The Funks

I got caught in a compromising and distressful situation last night and it left me depressed all day, today. I almost didn’t write. It took the wind out of my sails. I have been figuratively kicking my self in the ass all day for being stupid. I should know better. I consider myself pretty “street-wise” and “street-smart”. Last night, I dropped the ball.

Chad had called and left a message on my answering machine that he had a computer monitor he wanted to sell for $25 dollars. (This should have been my first and final warning to stay away.) He said he had “acquired” it from an older lady he did a job for. He said he was out of money and wouldn’t get his food stamps until next Monday and was hungry. I drove over to look at it. I thought I would be helping him out by buying it.

“What’s up J-Man!” He said enthusiastically as he opened his door. “You are a hard man to get in touch with.”

He has left multiple messages on my answering machine all week. I have ignored them until the one about the monitor. We went back to his bedroom to look at the monitor. The thing must have been over ten years old and was useless to me.

“Chad, that thing isn’t worth a dollar,” I replied.

“It ain’t no big thang, man,” He said as we walked back to his den. “Come on, have a seat, and let’s talk about old times.”

I sat down in a chair as his little dog, Scrap, jumped up into my lap. We talked about high school and the time we used to be roommates in the early nineties. We kept getting interrupted by strange people knocking at the door. Chad would sheepishly go outside, shut the door for a few minutes, and then walk back in. This happened multiple times during our conversation.

“What’s going on, man?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Chad replied.

“What’s the deal with all these people coming around for a few moments?” I asked.

I already knew the answer.

“Look, I didn’t want to tell you, but I need the money,” Chad said. “I am selling xanax (a sedative) for a dollar a pill. You want some?”

My spidey sense had been tingling for some time and this put me on full alert. Chad then pulled out a blunt (a cigar with the tobacco taken out and replaced with marijuana) and lit it up, toke a few puffs, and then handed it towards me.

“No thanks, man,” I said. “I don’t smoke weed.”

“You don’t think you could get some (xanax) from your father’s pharmacy, do you?” Chad asked. “I will cut you some of the profits.”

By this time, I was in panic mode. I don’t like being around crazy shit like this. Chad started to talk some pretty wild stuff as he got stoned. I finally just leapt up out of the chair, burst out the door, and drove home. I was so glad when I pulled up into my driveway and got out of that situation. I was finally safe and at home. I haven’t been that uncomfortable in a long time.

The sad thing is that Chad used to be such a prude. When we lived together, he would get mad at me when I brought home a six pack of beer. He didn’t smoke, drink, or do anything that was considered a vice. He also used to be so well spoken and smart, and know he talks and acts like dumb, redneck, white trash. My, do people change. That will be the last time I have any dealings with the guy for sure.