Stranger Danger

Once upon a time fourteen year old me was up at Eastern Market buying incense and oils for my uncle. I was at one of the vendor's stands looking for the specific one my uncle wanted when this dude standing next to me suggested one I should buy. I told him it wasn't for me, that I didn't wear that stuff and that I was just getting something for my uncle..."but thanks anyway." So then the guy asked me what I was buying. I told him. He asked what he should get. I told him I didn't know because I don't wear that stuff.

Normally, I don't talk to people I don't know. Hell, I don't really talk to people that I do know. It's a survival mechanism for living in the city. But this dude looked like a mix of Suge Knight and Terry Crews (Damon from Friday After Next). He was about 6'6, bald and looked like he picked up cars for a living. His voice sounded like thunder and I swear to God he looked like a minotaur. You tend to be nice to people who physically can beat the hell out of you and mentally look like they're one line of coke away from going on a stabbing spree.

So I'm thinking to myself, "Is this nigga on drugs? Does he want money or something? Why the hell does he keep talking to me?" I paid for the stuff and went on about my business. I get like two blocks away and I hear someone yell out, "Yo main man!" Oh hell, just keep walking. But you can't ignore that Darth Vader voice. "Yo main man!" The ground shook. The birds in the trees all flew away. He runs up to me and tells me that he bought the same thing I got. "Okay. That's good." I start walking. Then he tells me the guy let him sample something new and asked me if I wanted to smell it. "Uh...no." So then he gets in front of me and is like, "Hold up man, let me talk to you for a second." I think to myself.

This nigga bout to rob me. Damn!

Instead, his voice goes from Zeus to Antoine Merriweather (David Alan Grier) from Men on Film, "You wanna go home with me?"

...

The people in my head held a meeting:

Time out! Everybody bring it in. Okay look, this nigga is a foot taller than us and his arms are eight times more biceptier than ours. Anyone think we can take him? No? Okay. We need to be nice to him then. What's the chances of us outrunning him? No chance in hell? Okay. Using our peripheral vision, does anybody see anything we can hit this nigga with? No loose bricks, branches, or large rocks? Shit. Okay we're running out of time. What if we just say no really politely? Okay, we'll do that but if that doesn't work the backup plan is to break one of these little oil bottles and stab him in the eyes and then the throat. Good luck everybody.

"You wanna go home with me?" Clutching the little oil bottle in my hand, I said, "Oh naw, I'm good man. But thanks." I continued walking. As predicted, he thought I was playing hard to get and started telling me that he drove a Mercedez and had a bunch of movies back at his place that I might like. It was like a ghetto version of "The Way You Make Me Feel" video except instead of someone whose ass you could easily kick like Michael Jackson, it was Deebo. Then he asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was in high school and in a surprising turn of events he said, "How old are you?" When I told him I was fourteen he said, "Oh, you too young for me." And he walked away.

The moral of today's story is two-fold. First, not all gay men are pedophiles. That's an unfair bigoted train of thought. Second, always carry some kind of make-shift weapon with you because you never know.