have the person you tell, literally 30 seconds later shit all over that experience? Well, my passenger window got broken, scratch that, shattered, while I was driving home after work. Here is a graphic representation of how it happened.
As you can see, the ball came from my left, bounced on my hood, hit the radio antenna which catapulted it directly onto the half-open passenger window. SMASH!
I didn’t have any money and I didn’t know what to do, so I called the police to get a report so I could use my insurance. The officer on the phone thought I was high or something and completely blew off everything I said. I even told him,
“How could I even make something like this up? If I wanted to lie I would have said something more believable, I was speechless when it happened and I was sitting right there!”
The older brother of the boy who kicked the ball told the cop that I was peeling out up the hill and driving way too fast, blah blah blah. Did I mention I was driving a 10 year old Kia Sportage? I couldn’t peel out if I tried, and forget about exceeding the speed limit going up a hill. I was lucky if I made it up the damn hill in the first place. -_-
So I’m driving with my two younger cousins around the neighborhood that our grandma lives in. I had put a 10″ subwoofer and amp in this beat up car so the stereo system sounded good. At least one thing worked well.
We get to a busy intersection and have to wait. We had In da Club by 50 Cent playing at a high level. As we’re waiting for the traffic to clear, this 30-something woman that had clearly *experimented* with crack, heroin, and possibly more comes strutting down the sidewalk. She heard the music, saw a car full of young men, and started dancing her way toward us.
Her dance moves, along with a few other areas, were in desperate need of the kind of help you pay for. She began humping my car, gyrating half-on half-off of my hood and showing more skin than anyone should ever have to see.
As the song came to an end, she started her graceful exit. By graceful, I mean flock of ducks being hit by a semi. It was brutal.
She attempted to do the moonwalk, up a hill, while carrying a tote full of what I can only assume was paraphernalia. About halfway up, she fell. Awkwardly. Was the fall enough to make her turn around and walk? No, it wasn’t.
She tried it again, and fell again.
I wish I could say that “all of this happened in what seemed like felt like 5 minutes but was actually 15 seconds”. It was close to the entire length of In Da Club, which, according to iTunes, is 3:13.
Okay so not quite 5 minutes, but, it’s all about context here. I did mention that this was a very busy intersection. There were cars going past on the cross street, cars waiting across the way at their stop sign, and a couple cars behind us beeping a few times.
I have a couple other hooker stories coming your way. All of which have nothing to do with solicitation (at least not on purpose).