Sometimes, when you feel like you have nothing to write about, God intervenes. Even if you are Jewish and accidentally had a misunderstanding with his son, Jesus.
(God, sidenote: Jesus and I are cool now. I pretended to be his bestie when I was at church camp, but it was only to try to feel a girl up that night who only liked guys who were into “Jesus” or whatever. I asked myself “what would Jesus do”, and my inner-Jesus said, “use himself to try and score some ass.”)
I was walking up the stairs from my parking garage tonight, and as I get to the street level, I see two completely shady looking guys standing at the doorway. They give me a look, and so of course, I do the only logical thing you do when people who look like they will shank you for drug money: I opened the door for them letting them into my complex. If they DO kill me, at least at my funeral they’d say things like, “he was the nicest guy, he’d open the door for anyone.” These are the things I think about.
So my first red flag here was the sheer excitement the one guy let off, as though I’d just opened the front gates to Disneyland. I wanted to tell him that Space Mountain wasn’t running today, but I figured he wouldn’t get the joke and then we’d just be in an awkward moment. You know, like the rest of my life, which I’m pretty sure is just one big perpetual awkward moment. (This joke, however, would have been really funny in retrospect)
So as I continue to walk up the stairs, the guy and his friend are walking awfully close to me. Don’t get me wrong, I like to hold hands with strangers and even get freaked from behind by them like at the Prom during slow jamz (the use of the letter “z” in the word “jamz” should be mandatory). But it felt a little weird. So I do the awkward scared white guy thing and just walk a little faster while also thinking in my head about how they teach girls to carry their keys in between their knuckles as a weapon in case of rape. I’m not sure that’s an “awkward white guy” thing as much as it’s a “really? you thought of how to not get raped?” thing.
So as I’m walking up to my apartment, I just casually walk in to my place and go to get a glass of water. And at this moment, I realize that one of the guys is in my kitchen. And at this moment, I realized I was their drug dealer.
Drew: “Oh, this is awkward. But um, I’m not the guy I think you are looking for.”
Creepy Sweating Guy: “Oh you aren’t Ryan?”
Drew: “Nope. So that would make this ‘not Ryan’s’ apartment that you are standing in.”
What I should have said was this.
Drew: “If ‘you aren’t Ryan?’ is slang for ‘you aren’t my drug dealer?’, then…yes.”
I cannot express the amount of fear in the man’s face when he realized he had done a number of things wrong.
- He had just proclaimed to a total stranger that he has a drug problem. Awkward.
- He had just walked into a stranger’s apartment, while also proclaiming to said total stranger that he leads a sketchy lifestyle and also has a drug problem. Awkward.
- He had not acquired his drugs, and apparently nor did he know where his drug dealer lived to alleviate this problem. Awkward
At this moment, we have the Dazed and Confused “wrong Mr. Pickford all together” discussion, and he shuffles out of the apartment looking like he just got caught masturbating or something. Here’s the best part.
My roommate and his sister were standing right outside this whole time on our patio. Meaning the other guy was just standing with two OTHER total strangers, probably slowly realizing that this was not, in fact, his buddy’s drug dealer’s apartment. Even better, my roommate was standing there wondering if I was either a drug dealer, male prostitute, or in the habit of picking up random guys and taking them home to watch the season premiere of The Office. Any of these situations should have Dave a little worried about what went on in his apartment when he stayed at his girlfriend’s place.
There are a few good takeaways from this.
It’s probably not the best idea to open the door for two random guys who look like they may or may not be in the habit of purchasing drugs. It’s also probably a good idea not to leave out a bag of weed on your kitchen island when you went to a concert the night before, because if strangers come over they will probably think that this is, in fact, their drug dealer’s house.
But most importantly, a guy named Ryan deals drugs in my apartment complex. So at least I know where to go if I ever need to score something now.