Storytime! When I was a dumb 17 yo in highschool, I befriended a girl from Camden while taking a class at Rutgers, Camden. She told me her brother sold ounces of weed. The invincible young BearBong decided to get a small side gig flipping small bags of bud with a buddy.
We would pickup the weed at the low-income highrises, just on the Camden side of the Ben Franklin bridge. If you know the area, you know those 2 brick towers.
For a while, it was great. One day, while we arrive in the parking lot, as usual. We call her phone. No answer. Try again. No answer. We begin to get sketched out, me more-so. While waiting, we witness a massive dude walk by and stare in the car. I remember noting the crazy blue hoodie he had on.
Finally, a after a few more minutes of pants-shitting, our girl calls. "Sorry, my phone died, I'm calling from a friends," she says. Ok, whatever, we think. Let's just get this shit and go.
We meet her in the lobby, with a large whey protein jar in hand. That's how we'd bring in the cash, and store the weed to walk out. She presses the elevator button, but then quickly chimes "Oh, shit, forgot the elevator is out." So we take the stairs to the third floor. At this point, alarms should be going off in our heads. But, alas, we're 17 and white kids from suburbia. We'll be fine. Whoops, nope.
She, walking ahead of us on the stairs, seems much more quiet than her regular chatty self. She opens the door for us and we turn into the hallway. Two steps towards the apartment, the massive dude in the blue hoodie emerges with a beretta pointed at us. "Gimme dat jar." The girl, in what might be the worst moment of acting I've ever seen – aside from Keanu Reeves' famous "I know Kung Fu" line – pretends to freak out. I immediately roll the jar the 5 feet to him. "Wallets, too". My friend tosses his but I hesitate, and like a total jackass, say "I'll give you my cash, but I'm gonna cancel my cards the moment I leave. Also, I need my license. Hilariously, he agrees and demands just my cash.
"Run!" he then barked, and mother fucker, we RAN. We flew down the stairs and didn't exchange a word until we were in my 1986 Volvo. "SHIT," "HOLY FUCK," "LET'S GET OUTTA HERE" etc. Of course, my fucking 240DL won't start. It takes us about 35 gut wrenching seconds for it to finally turn over.
I didn't keep in touch with that friend through college and grad school, but did run into him at a bar last year while home for a holiday. "Dude, remember when we got jacked in Camden?!" is how he opened our first convo in 8 years. Yes, yes I did. And I always will.
PS – I still have that wallet :)