I am 28 years old. Sometimes I forget because I feel like I'm 25. I think it's because I was in school until I was 24. (I believe college keeps a person feeling young. Ask my ex. I digress.)
Today I realized that I'm a hop, skip and jump away from 30. And I don't think that's old - it's just that I won't be in my 20s anymore. It's weird.
So I was driving in a sketchy part of Oakland in my mom's Oldsmobile (my car is out of comission right now.) I'm stuck at a light when I hear,
"Ay. Ay! What's yo' name?"
Normally, this really turns me off. Seriously, what woman thinks, "Yes, yes. FINALLY. A man who knows how to court a woman" or "This guy would make a great baby's daddy." (OK, there may be some women who think this.)
I pause for a second, wondering what I should do. I don't normally like to converse with strangers who shout at me in my car while they are in their car but it's a light and we may be there for a while. So I decide to look over.
"My friend wants to talk to you!" says the passenger.
The driver leans over so I can see both the passenger and him.
They look like wee children.
I stare at the driver and ask, "How old are you?"
"15!"
Of course they are. "Guys, I'm 28 years old."
"Are you married?"
Not wanting to deal with the stupid line, 'Age ain't nothin' but a number', I say, "Yes."
"Oh." Pause. "You have a nice car!"
People, I was driving my mom's 1997 Oldsmobile Aurora. It is a tank.
"Thanks. It's kind of for old people. But thanks." I fight back to end with 'Sonny.' "Well, you guys have a nice day" and I make my right hand turn.
These boys were almost half my age. They could have been posterchildren for Clearasil. I'm not flattered. I'm not disgusted.
I'm almost 30.
So teenage boys, step off.
Showing posts with label Ghetto. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghetto. Show all posts
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Dollah Dollah Bill Y'all
I like the dollar store. I don't love it the way I love Target but the dollar store has great finds like gift bags, certain office supplies, kids stuff and disposable household ware. There was a dollar store by my house that I sometimes shopped because it was nice and respectable. I call it "nice and respectable" because, while it did smell funny, the folks were usually normal and the place was fairly clean.
I forgot it closed when I had told The Man, at a department store, that $4 was too much for a gift bag and we could get one at the dollar store. Well, it's now right before a little girl's bday party so we have to find one. Remembering there was a dollar store on Mission Blvd., we scramble to find it. [Side note: A wise person once told me that roads with "Mission" in the name are certain to be questionable or dangerous. Seriously, think about it.] On our right, we see a 99 cents store next to Bobby's Smoke House. OK, let's give it a whirl.
We pull into the back parking lot and walk up a ramp (that's right, not steps but a ramp.) Hmm. Second clue - The doors are open and on the left, handwritten in paint, is "ENTANCE." No, I didn't make a typing error. Third clue - The place is disheveled, smells funky and, in an instant, I decide it's the ghetto-est Dollar Store I've ever seen. The carpet is dark gray with stains and gum everywhere. Items are in random places like someone threw stuff in the air and hoped it went into the baskets. Now, growing up in the East Bay, I know ghetto when I see it. And this is ghetto.
My fourth clue although you better believe I was done after the second clue - There is a handwritten note in Sharpie, photocopied, and posted all along the store. It reads, "Have some respect and class. Do not open the packaged merchandise or throw things around. Thank you, Fred." Aww, you got to tell people to show some class? Fred, I'd say this is a battle you've already lost.
A little bit scared but not deterred from our quest, I march to the back and find a big gift bag. I show The Man and he says it's fine. I know from our exchanged looks he wants to get the hell-up-outa-there, too. We go to the cash register and wait our turn. My fifth and final clue? The cashier has a lit cigarette resting on the register with the tip making a nice smokey trail to the ceiling. I mean, there IS an ashtray a few feet away on the coffee table by the couch and black & white TV. But hey, it was probably too far away for the guy. OK, so there are quite a few clues of just how ghetto this place is.
We are behind an older woman and her little granddaughter. I want to tell the little girl, "Run baby, run!" as I eye the cashier and the other man near the entrance. (He was also quite suspicious, stringy haired and scratching himself. But I wasn't certain of him so he wasn't officially a clue.) The Man and I are next. We give him a $1.09 for our bag and all but sprint out of the store and back down the ramp.
I love obscure shops as much as the next person. I adore the little stores in Chinatown, with all their mysterious merchandise and questionable pricing techniques. But dammit, this dollar store was NOT one of those cool shops. It was ghetto. G.H.E.T.T.O. Ghetto. Was it worth the $3 savings? No. Even with The Man present to protect me? HEYYYYYYLLLL NO. Mmm-mm. My happy a$$ will wait for a department store to have a sale or just pay full price. It's funny how I take the nice feeling of SAFETY for granted at a store and don't realize how nice it is until it's gone.
I forgot it closed when I had told The Man, at a department store, that $4 was too much for a gift bag and we could get one at the dollar store. Well, it's now right before a little girl's bday party so we have to find one. Remembering there was a dollar store on Mission Blvd., we scramble to find it. [Side note: A wise person once told me that roads with "Mission" in the name are certain to be questionable or dangerous. Seriously, think about it.] On our right, we see a 99 cents store next to Bobby's Smoke House. OK, let's give it a whirl.
We pull into the back parking lot and walk up a ramp (that's right, not steps but a ramp.) Hmm. Second clue - The doors are open and on the left, handwritten in paint, is "ENTANCE." No, I didn't make a typing error. Third clue - The place is disheveled, smells funky and, in an instant, I decide it's the ghetto-est Dollar Store I've ever seen. The carpet is dark gray with stains and gum everywhere. Items are in random places like someone threw stuff in the air and hoped it went into the baskets. Now, growing up in the East Bay, I know ghetto when I see it. And this is ghetto.
My fourth clue although you better believe I was done after the second clue - There is a handwritten note in Sharpie, photocopied, and posted all along the store. It reads, "Have some respect and class. Do not open the packaged merchandise or throw things around. Thank you, Fred." Aww, you got to tell people to show some class? Fred, I'd say this is a battle you've already lost.
A little bit scared but not deterred from our quest, I march to the back and find a big gift bag. I show The Man and he says it's fine. I know from our exchanged looks he wants to get the hell-up-outa-there, too. We go to the cash register and wait our turn. My fifth and final clue? The cashier has a lit cigarette resting on the register with the tip making a nice smokey trail to the ceiling. I mean, there IS an ashtray a few feet away on the coffee table by the couch and black & white TV. But hey, it was probably too far away for the guy. OK, so there are quite a few clues of just how ghetto this place is.
We are behind an older woman and her little granddaughter. I want to tell the little girl, "Run baby, run!" as I eye the cashier and the other man near the entrance. (He was also quite suspicious, stringy haired and scratching himself. But I wasn't certain of him so he wasn't officially a clue.) The Man and I are next. We give him a $1.09 for our bag and all but sprint out of the store and back down the ramp.
I love obscure shops as much as the next person. I adore the little stores in Chinatown, with all their mysterious merchandise and questionable pricing techniques. But dammit, this dollar store was NOT one of those cool shops. It was ghetto. G.H.E.T.T.O. Ghetto. Was it worth the $3 savings? No. Even with The Man present to protect me? HEYYYYYYLLLL NO. Mmm-mm. My happy a$$ will wait for a department store to have a sale or just pay full price. It's funny how I take the nice feeling of SAFETY for granted at a store and don't realize how nice it is until it's gone.
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