Month: September 2019

top ramen, robbing crackheads, bad checks, and karma

a closer look

Last week we began to look at the con-man Afa, who went by at least three different last names. For the sake pf privacy, I won’t list them here. After publishing last week’s post, I googled all three of them just to see if he was alive. Last I heard, another of my former besties (also a druggie con-man), had beat him down and run him out of the city. More on that later.

As previously stated, he was the exact same height, weight, and build as I was at the time. 185 cm (six feet, and one and a half inches) tall, a hundred-fifty lbs, and lanky as hell. As we entered the rave scene proper, everyone assumed that we were brothers. He wore braces on his teeth when I first met him, but one day decided to pull them off himself. Being that he no longer lived with his parents, no one was paying to maintain them. Therefore, many of the brackets had broken so they no longer served their purpose. This left chunks of dental epoxy stuck to his teeth which he was always picking at.

He also had one A-cup boob. A tit. I now know this is called gynecomastia. If you’ve never heard of it, I’ll let you look it up yourself. I found out about it because I lift weights. Anything I am into, I research everything there is to be learned about it. Basically, males get it one of two ways. Naturally during puberty, or self induced by using anabolic steroids. No sure which was the case for him. With Afa, one can never tell.

He said that a spider bit him, but I never bought that story. At any rate, this dude seemed to know everybody. As we began to become closer as friends, I learned that he was a “spoiled rich kid” who had gone wild early and got kicked out of his parents house. The circles he ran in during his early teens were all trust fund, wealthy brats. As such, he was no different. When well meaning parents try to buy their children’s love things always go pear-shaped in the end.

and then there were two/thick as thieves

Anyone looking in from the outside could see that he was a horrible influence on me, and that we were heading in the wrong direction. The end point would either be prison, or the grave yard. Yet, the rebel in me felt that I could handle anything bad that came our way. The result was that I descended deeper and deeper into this strange world he had come from. By this point, Mike was hanging tough with a mutual friend named Will who was a percussionist.
We had met him while marching in the Magic of Orlando. A Drum and Bugle Corp, the previous summer. (Wow! OK, now I’ll eventually have to touch on that experience in a later installment).

The link is from the actual year I marched. Mike being a trumpeter played “soprano” bugle. I, being a tubist, played the “contra” or “contra bass” bugle. At any rate, Mike was one of the top nominees for Drum major the following season. He would go on to become the Drum major, and lead the corps to it’s first top twelve championship finish at world finals.
By then he had a long distance girlfriend named Danielle who is his wife to this very day. They have two amazing sons, both of them now the age we were back then.

Adam being a a high school senior about to graduate near the top of his class was much more focused on school. As he should be. Therefore he was hanging out less by now. This left Afa and I as the last men standing in our little criminal enterprise.

instant ramen, peanut butter balls, and “wobbing”

For my birthday in 1991, my senior year of high school, several of my friends had put their money together to buy me a giant garbage bag full of “oodles of noodles” Top Ramen. I counted like 250 packages. These would come in handy the following year at uni when we had to buy our own food.
That bag had already lasted over twelve months (my birthday being in September at the very beginning of the school year). I brought it with about 75 packages still left to Jacksonville.

By March of 1993 they were long gone, and we were often hungry. Afa, being the master of getting money without going to work a job had the bright idea to go “wobbing”. The cupboard was empty, with the exception of a box of generic cornflakes Adam’s mom had given us, a half jar of crunchy peanut butter, and some white sugar.
With this I made us some “peanut butter balls”. A recipe first introduced to me in kindergarten. We ate that for a couple of days, but I digress…

Wobbing is making fake crack rocks out of aspirin. You cut it into chunks and coat it with toothache medicine so that it numbs the mouth if a potential buyer (victim) tastes to see if it’s real. We made up a convincing batch and hit the streets to hit a lick so we could eat. The struggle was indeed real. I am not condoning or glorying this though. To be clear, it is NOT cool. Cheating people is never cool. Crackhead or not. No one who does any drug should be discriminating against another person because of their chosen libation.

Besides, it can get you shot, and or killed. As almost happened to us. Things happened so quickly therefore, everything is foggy now. I only remember a very skeptical buyer asking where we were from and who did we know (because they had never seen us in that particular hood), things going south,shots fired, and us barely making it out of there alive. Kids, do not try this at home, as the saying goes. It’s a very bad idea.

starter checks

By this point we are well known at all the department stores and running out of return opportunities. As part of the “loss prevention policies”, the stores had you sign each time you retuned an item for cash. After twelve, they wouldn’t let you return anymore. As, it was common knowledge in Jacksonville at the time that kids were stealing and returning for cash. This was their way of curtailing our illegal actives. This is what led to my eventual downfall.
More on that in a future post.

Somehow Afa had found a book of blank starter checks. The ones given when you first open a bank account, but do not yet have ones with your name printed on them. On this particular day I was introduced to the “bad check” game. To cut to the chase, we first hit a local grocery store and bought an entire shopping cart full of food.
Being spurred on by the success of the mission, we then decided to treat ourselves to a lavish meal at a very nice seafood restaurant on the beach.

We ordered all the most tasty and expensive items. We even gave our lovely waitress a huge tip. All with a bunk check. I felt guilty the whole time. Scandalously shameful, this. I am not at all proud of it, but at the time, we were literally starving. Extreme poverty, and no opportunities breeds crime and criminals. Especially when you are a stupid kid.

crabbing ass weed hoes

Turn about is fair play, as the saying goes. A week later we met these fine, but trashy chicks on the beach. Super low class. Loud, rude, and ruthless. They gamed us good. We had met them at this one dude’s place whom Afa knew. An older Caucasian gentlemen who was actually a good man. He had fallen on hard times and lived in a pay by the hour hotel in Jax beach. He was sort of a mentor to Afa.
Anyhoo, these broads were over there smoking, as he sold a few dime bags here and there to get by. We had gone over to get a quarter bag on a front. He would front Afa because Afa respected him and always paid him back. One thing I can say about Afa is that he was loyal to his friends. Everyone else he would fuq over, but if you were his people, you were golden.

all for now…

This feels like a good place to stop for now. We will pick up from here next week. Starting with how the game runners got gamed by these gully, weed crabbing chicks. So until next time

true story

AA xx

*disclaimer, I do not condone any of this behavior. Nor am I on this type of vibe anymore. I was a poor, stupid kid at the time. These days I am a law abiding “square”, who teaches his son that the police are there to help, and that we should respect them.

Fast money, drugs, sex, violence, and crime. Street life in the early 90s.

This week, we take a look at a criminal genius, ne’er do well, druggie, and overall shady Character. Afa! Pronounced Aye-Fuh. A tall, lanky weird looking dude who truly has the gift of gab. He was born to be a con man.

The things youth bond over……

When we’re kids, proximity is everything when it comes to social relations. Case in point, our first friends are either siblings, and or preschool mates. In kindergarten it’s the same. All the way through university. We become friends first with the people we see daily. As we enter our teen years things like music, fashion, and extracurricular activities narrow our tastes. Coming into early adulthood; that time when we’re honing our individual identities, some become denizens of the night.

The world beyond the control of one’s parents, or guardians is rife with excitement. Since the dawn of time, people have done revelry, mischief, and debauchery late at night. For youth fresh out into the world as newly minted adults, many stray from the lessons and values we were raised with. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

As all these new and exciting things are happening, we are forming the last of those “childhood bonds”. Making friends as adults is a different animal altogether.

The Never-ending “J”

I’ve always been a bit of a scientist. Tinkering and reverse engineering my broken toys as a child, I loved the idea of elaborate contraptions in cartoons. Those things like that game mousetrap, you know? At any rate,
this eventually manifested itself as me being the blunt roller, pipe, and bong maker of the gang.
One day I was experimenting with a blunt rolled inside a spliff. The first semester of university is almost over. The Christmas break is fast approaching. I am a few weeks past the day trip day mare (LOLZ), and I am happy to be getting some time off from classes soon.

As per custom, Adam is up for the weekend. Out of all the mooching housemates we had, only Afa is left. He’s a lot of fun to be around, has great stories, and always has a hustle. By now he is quickly becoming one of the gang.
Mike is about to leave when Adam arrives. We all chief up at the kitchen table. The blunt hits good. Burns slow. After 20 minutes, Mike’s like “Man! this thing still isn’t done. I’ma be late for work. see ya!” as he bounds out the door in a rush.

“So what’s in this thing anyway? Adam asks. To which I reply, a bit of that Jamaican brick weed from Jessie, some of those fat dimes we get from E.P., and the last of that blue krypto. (We used to call good weed “kind bud”, or “krippies” after the kryptonite strain that was popular back then).
I rolled it in a Swisher on the inside, wet it all down with honey, then I rolled that in another a rizla spliff.
“Damn Bro! You be gettin’ all scientific wit da weed” Sputters Afa. As he coughs up a lung off dat weed.

After about 35 minutes of smoking the same blunt, Adam blurts “Fuq! I’m high. Let’s run up to the corner store man. Get some soda, bunts, and munchies.
“Cool cool cool” I say. “I’m good. Afa, put that out when you’re done.”
Afa looks at me like “da fuq?”, then says “Put it out? Done? Man, I think I’m gonna keep rockin.”

Adam and I head out, get some petrol for his truck, buy our groceries, and head back. We walk in to see Afa sitting in the exact same spot. Smoking. He gleefully screams “fifty-five minutes and counting. It’s still going. Y’all better hurry up and hit this.
Looking back on it, this was the day the three of us made “that” bond. A bond over the never-ending “J”.

Five finger discount

Christmas came and went. Mike and I went back home for the Christmas break. Afa stayed at our place while we were gone. We came back a week before class resumed.
Afa asked for a ride up to the mall to get some money. He said he needed to return some jeans he got for Christmas, then he would buy a half ounce and a 10 strip of blotter fo da gang!
“Word up then! You actually have money for a change” We often broke his balls for being broke, but always having drugs and nice clothes.

During the early 90’s it was all about designer jeans. Big money! We wore Polo, Guess, Girbaud, Cross Colors, and Levi’s Silver Tabs. Well, we wanted to, but they were mad expensive. Until……

So we get to the mall and all goes as he said it would. He even bought us food. Yet, his money ran out after a day or to so he wanted to go back. He told Mike and I that he actually had a little hustle going. Where he would go into one of the big department stores, try on expensive jeans, and then walk out with a pair on under his. Then you go to a different store and return them for cash.

“Man, you’re freaking crazy! Mike says. I follow with “That would never work”.
It indeed did work. Unfortunately.
Suddenly we’re flush with cash. I was easily burning through two or three hundred dollars a day at one point. Wearing $300 dollar jeans, buying half sheets of blotter, and smoking cheeba by the ounce.

Jessie, and George

We got some pretty decent Jamaican seedless brick weed from Jessie, who’s family was Hispanic. He was about 17, but super mature. His parents let him sell weed out of their living room. George was his bestie. He was our age. A couple few years older than Jessie. He lived there too, I think they were cousins.
Goerge’s name wasn’t really George. we just called him that because he looked like Curious George from the children’s books.

They too would run the jeans hustle, so sometime we would all go together. Mike could do it, and got pretty good at it, but he had a Mother who was not playing that. If he got caught she would do what any good mother should, and spit roast him.

This being the case, he fell back and went out with us less and less. He was working more at Subway now, and didn’t need the money like that. Adam was scared shitless about the whole thing and was nothing but a liability. He would be so scared that we would just leave him in the car. That left me and Afa.
This was the beginning of he and I becoming as close as brothers for a brief moment in time.

all for one, one for all

Hanging with a bunch of street dudes in the 90’s meant fist fights. You HAD to know how to throw hands. PERIOD! The mode was go out to clubs mad deep. This means with a huge group. Be prepared to fight at any minute. Bear in mind that these were meat market commercial clubs. As House Music was a newborn form that had barely made it’s way outside of Chicago, New York, and Detroit.

Bad situations popped off regularly, so there was safety in numbers. If one of your dudes gets jumped, the whole gang is about to issue some whoop ass. This actually kept the violence down to a bit, as not many people go out to a club looking to get into a gang war.
That said, there were a few skirmishes, and plenty near misses.

George goes down

Jessie and George were solid dudes. All the bros in their set would have your back if push came to shove. Back then, loyalty was a thing. A lot of the people Afa introduced me to had very appealing qualities. They just weren’t going anywhere in life. Most had zero ambition, and lived to get high, get money, chase broads, and run game. Jessie and George had a bit more depth than the average bro though. As such, they and I began to hang tough.

This being the case, they would often ride to the different shopping malls with Afa and I to run the return game. After a few months, I was by far the best at it. Up until a few years ago, I was hot or cold. Black or white. No shades of grey. No nuance. Fully turned up, and ready to “take it there”. On this particular day I demonstrated that fact by doing things I would cringe at if my son were ever to do them.

We were in Dillards, a high end department store doin’ that thang. It was a Saturday afternoon, I actually wasn’t planning to boost anything that day, but I saw this crazy Girbaud jacket I had to have, I also saw a pair of Levi’s fat jeans. Big baggy raver pants were just coming out at this time.

I was already wearing these dope Pepe jeans I had boosted a week ago, and they were slim fitted. As such, I got the bright idea (stupid idea) to put the stolen clothes on top of the ones I walked in with. This is the complete opposite of how the game is run. This was a totally brazen act. Arrogant even. This day marked the beginning of the end of my brief career as a retail thief. Yet, It was not in the stars for me to go down this day. Instead it was George’s.

We got in, Did the dirt and got out without a hitch. As per custom, we had to go to another mall to make the exchange of goods for return cash. This partucular day we decided to go to the Regency Square Mall Which was a bit of a hike to get to. At the time, it was also the biggest and busiest mall in the city.

The returns all went well, but George sees this Polo sweater he wants to take, He was spurred on by my newly acquired jacket to do so. Did I mention that I am still wearing the boosted clothing on top of my OG threads the whole time?
So George goes back into the store we just left. The rest of us wanting no parts of it wait at the food court.

George comes back in a flash. Six or seven minutes tops. By now the danger vibes are screaming and we are itching to go, but NO!
Ol’ George decides that he wants to buy a hot dog from the food court. In unison, as if on cue, everyone is saying how this is all bad and we need to flee the premises STAT!
Less than a minute later, plain clothes security taps George on the shoulder and says he’s being detained for retail theft. We look at each other like. “Damn! I knew it” Suddenly everything goes all slow motion, yet it all happened so quickly……

Without missing a beat, George turns and sucker punches the officer in the jaw. Which actually staggered him for a second, Yet it wasn’t the “haymaker” knock out punch he was going for.
George then proceeds to do the funniest/saddest escape attempt in the history of petty thieves. He made about four slow motion steps before three people tackled him to the ground and gave him the business.
This was the last time I ever saw George.

much too much…

As I recount these experiences, a flood of memories rush forth. In order to tell the story properly, I will have to think serially. No need to try to get it all out at once. Therefore, with this particular era, the six month period preceding the first rave, I will have to segment this particular chapter.
Afa hasn’t even been covered. Plus we’ll have to visit the day I went down. As well as me meeting my rave princess, dropping out of uni, and leaving that life forever in order to pursue this new music lifestyle called raving in general, and House culture in specific.

it can never be overstated

House Music really did save my life. This is not a cliche. Over time I will continue to share with you my reasons for making such a claim.
It has been only about a month, but I can sense that many of you are rocking with me. I give you my most humble gratitude.
For almost a decade I have been described as aloof and shadowy. Standoffish, even. Perhaps there is a grain of truth in this.

Well, not anymore. I realized that I “have people”. People who actually check for and support my work, Regardless of how few, each one is extremely valued.
I have taken it upon myself to show gratitude to the people and the culture that has given me so much.
I am your servant, and I cherish you all.

to be continued…

True story.
AA xo