You Make the Call

Guess which of these stories is false - answer on Monday:

Sophomore year in high school, the oldest in our group had gotten his license and a car. Late one Saturday night we drove down past Eight Mile (made famous by M&M) in Detroit, like most white boys, looking for a place to sell minors alcohol.

Driving back to a neighborhood we were more familiar with, loaded with beer, the driver slowed down as he spotted a few prostitutes in the distance. A smile shot across his face as he said “Let’s go Hooker Popping!” This was a new phrase to me – and I thought it meant we were going to stop for some professional service. Instead, he pulled up to the corner, and the front passenger rolled down the window. When the hooker came to talk over the price she leaned in the window. As soon as she did, the front passenger punched her in the nose (most likely breaking it) and the driver floored it getting us out of there.

Two weeks into freshman year of college a group of us went for a burger off campus. Tom barrowed Heg’s car and four other people joined in. I was sitting in the front passenger seat when the police pulled us over on the way back for “failing to stop at a stop sign.” When they asked for insurance, I opened up the glove box and dug through it to find the papers - on instinct thinking they were there. But I couldn’t find them. Tom, who was driving explained to the officer that he had borrowed his friend’s car, and he wasn’t sure where it was. They let us off with a warning.

The next day Heg came up to me and gave me this huge bear hug with everyone else in the car. I was surprised by this. He said “Wow! You are one cool guy. So cool under pressure. If I had opened that glove box with two cops over me and saw all that weed sitting there I would have lost it. You would have all gone to jail for that easy! You are one cool customer.”

“There was weed in the glove box?” I was so naïve that I had never known what it looked like.

“You’re funny too. Cool and funny – that’s what I like about P2”

Standing in the bitter cold late night winds of Chicago, I was waiting for the 151 bus after closing the store at about 2am. There was no one out that night. Blizzard warnings and a fresh few inches of snow were keeping me waiting at this Lincoln Park stop.

The crunch of snow under rolling tires slowly crept up to me followed by the buzz of an electric window rolling down. A voice called to me from the driver side “He, you know where Division is?”

“Sure” I said back “it is that way about a mile up on your left.”

“Come here a second.” The gavel and smoky voice called. “I want to show you something.”

Like an idiot I approached. When I looked in the car there was an attractive naked woman in the seat next to him. She lay in the passenger seat reclined all the way back.

“You want her? Go ahead, touch her. Go on.”

Her skin was dead cold to the touch and scared the crap out of me. Just then the sound of the bus pulling up caught my attention and I ran for it. The driver called back “she’s yours now” as I made it to the bus.

As the bus pulled away on that cold and snowy night, I couldn’t help but think she was murdered, and that my finger prints were now the last thing on her.
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