I Didn't Choose the Thug Lyfe, the Thug Lyfe Chose Me.

        We've all had at least one strange run-in with someone who looks as if they could kill you just by exhaling. I've had several of those moments, and I must say, I end up loving each and every one of those people, even if they did initially make my life flash before my eyes. Although, I always appreciate when that happens because I make better decisions afterwards... But this man in the following story does not apply to that sentiment.

       On one such occasion, I thought I would be murdered for real. Seriously. I could have been killed IRL. (LOL IF U DNT KNO WUT DAT MEANS.)
 
      This story takes place in a city about 30 minutes East of San Fransico, California. In other words, it was extremely close to Oakland, and Oakland is a scary place to be.

         I didn't have my license at the time this story took place, so my mom had to come and pick me up from a play rehearsal at my high school. As we drove away, she somehow managed to drive up on the curb and pop our tire.

          'Lucky' for us, there was a small gas station less than a block from where we were. Our good old Infiniti chugged and lugged over to that corner station where we set about replacing the tire. We began to use the jack to raise our car when we realized we were on a hill. The car was moving, but not in the direction we wanted to be going. 

           My mother called the lovely customer service at the Infiniti dealer and asked one of them to come and assist us in our plight. They said they would come as soon as possible, but it was the middle of rush hour and they were based in San Francisco. And to quote Mork, "Why do they call it rush hour if nothing moves?"

           I decided to wait it out by sitting on a curb near the car and contemplate my life thus far. My mother was sitting on the hood of the car likely doing the same as I. There were some hedges behind me that, in general, don't make too much sound, so to say I was startled when they began rustling is a slight understatement.

          I then turned around to see what was going on in that now-nefarious foliage only to find a grungy wangster, or "white gangster", digging around behind me. He looked like he could have killed me with a cheerio. A whole-wheat, heart-healthy 'o' could become a lethal weapon in his hands.

           My mother, seeing what was the culprit in the case of the noisy hedge, asked him "may I help you?" The thug, let us refer to him as Vanilla Frost, looked at her and replied "uhhh... Nah. I'm just looking for something I put here the other night."

         Instantly, lights and alarms went off in my mind blaring "DRUGS! DRUGS! DRUGS! THERE ARE DRUGS IN THE BUSHES BEHIND ME AND I WILL DIE! DRUGS! DRUGS! DRUGS!" Now, I felt completely unprepared in this situation. There was nothing I had read in the scriptures nor the For The Strength of Youth that tells me what to do when there are drugs in the bushes behind me. I didn't know what to do! Not only was my physical presence in danger, but my spiritual as well. Would I still be temple worthy after spending time near this crack-sniffing hedge? 

         My mom was evidently thinking the same thoughts about contraband being stashed in the bushes, because she went into Mama Bear mode. (My mother has always amazed me with her Transformer-like qualities.) She rose to her full height, narrowed her eyes, bared her teeth, and growled "well, I would offer to help you find what you're looking for, but I don't think you want me to see it."

        "Grand," I thought," now for sure I am going to die with drugs!" Vanilla Frost didn't respond, but kept searching. I swear, that man had seen Hunchback of Notre Dame one too many times. The way he was digging looked as if he had perfected the ideal bell-ringing technique. He deserved style points.
  
         A few minutes later, he emerged from his leafy storage bin and began to run off with something shoved beneath his oversized dirty t-shirt. He was not yet two feet from where I was sitting when he dropped it. Let's take a moment to let you guess what "it" was.











      No. It wasn't drugs. (I bet those were already in his system.) Vanilla Frost dropped a HAND GUN. Now I've had maybe four cinematic moments in my lifetime - walking on the beach holding hands, running through daisies to greet a long-lost friend, a creeper in my window well (a story for another day,) and now this. Vanilla and I looked at the gun and then we made eye contact, then back to the gun, then back to him, and so on and so forth. We did that for what seemed like hours, but it was definitely only like 3 seconds max. Time is warped when you're faced with a gun and a hedge digger.

     After what seemed like hours, he leans down, almost sheepishly, as if to say: "oho, dear girl. Do pardon me. I seemed to have dropped my fire arm! Ohodiho!" 

And then he offered me the most singularly life-changing piece of advice I have ever received. He said:



'NEVER LEAVE YOUR WEAPONS IN A BUSH.'


    Well, great, thanks. Next time I rob a bank or commit a heinous crime, I'll be sure to chuck mine in a river. Your counsel has been invaluable.

       But, really? Could he be serious? Well, I guess he was. He picked up his firearm, leapt into the passenger side of a waiting SUV and sped away.

        My mom looked at me and asked "what did he say?" I repeated to her his words, verbatim, and she just said "... Are you serious?!?!"

        So we could stay on the good side of the law, we called and reported the incident. When the officer arrived to take our statements, I repeated to him the story. When I got to what Vanilla said to me, the officer looked skeptical and asked "really?" I nodded yes, and he looks to my mother, who, in turn, verifies my tale. The officer's response surprised me a bit as what he said next was "well, he's stupid." 

       After reporting the incident, we went home. The entire way home and for at least three days after, I was certain that Vanilla would come back and recant his advice and pop a cap in me, yo. But, he didn't. If he had, I'd be chilling with the angels instead of typing this story for you to enjoy. I count the fact that he didn't quite know what to do with the gun as a tender mercy. Evidently, I've got something else to do on this earth, and I'm ready for it.

-B