Getting Chased by a Pimp — A Defining Moment of My Life

Whatever you do, keep your life interesting. That’s a motto I strive to live by.

Glad that this summer has made things relatively easy for me in that regard. The past two days has especially been action-packed.

Last night, I had the so-called “privilege” of hearing my roommate and estranged lesbian lover come to a passionate reconciliation of sighs and moans. In this case, the magic, for them, lasted past midnight. Congratulations Cinderellas, I just wanted to sleep. Goddamn you thin walls. No, really, I actually wanted to sleep and not hear the loud noises.

And tonight, on the way back from the first day of Whartscape, I had the pleasure of being chased by a drugged-up pimp for a couple of blocks. You see, I was turning this street corner when this brightly-dressed guy greeted me with two girls flanking him. I didn’t instantaneously recognize that this was a case of a pee-ai-em-pee with his hos. Thanks to Hollywood, I always pictured prostitutes as being down-and-out and jaded women in their 30’s with raspy smoker voices. Pimps I imagined as big dudes in their 40s  with pink suits, diamond chains, gold grills, top hats and canes. The people I actually saw looked way younger. The guy looked to be 18 at the most. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with skinny jeans and skater shoes, pretty standard high-school/college fare. The girls looked even younger, 16 maybe. They were both wearing some alien-looking stringy metallic leotards. One of them was wearing a gigantic sparkling chain with the word ‘LOVE’ on it. Ironic. The hipsters at Whartscape would’ve eaten that up.

Still, despite how entrenched by preconceptions were, it didn’t take too long to figure out. I said ‘Hi’ to the guy (big mistake), and he immediately started talking about some two-for-one recession deal. I got the idea. I’d encountered a real-life pimp in the wild. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t feeling the stimulus package, so I quickly declined. Both threesomes and herpes frighten me. Plus, the fact that the pimp had these crazy bloodshot eyes and seemed to be under the influence of something didn’t help his cause. As I passed them by, I made some passing comment establishing my lack of interest. I forgot what it was. May have said something about not wanting to go to the dark side tonight, or something else stupid like that, but at this point, it’s all conjecture. Whatever I said, it pissed him off. I heard some shuffling and saw him scampering towards me. I began sprinting.

I lost him after only a couple of blocks. There was no way he was going to catch up to me, but that small chase still got me a pleasant rush of adrenaline through my body. Fear in limited amounts is an awesome feeling. I almost wish he could’ve chased me for a little bit longer.

People always ask me how and why I always manage to find myself involved in these goofy encounters with nutty people. How could I be so unlucky/lucky? I guess it’s because honestly, on a certain level, I seek and search out this craziness. I’m exposing myself more to the possibility of these events happening to me more than they would to the average sheltered suburban-raised college student by going to sketch areas of cities at godless hours. Why do I do it? Yeah, I could get mugged, killed, raped, all of that good stuff and blah blah blah. But seriously, it’s exhilarating, that spark of adrenaline ignited by the slightest shock of fear.

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