It's a good thing crack heads don't frequent my blog, otherwise there could be a surge of new residents
on the Upper West Side of Manhattan in search of the free, yes free (gratis, complimentary, no charge, duty free,it's all yours if you say yes), crack rock!
I don't think Ethel in 3B would be too excited about her new neighbors from the west.
I was chatting with an old friend this evening, via a cellular phone, as I copped a squat on the steps across the
street from my apartment here in NYC.
Yes folks, this is a NYC occurrence, but I am writing about it because it made me miss my usual cast of characters in Venice, and could easily happen there.
As I yapped away, a woman approached me and asked, politely, if she could sit on the steps as well.
It's a free country, you can sit anywhere you want, but regardless, who am I to deny someone a nice sit?
I obliged with a smile, and continued my conversation, or so I tried.
She asked, "Which side do you want me to sit on"?
Well, there was two feet of space to my left and twenty feet to my right, so I requested the right.
Then I noticed she was a middle aged crack head, so I I told her, the far right.
She said that neither would do, she wanted to sit next to me.
I was flattered, the same way I'm flattered when a gay man checks me out. It's not for me, but I appreciate the ego boost.
This was not one of those moments, you see, this middle aged crack head had ulterior motives.
She didn't want to get to know me, what I'm all about. My passions, my dreams? They meant naught.
First she asked if I was a cop.
Now this is where I will pass along some advice to my Venice friends, advice I am sure translates from east to west.
Unless you are actually trying to buy crack, and I hope you're not, if a crack head asks you if you are a cop, just say yes.
Just say it.
Don't hesitate.
Look them straight into those crack head eyes, and say with every ounce of conviction you can muster up in that split second,
and say, "Yes, yes I am a cop. A highly decorated, undercover, gun toting, fully wired, completely surrounded by a SWAT team that thrives on the blood of female, middle aged crack heads kind of COP".
Then follow up, quickly, with, "why do you ask"?
This will surely cause the crack head to flee and you can return to your phone call.
This is not what I did.
Instead, I told her I was not a cop, and she led into her question, which turned out to be two questions, that I answered promptly.
She asked me if I smoked crack.
Nope.
She asked me if I wanted to smoke crack.
Nope.
And still, there she was, quick to explain why she was asking me about crack, and my desire to smoke it.
It seemed she had a good sized rock, and was eager to have somebody chip in on the financial end, for in return, is what I took to be, quite the deal when it comes to the sharing of the crack rock.
I wouldn't know though, and she didn't exactly have a power point presentation set up to guide me through the deal.
Instead I recommended she make her way, post haste as I would like to get back to my call, and head into Times Square where she could hit up the people sitting in those ridiculous chairs*.
She was equally as polite when she left, as she was when she approached.
She flashed a three tooth smile, double checked to make sure I hadn't suddenly changed my mind and decided to start smoking crack after all, and walked away.
Unfortunately, she walked the wrong way.
*Imagine if the City of Venice closed off Abbot Kinney and bolted plastic chairs into the street so you could no longer drive through, and an attempt to stroll down the street on foot would end up with you being enveloped by a swarm of fanny packs and sweat.
This is what happened in Times Square.
