-=(Sagien)=-

'Cept in my version, it was an UZI.

I've been avoiding updating all week since I haven't had access to my pictures physically. But then a certain itch happens, and I just couldn't wait to write about something.

I notice it in the way I talk to people, I become more cynical, more sarcastic. The normal jovial humor I usually impart turn into biting rapier like insults. Then I laugh about it.

So this is me scratching that itch. Sorry shft.

40 Winks

Back when I was younger, somewhere around barely-legal age, we discovered that a certain store in a certain shopping center threw their credit card receipts into the dumpster in the back alley unshredded, complete with customer information such as addresses and phone numbers. It was quite an amazing find. What was even more amazing was that we had someone who was so desperate to be our friend that he'd dive face first into this dumpster to retrieve these valuable slips of paper for us.

His name was Chaz.

We never used these numbers for anything illegal. It was the sheer feeling of control in having someone's sensitive information coupled with the knowledge that a place consumers would trust to keep their data private would throw it away without any prior consideration towards the security of their customers that kept us coming back for more.

It was our weekly pilgrimage to the dumpster. Normally it was just the NzA, Chaz and I that made this trek. Sometimes John Walley would come along, but that was just to keep himself feeling in the loop. Tonight was shft's first trip to the dumpster with us. Shft had $300 in his pocket.

We started out at mid-afternoon, while the sun was still out. We calculated that by the time we've reached the dumpster on foot, the light would be just about gone. We took the normal walking route, chatting about nonsensical things and making fun of Chaz(who paid us for our company that evening).

Along came the white sedan, blaring rap music, creeping slowly down the side roads of suburbia and stopping by the sidewalk where we walked. The african american in the passenger seat motions towards us.

"Give us your money," he was obviously banking on the fact that african americans weren't normally seen in this part of town. Especially ones pulling over alongside a formation of kids to ask them for cash.

Shft had $300 in his pocket.

"We have no money," declared shft. Now, shft is a sizeable guy. However, three of those guys in the car are bigger than him. I am asian, the NzA isn't very big at all, and Chaz was 14.

"Bullshit, a bunch of rich kids in Somers Point's bound to have some green."

"Uhh...I have like $1.82 in change..." offered Chaz. They took the money happily and left. NzA mumbled something racist under his breath, after they were gone from earshot. Something about people of that racial pursuation being happy with less than two bucks in change and the hilarity associated with it.

Shft had $300 in his pocket.

The trip to the dumpster was uneventful. The take wasn't there, so we left, planning to stop at a Wawa on the way home. By this time, night has fallen.

By the time we got to Wawa, everyone, except for Chaz, decided that they didn't really want to buy anything. Chaz ran inside and grabbed a carton of milk and a Tasty-Cake. We waited for him outside.

As we were waiting, a familiar looking sedan came creeping up to us at the sidewalk. The NzA walked up to the passenger side window. Say anything bad you want about NzA, but that kid had balls.

"Yes?" he said into the dark window probably filled with guns and African Americans.

"Who wants to take it?" came the menacing reply.

"Take what?"

"The bullet."

"Why?"

"Cuz your bitchasses lied to us."

"No we didn't"

"So how'd your fat fuck friend get chocolate milk." Chaz was walking out of Wawa sipping happily from his carton of milk. The NzA was dumbfounded.

"So who's taking it?"

"He will," the NzA said, pointing at Chaz. Chaz realized what was happening and dropped his milk. The gentleman in the passenger seat went to get something from the glove box.

At that exact moment, something must've scared them off and made them change their mind. They drove away.

We hurried home, called the police and listened to the hilarity that ensued over the police scanner.

Shft had $300 in his pocket.

Posted by sagien at January 28, 2005 11:58 AM