For more than a dozen years my office has been in the “Historic” (homeless) district filled with quaint shoppes, brick -paved streets and the dude on the bike with urine. The first time I met him was 10 years ago. I had just got out of the car and was burdened with a purse, briefcase and a box of files and teetering on cute but unsmart shoes in the metered parking lot downtown. Briskly and much like a ninja this grown-ass man on a kids bike scrambled up to me like a crackhead tornado and he said, “Hey ladyladylady, give me all your money or I am gonna throw all this pee on you!” In his free hand was a cup of yellow liquid with a rubberbanded tin foil for a lid. I dropped everything and gave him all my cash…and I mean every red cent..and it was all the money I had to my name for a week (and I had small children to feed…does that make it worse? Good! Because that’s how it was!) He left and I picked up all of my thrown belongings and walked to my office with my heart racing and aching that he had taken all the money I had, even though it was not a large amount.
Fast forward to April of this year after I had been called into the office to hear that our doors were closing that day. I left in the sunlight wondering what I was going to do. Up rolls this guy on the bike (probably a different guy by now but the same scam). “Hey ladyheyladyladylady!” he screamed, ushering me to attention. “Give me what you got for money right now or I am gonna throw this pee all over you!” I threw everything down except my purse and I rared my head back and just belted out, “HHHHEEEEEEEEEELLLLPPPPPP!” It was so loud that I think I burped in the process and it sounded like a lion’s roar! His face was priceless. He was afraid. I said, “Bring it, BITCH! Let’s go! What cha got!?!?” I was a crazy woman! I even think I was trying to pull off one of those Fred Sanford fancy footwork boxing deals..I dunno, I was in a zone. (Mind you, this was 100 feet from the police station). My would-be assailant scooted off faster than Moody’s goose. I gathered my things from the pavement and walked bravely to my car, feeling fearless and amused. I knew I would be okay.
P.S. The photo is not my actual would-be assailant, I think it’s of of them Walberg boys.
I am late for everything. I have two teen sons, a full time job (I call it my “Big girl job”), the Vintage Warehouse space and have a full load at USF. So what that means is that when I am somewhere…somewhere else is a sufferin’. I have to work extra hard at everything to get it done and that includes scoring my good junk and antiques to paint. And before you get your thong in a wad, I am not all about painting great-Aunt-Gerties prized Berkey and Gay buffet that has been in the family 3 generations. I am about getting a half sanded buffet that Jolene is selling for her crack habit. (I am kidding about the crack but it’s funny to say so I do). I haul these half sanded junkerz in and they roll back out like they have had Botoxx and a full-on ass-lift. So, I see it as a service to it.
At any rate… I rolled up to one of my face honey holes (I can’t tell you where or I’ll have to take you out) and on the step were these tops…a bikini, a ragged out bra and a push up bra. Panic came over me as I feared it was Topless Tuesday at the honey hole and here I was knocking these A and B cups straight out of the game. A tingle rushed up as I knew that if this were a contest for a discont that I WAS GONNA WIN!. I quickened my step, rushed the door to see every heiffer in there with a shirt on. Dang… I had missed it again… me and my full schedule.
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