8/6/08

Okay, if you choose to read whatever I'm about to type, you need to accept two preconditions. First is that I'm fairly drunk and I have a beer in my hand, so my sentence structure and verb agreement may not be quite what they should be. Second is that what happened tonight sounds like such complete and utter bullshit that I, much like you, wouldn't believe it when I saw it.

I got my new USB connection card from Sprint this afternoon. I had some issues getting it installed onto my system. Then I had some issues getting the patches and updates to run properly. So I was laying around, essentially connected to the world via computer just like I am when I'm out on the road. For whatever reason, I found this to be quite depressing so I went out for a drive. Somehow the idea of burning fossil fuels with no apparent destination just sets my mind at ease sometimes. My little jab at the global warming crowd I guess.

So it was a nice night and I was out cruising around. At some point it occurred to me that I would like to have a beer. I wasn't really in the 'bar' kind of mood, so I stopped at my boy Nasim's place to grab a bottle. Forty ounce Mickey's = therapy for three dollars. When I walked back out to the alley where I was parked, things got strange. Two black guys came walking up along Telegraph Road. They stopped and one of them asked me if Joy Road was ahead, as he pointed to the north. I told him that Joy Road was in fact to the north, but it was a hell of a way to the north. He asked if I could give him and his colleague a ride to Joy Road. No. That was an easy one.

I had my weight bench in the back seat, so that was the most convenient excuse. He persisted. "Can't you please give us a ride?" (And then here's where it gets really bizarre.) "They just let us out down here and we're walking all the way to Joy Road." Naturally, I was leery about the "just let us out" part. That made it sound like they just got out of jail or something. Then he continued... "We just got out of the Dearborn jail and we've been walking. Can't you give us a ride man?"

I can only speak for myself here, but I find amazing the number of thoughts that can cross the human mind in less than two seconds. Take, for instance, my human mind this evening. In order (as closely as I can recall) -

(1) I'm in a dark alley.
(2) I don't know these guys.
(3) Ain't I supposed to be afraid of black people in dark alleys?
(4) My weight bench really does block the whole back seat.
(5) What jail lets people out late at night?
(6) Is the Dearborn jail really around here?
(7) Did he seriously say that he just got out of fucking jail?!?
(8) Why in the hell is the other guy hanging out around the corner of the building where I can't see him?
(9) Do I have any money on me?
(10) What's the worst that could happen?
(11) The worst that could happen is that they could kill me. That would suck.
(12) I really just want to sit in this alley and drink my beer.
(13) What's the best that could happen?
(14) They just got out of fucking jail. The best that could happen is that they could say thanks.
(15) They wouldn't have told me they were in jail if they had ill intentions, would they?

And #15 took the prize. Maybe a couple of wackos take me out and I'm never heard from again. What's the difference, really? I had a pretty good read on the one guy and he seemed okay. So we moved the weight bench and they hopped in. As a public service, I told them that they probably shoudn't mention the part about getting out of jail the next time that they need a ride. Just a little FYI, you know?

I was invited to a party once we reached our destination in Redford. Given that my whole departure from home was caused by an overwhelming feeling of anonymity, I couldn't exactly say no at that point. Someone with whom to party was better than noone with whom to party, right? I had a pretty good time, I have to admit. I never did ask what exactly my passengers were accused of doing, in order to get them sent to the clink. Somehow I don't think I really need to know.

While I chose not to partake in some of the festivities (aka 'the chronic'), I did have a good time. A certain lovely lady added what only a certain lovely lady can add. That always improves my impression of a given evening. Good times. Good times. Now I guess I'll go to sleep, wake up with a hangover, and resume wondering just how irrelevant one man can possibly be. My guess is that none of my 'friends' from tonight would give a damn about me tomorrow.