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:
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.