So. I decided to actually make good on at least ONE of my proposed guides. In all honesty, I had no intention of making good. It was all empty promises, thrown out there to what I presumed were empty seats. But since two good friends decided to jab me on it, I couldn’t avoid the challenge. So I'll deliver, but not what was requested of me.
I’m all enigmatic like that.
When I slapped that list up there, I wasn’t thinking too clearly. In fact, I don’t remember my reasoning behind half of those potential guides. However, I do feel very confident that I can successfully write any of them. The quality may be questionable, but the completion will be undeniable. Undeniably questionable, if you will.
And so, here we are, my first (and potentially last) “Craig’s Guide To”. I picked the one you’re probably most interested in to start with:
Craig’s guide to avoiding pushing crack dealers.
The first thing about crack dealers that needs to be understood is that they are businessmen. They just want to make money. If selling ice cream were a reasonable way for a fourteen year-old with no transportation to score themselves a 6 series BMW, then they’d be pushing that frozen sugar milk. But as we all know, working for Marble Slab is not what anyone thinks of when they think about dumping wheelbarrows of cash into their indoor swimming pool. No one has coined it as Baskin “bling-bling” Robbins for good reason.
So they’re in it for the money. What that means to you is that they are reasonable on at least one level with which you are familiar, you cash-mongering capitalist pig. (“What the fuck Craig? Are you comparing my motivations in life to that of a crack dealer, you insensitive asshole?” Why yes, I am. Cry somewhere else.)
Once you understand their sole motivation (get that cheddar, son!), then it is important to understand what separates them from any other salesman you may run across in life. You see, salesmen like the douche who sold you your last Hyndai, your dad who pimps long-term annuities to confused retirees, or your cabernet-stained uncle Brandon who has been saturating his much-touted “Upper Mid-West Sales Region” (of which he was recently named VP, congrats Bran, you forgot my birthday again, you dick) with pharmaceuticals he is incapable of pronouncing, these salespeople are only different from the crack dealer in terms of operation within the law. You might think that to be a rather pronounced difference, and a thick, thick line to cross. Not so much. The only real difference is that after the initial sales pitch has failed, and the cash-money fades away, your annuity-peddling dad is bound by law to avoid shaking the old folks down. The crack dealer on the other hand, always has the option to say “fuck it,” and just rob your ass. But don’t think for a second that your pops hasn’t considered the same thing. We both know he mutters to himself, almost daily, “fuck these old bastards, hiding my money from me. It’d be easier if I could cut out this whole “financial product” thing and just beat ‘em with a pipe instead.” I don’t blame him. His job is complete shit.
The street pharmacist, on the other hand, is already operating outside the confines of civil law. He (I am using “he” to simplify this discussion, not to disregard all the hard working women and girls out there, busting their asses to slang that cane) sells an untaxed item and depending on how much he’s holding: makes him a felon. So he risks very little by adding aggravated assault/robbery to the ticket. Add to that the reasonable assumption that he is armed for protection purposes and probably has some lingering anger issues from a hardscrabble childhood not portrayed on Eight is Enough.
Now that the motivation (paper, benjies, mad dollahs) and capability (already a felon, .38 in waistband) have been established, it is easy to understand your fear when confronted by such businessmen. And if you happen to find yourself wandering through a strange part of a strange town (or your town, your neighborhood, your neighbor’s yard, wherever), are approached by an individual who is obviously moving rocks, and do not have the benefit of an automobile’s outer shell to buffer you from undesirables… then follow this guide, word for word. Word.
1. If he is alone, and actually asks you “would you like to buy some of this great crack I have for sale here?” then he is either a cop, or really green male hooker (fresh trade). Either way, you are, by rules of the streetz (not that I abide by such things) to kick him in the twins and yell “Armageddon is upon us, bitch!” or start to drag your left foot and drool while mumbling to yourself about black helicopters. Even though you are not dealing with a crack dealer, pushing is still not an option you should consider. I recommend acting retarded, but that’s because I’m too lazy to run from male prostitutes. They’re pretty fit for the most part.
2. If he is alone, chooses to stare directly into your eyes while fumbling in his pockets without saying a single word, and steps toward you as you approach, then you have probably met your first freelance slanger o’ rock. Or some creepy dude playing pocket pool, waiting for some eye contact to light his fuse. Either way, you don’t want to do any pushing here. If it is indeed a crack sprinkler, then you must tread lightly. He’s a freelancer, so he’s tough as nails. He is the most likely peddler to resort to a good ol’ fashioned stick-up. Again, he only wants your money, not your soul. Well, he may want your kicks too. Perhaps your watch, engagement ring, belly button piercing and monogrammed underwear too. But he’ll seriously settle for a sale. To avoid pushing, simply buy as much crack as you have the cash to. Go home and bend you a spoon for proper smoking. Feel free to become a repeat customer if you appreciate the quality of his product. After all, it’s the level of service involved that separates one pusher from the next. If it’s just some weird white dude with scruffy blond hair and beard, fiddling in his pockets, help a brutha out and look me in the eyes. Just for a second. No need to push or anything. Thanks.
3. If he is amongst others (better known as his ‘clique’, ‘mob’, ‘crew’, or his ‘boys’) on the front porch of a residence and acts pretty much the same as the freelancer, then just go ahead and buy the crack you showed up to buy. No one of average intelligence “accidentally” runs into those houses, and you know it. They’re out of the way, off the beaten path for good reason. If, by chance, you DO accidentally run across such a house, then there’s no time like that one to pick up a habit which you are obviously not intelligent enough to avoid. Because again, you are an idiot and crack might end up being the best thing to happen to you. Smoke up.
This is a rough guide, and your situation may differ slightly from the three scenarios described above. Perhaps it is family member who is offering you the crack. To avoid pushing them, you might consider punching them in the face. Or hitting them with a bat. Or your car. But remember what your mother always taught you: don’t push people, it’s rude. But busting a coke bottle over his head? Well, that’s fair game in my book.
Good luck with your next encounter. I’m sure you’ll handle it well. And just like everything else, the more often you do it: the more natural it becomes. Pretty soon you’ll be seeing your local crack dealer on a daily basis, eating banana peels, doing head-spins for change, and living behind Circle K! And that relationship, or your newfound life would never have blossomed if you had chosen to push the guy. See? Playing nice always pays off in the end.
Civil society kicks much ass.