The Day I Was Carjacked

Ever since I started this damn blog back in late November, certain people have expressed their desires for me to elaborate on some of my finer moments in life, and by finer moments I mean moments I'd quite frankly rather forget. However, as I sit here tonight, twiddling my thumbs, and texting half of my phone book, I have decided, to venture into one of those stories.

It was the summer of 2006, and I was working for Lawyers Trust Title Company. My job entitled me to travel back and forth between their two office locations in White Marsh and Towson amongst other things. The typical morning would consist of me picking up mail and envelopes from the Towson office, and than traveling eastbound towards Bel Air road. At the time I was driving a 1994 Jeep Cherokee with no CD player, so I typically resorted to listening to the radio on my brief drive down 695. On this particular morning, I happened to catch wind that 695 east was backed up as a result of an accident and therefore, I decided it would be more reasonable to take the back way to work. Till this day, I still curse that radio station and traffic reporter.

So here I am minding my own business, cruising down Taylor Avenue, without a care in the world when my cell phone rings. I immediately reach my hand into my pocket to answer my phone and pull a complete Kyle Boller. I managed to fumble the phone on the transition from pocked to ear and my cell phone is now trapped underneath my seat. I felt it was safe to assume that the phone call was from an employee and it was critical that I returned the call instantaneously, so I simply made a right hand turn and turned off Taylor Avenue onto a side street. I began glancing around underneath my seat trying to locate my cellular device, when I noticed a rather unusual occurrence happening. Two large African American men, where casually climbing into my car as if I had simply pulled over for the sole reason of picking them up from the side of the road. Taking first glance at these two gentlemen, I soon realized that I had never seen them before in my twenty-one years of life. Taking a second glance, I soon realized that the gentleman in the front seat was holding a hand held weapon of the 9mm sort. This gentleman than said "Shut the fuck up, listen to what I say and just drive and you will be alright." At this point, I dropped my cell phone in the center console, made a nonchalant three point turn, and began following his instructions.

After driving for a few moments the shorter,rather pudgier fellow riding in the back seat, made an interesting remark. He began to complain that the guy in the front seat was the only person that would jack a car in the middle of summer without a cd player or air conditioning. At this point, I wanted to explain to him that there were plenty of other options a long the road, but, I decided to stay silent. A few moments later, my cell phone once again begins to ring, it was my work probably attempting to figure out where the hell I was in life, and being that it has become a natural reaction for me to pick up a ringing telephone, I picked up the telephone. Not a smart idea. As soon as I reached for the phone, I was greeted with a five across the eye like none other and was getting yelled out for being a stupid white boy. I dropped the phone and was back to driving silent as piss slowly trickled down my leg. Now, I didn't really piss my pants, but the feeling was undoubtedly there.

Nearly 20 minutes or so have now passed without too much communication in the car. For some odd reason, I never found it important to wonder if these two gentleman would like to turn up the radio and start listening to some tunes. At some point we got to be around Greenmount Avenue in a part of Baltimore City that one really only wants to see when their watching an episode of The Wire. The guy in the passenger seat tells me to turn in the McDonald's, park, and start walking. At this point he decided it was time to ask for my wallet, as well. I obliged to all of his directions, got out of the car, and than watched as he hoped up and pulled away, leaving me stranded in the middle of a Baltimore City ghetto. As I am walking away from the scene of the crime, I noticed that I had become the center of attention. Little kids were pointing at me, drug dealer's were approaching me, and everyone seemed a bit confused as to what this dude wearing plaid shorts and a polo was doing in this part of town at ten in the morning. After walking a few blocks I found a pay phone and called 911. Moments later, I was filling out a police report, and my rather interesting morning was now officially behind me. A police officer escorted me home, and it wasn't long before Corey was on his way to my house to pick me up. By the time he picked me up, my hands were still shaking more than they were if I were holding a royal flush at the final table of the World Series of Poker.

Several days later, I received a telephone call from the Baltimore City police department informing me that my car had been ditched an empty parking lot somewhere in the vicinity of the McDonald's. Making matters worse, they than informed me that I would now have to pay $250 to have my car removed from the impound lot. So as a result of getting carjacked, I got the right to pay the city of Baltimore two hundred and fifty big ones. Sweet life. After picking my car up from the impound, I was pleased to find that the Vault was still in my trunk and the guys who stole my jeep were hospitable enough to leave more than enough rolling papers for me to get through the summer.