You Can Have My Money but You Can't have My Pizza
So I’d just got this pizza on Venice beach. Not just any pizza mind, but a 20inch monster (see my photoblog). It was to keep myself and Hannah alive during the next 30 hours of travel (a trick we learned in Greece on the non-stop trains). I walked for 10min from the pizza place to our hostel and was twice asked if I’d give someone some pizza. There must be something about a huge pizza that makes people assume you can't possibly eat it all and have in fact bought it with the sole intention of sharing it. On most occasions, I would have considered it - but this was MY food and our only sustenance for the next day. I wasn't giving it up with out a fight. And a Knife fight at that.
So with this pizza we bid farewell to our fairly grotty but friendly Venice beach hostel, setting off for the Greyhound station in downtown LA. We took the hour long bus drive and got off at the stop for the number 60. I'd got chatting to the driver and a couple of his colleagues on the bus journey and they were all discussing their shared ideas around karma. I mostly listened but it was an interesting talk that had me thinking in a useful frame of mind for the events which were to be served to us.
The driver dropped us off, asking if we were SURE we wanted to get off. It was only then I looked at the time and realised we were about to make a change in downtown LA at 11:30pm. Not wise, even if you're a BALABD, which I’m not, nor do I intend to be any time soon, biatch. As soon as I stepped off the bus I immediately registered that it was not an area I really wanted to be in at any time, never mind with Hannah at night loaded with suitcases stock full of mug-worthy products.
Nevertheless, we found our bus stop, and it soon became clear that right behind us was 'Your friendly Neighbourhood Dealer'. I'm not quite sure what he was dealing, but judging by the condition of most of his customers and his rates, I would guess crack. I may be wrong but you don't get those kinds of shakes with a Happy Meal. Hannah, justifiably, started emitting fearful vibes. I did my best to calm her down using only my voice, for if we were obviously uncomfortable, we would lead the dealer to think we felt threatened, which I didn't. It was his customers who scarred me. He was clearly relatively minted and knew what he was doing, probably dealing drugs only from necessity. His customers however (of all demographs and ethnicity) had little in common but for a desperate addiction and a small money flow issue. One of his customers palmed some coinage into the dealers hand and tried to make off with the crack before he could count it. He was $2.75 short. I remember the figure because of the speed with which the dealer counted it in complete darkness. We were not witnessing a massive drug-ring transaction here. This was petit stuff, likely to attract petit criminals....particularly ones short of $3 and looking for a chump to knife for it. That made me nervous and my back was never turned in any direction for more than 3 seconds.
And Hope, A Winged Chariot with under-lighting
In the midst of this potentially volatile situation, a luminous carriage of hope pulled up in front of us. A brand-new sports car with under-lighting shined from the horizon and stopped. A white couple, say 25ish, in what turned out to be a nice roomy sports car were obviously scouting for someone white to ask directions. They pulled over and asked us if we knew where Tokyo town was. I replied I didn't know and they registered we were from out of town. It was probably the suitcases that tipped them-off, but you're never too sure with Californians. 'You guys aren't from round here are you?...Are you guys going the greyhound station?' the guy asked. A guilty wave of relief ran through me. The hand of intervention had taken us out of this shit-hole; Karma had rewarded me for not giving that poor starving girl a slice of my big fat pizza. 'Yes....' I replied, while me and Hannah exchanged happy glances.'...were getting out of LA on the Greyhound'.
'Here it comes' I thought, 'our obligatory offer of a lift'.....'my chance to make a life-long friend and share stories about that time he rescued me from a nasty gang-raping....'ha ha ha' we'd chortle, while sipping expensive sprits on the yacht he'd named after that billion dollar company we'd started all those happy years ago.......this will all be in our shared past.....
The girl leaned over her boyfriend and shouted, quite audibly, 'well you guys had better get out of here, it's a really bad area,’ 'it's a f*cking sh*t hole' the guy helpfully added.
And that was it. The fact we were waiting at a bus stop and flagging every taxi somehow hadn't conveyed to them we were rather keen to follow their advice. But before I could pick my jaw up, they were at the next set of lights, probably discussing how kind they were to have informed us of the plight we were in. Half-way, they obviously realised they perhaps should have done more and shouted back to the drug dealer (this is the truth, I swear) 'don't let any shit happen to these guys'. The man was wearing what was possibly the most self-satisfied grin I’d ever seen. I bet he thought he was the good fucking Samaritan....asking a strange drug-dealer to protect two fish-out-of water tourists in the middle of LA's shitty downtown quarter. And I bet he slept that night. Probably after receiving a congratulatory blow-job from his girl-friend for being such a great guy to those poor English tourists. I bet he's going to die with a smug expression on his face. The dirty cocksuckers.
That was the drug-dealer's opinion of them anyway and something similar flashed through my mind but just stopped at my tongue as they drove off. The group of REALLY bad looking guys across the street could have thought it was aimed at them. I didn't want to start a turf war and have to teach them all a lesson in how to get their asses kicked, I wasn't in the mood.
It was at this point I entered into dialogue with the dealer, mostly out of disgust at this display of utter insensitivity. Not only did they announce to the street we were tourists, but added it was a shit hole, and on top of it....left us there with the request of protection from a crack dealer. Even he wouldn’t have asked himself to look after someone. We both concluded that if they had really cared, they would obviously have given us a lift out of there. Here's that two-faced 'have a nice day' bullshit again. Self-righteous people blinded by a cloud of smug around their hypocrisy. And what the hell is a 'sport' car anyway, isn't that an oxymoron? It's not like you have to pedal. The dealer said something along the lines of:
'Black or white, people are all the same, all looking out for themselves and being shitty to other people'
So we chatted away discussing their rudeness while he made various transactions with the desperate, the low - and the soon to be high. You know you're in a bad area, when even the drug dealers are lamenting your presence and attempting to sympathise. There is a beautiful irony in this somewhere, I’m sure.
It was at this point the third person of the night asked me for some pizza. To describe him, I’d have to say he was a kind of black Father Jack, but with dreads. Again, the size of the pizza must have convinced him my only reason for buying it was to share it with crusty drug addicts, who smell quite considerably of their own wee. I told him I couldn't as it was not only my breakfast but also my lunch.
Our Guardian Bag-lady
The friendly dealer came and went and a few other shady characters began to circle us as bus 60 seemed less likely to ever come. Then our guardian angel appeared...well. Sort of. Our proper one must have been on the loo or something and sent a homeless woman instead, who also happened to have a keen interest in my pizza box. She was in a pretty bad state and I kinda didn't want to be rude, so I engaged her in conversation. Despite her state, she nonetheless recognised she needed to help us get the hell out of that place. She didn't ask for payment and instead seemed satisfied to be taught words in 'that lovely English accent you got'. When she realised we wanted to get out, by any means possible, she took it upon herself to run out into the middle of the street and try to flag taxis down for us. Somehow, I think most cabbies may have been put off her potential custom by the fact she was screaming and waving her arms in the middle of the road. Largely, while I appreciated she was trying to help us, she didn't. She kept muttering incomprehensible comments under her breath adjoined with discerning looks and nods towards the local drug dealer. She also kept making meticulous notes on the palm of her hand, using her other index finger.
When the bus eventually arrived after what must have been 40min, she asked for money. I wasn't about to get my wallet out in the middle of the street. When I refused to give her money she insisted on accompanying us to the greyhound station. I said I would pay for her to get on the bus (about 30p that time of night). The bus driver obviously knew her and didn’t seem to mind she didn’t have a ticket. So she got off with us after a short 5 min journey.We agreed we had clearly made the right choice in not walking to the station, which had crossed our mind a couple of times. Once we were off the bus our Angel of Los Angeles, albeit in good disguise, asked again for money. I repeated that I would not give her any money while we were in the middle of the street but if she followed me into the greyhound station then I would see what I had.
She obliged and politely argued that she hadn't gone to all this trouble for nothing. I politely reminded her that, although we were appreciative of her help, we had not requested it. Saying that made me feel a bit shitty though and all that talk of Karma just swirled back into my brain. I had a few dollars in my wallet, we got out safely, and who knows, maybe her craziness had scarred off any would be threats. I handed her a few spare notes for her help, if only to get rid of her before she ended up following us to San Francisco.
Then she did it.
She asked the question that so many others before had done. I'd given her some cash....but she had to didn't she....she had to ask....it was just too big and smelled too damn good not to. I'd have asked too.....
At this I gave her a look which dismissed her hopes and loudly said, as if to announce to all of LA,
'You can have my money, but you can't have my pizza'
And triumphantly, I marched through the boarding gate.....little did I know my trouble had only just started. I was on my way to have a big argument with a Big Angry LA Bus Driver
posted by Jack Nunn at 7:15 PM
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