Tuesday, August 14, 2012

And then I became a disposable extra in a made-for-TV movie about drugs and violence.

Hey guys, so what do you think the odds are that I’m not going to get murdered in a drug-related shooting later today? And all because I was a good Samaritan. Man, thanks a lot for teaching me to trust everyone, the Midwest.

So I was walking down the street at lunch today and got stopped by an elderly gentleman who asked if he could borrow my cell phone to make a local call. He was adorable and of course I said yes. I mean, I’m not made of stone you guys.  Anyway, he read me the number off of a little yellow post-it note, I handed him the phone, and then he waited a minute or so until he got this person's voicemail. He turned and left a message, and while I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I figured it was something innocent about, like, Metamucil or old Love Boat reruns or something.

He smiled, handed the phone back to me and said “You’re a sweetheart, thank you.” Obviously I beamed with pride at how sweet and Midwestern I was and went along my merry way. But then the phone rang and it was the number that Sweet Old Guy had just called. I turned to look for SOG but he was nowhere to be found. He was pretty fast for an old guy. So, like any rational person, I answered it:

Me: “Hello?”
Other person: “Yo.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Other person: “Yo. It’s Dawg.”
Me: “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.”
Dawg: “Yo bitch, you just called ME.”
Me, wetting myself: “I’m sorry, it was an older gentleman on the corner who actually called, but I don’t see him anymore, I have no idea what he wanted, he was just borrowing my-“
Murderer on the other end of the line: “Where you at?”
Me: Squeaking with fear and hanging up.

So, you know, now I’m going to die.  Thank God my bed is made already.

Pictures of really cute kittens sleeping makes everything better. So if Dawg finds me, at least I had one more moment of experiencing the fleeting feeling of innocence in this world before he shivs me in the face.

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