Neighborhood encounters
I live in what can effectively described as a 'fringe' area of Dallas. Three completely different, very distinct communities converge at the corner on which I live.
Three blocks to one direction is Cedar Springs, a thriving homosexual district home to dozens of primarily gay bars, clubs, restaurants shops etc. On any given night (particularly weekends) you can see all manner of the homosexual community. Nothing really out of the ordinary for this type of neighborhood, but not your standard white-bread community either.
A little north of Cedar Springs is a pretty hard Hispanic barrio along Maple Ave. and Wycliff. I don't know too much about this area, except that the liquor stores sell cheap booze, and the grocery stores have great homemade tortillas. It is not uncommon to pass hookers, pimps and drug dealers while on my way to work. There's also a train track that runs through here, so there's always a good population of drifter running through here.
All this, and yet three blocks east is the border to Highland Park. Not sure where it ranks but I imagine it is in the ten or so wealthiest enclaves in the country. It was front page news just a few years ago when the first black family moved into HP.
Given it's location near several major intersections, my little area is home to quite a mix of residents. Everyone from metrosexuals, to homosexuals to meth-cooks and junkies live within a few blocks. In fact, just last week two crack houses were torn down that were adjacent to a condo-complex where homes start around $300K. Guess property value just went up a bit.
I like it here. None of these areas bother me too much, though I don't really fit perfectly into any of them. The ghetto is a little sketchy but far enough away that the dangerous stuff is kind of removed. I don't care for the cookie-cutter suburbia that makes up much of any large city these days so this neighborhood keeps things pretty interesting.
Don't get me wrong, I don't live in the ghetto. It's not really a dangerous place, it just has a huge mix of people living within several blocks of each other. The disparity between residences ranging from cheap tenements to high-dollar luxury townhomes results in lots of different and strange people and whatever type of activity they bring with them. In fact, pursuant to Megan's Law, every six weeks or so I receive in the mail a postcard informing me that a registered sex offender has moved into my zip code. I make it a point to find the address, and remove it from my jogging route. I don't do much jogging anymore.
So, here in the Ghayto we see some cool shit. Last week I was in 7-11 picking up some tall boys for my trip to the shopping mall. I walked in an a tiny Vietnamese lady was there arguing with the counter-guy. It seems he'd sold her a scratch-ticket and she'd won $6 which she was trying to redeem. Seems reasonable, right?. Well, apparently he'd only paid her $4 and this was grounds for assault. Problem was both only spoke very broken English, and the native language of each was quite different form the other's.
So here I am, minding my own business trying to catch a weeknight buzz and I get this bit of entertainment. She first started yelling at him, but he didn't understand. I didn't either. Her accent was very thick and her English very bad. Of course the counter guy was straight out of Africa. I'm not sure exactly where he was from but he looked like Manute Bol and was about 6'5"; he didn't speak Vietnamese. So the lady got frustrated at not being able to put toghether the right series of clicks ans whistles the guy would understand, so she started throwing packs of gum and Altoids at him demanding her money. Finally after pointing at her ticket and holding up various fingers, counter guy realized what she was after.
He claimed to have paid her the correct amount and physically forced her out of the store. I paid my $2 for 48 oz. of Miller Lite while she beat on the window and gave him dirty looks. After he and I kind of chuckled a bit she became incensed and came back into the store and tried to climb over the counter and take from the still-open register the very $2 that he'd taken from me. I guess this is when it escalated to robbery and Manute picked up the phone.
I guess little Vietnamese women are conditioned to have a strong fear of authority and of anyone in uniform (can't guess why); so as soon as the word "police" was mentioned she climbed back over the counter and walked outside. I figured this was over so I headed out to my car. I tried to encourage her to keep standing up for herself and that she needed to get the money that was righfully owed to her. I offered to call the cops and have them straighten it out but she ran away while Manute told me I had to leave too or I'd go to jail.
Keep it real.
Three blocks to one direction is Cedar Springs, a thriving homosexual district home to dozens of primarily gay bars, clubs, restaurants shops etc. On any given night (particularly weekends) you can see all manner of the homosexual community. Nothing really out of the ordinary for this type of neighborhood, but not your standard white-bread community either.
A little north of Cedar Springs is a pretty hard Hispanic barrio along Maple Ave. and Wycliff. I don't know too much about this area, except that the liquor stores sell cheap booze, and the grocery stores have great homemade tortillas. It is not uncommon to pass hookers, pimps and drug dealers while on my way to work. There's also a train track that runs through here, so there's always a good population of drifter running through here.
All this, and yet three blocks east is the border to Highland Park. Not sure where it ranks but I imagine it is in the ten or so wealthiest enclaves in the country. It was front page news just a few years ago when the first black family moved into HP.
Given it's location near several major intersections, my little area is home to quite a mix of residents. Everyone from metrosexuals, to homosexuals to meth-cooks and junkies live within a few blocks. In fact, just last week two crack houses were torn down that were adjacent to a condo-complex where homes start around $300K. Guess property value just went up a bit.
I like it here. None of these areas bother me too much, though I don't really fit perfectly into any of them. The ghetto is a little sketchy but far enough away that the dangerous stuff is kind of removed. I don't care for the cookie-cutter suburbia that makes up much of any large city these days so this neighborhood keeps things pretty interesting.
Don't get me wrong, I don't live in the ghetto. It's not really a dangerous place, it just has a huge mix of people living within several blocks of each other. The disparity between residences ranging from cheap tenements to high-dollar luxury townhomes results in lots of different and strange people and whatever type of activity they bring with them. In fact, pursuant to Megan's Law, every six weeks or so I receive in the mail a postcard informing me that a registered sex offender has moved into my zip code. I make it a point to find the address, and remove it from my jogging route. I don't do much jogging anymore.
So, here in the Ghayto we see some cool shit. Last week I was in 7-11 picking up some tall boys for my trip to the shopping mall. I walked in an a tiny Vietnamese lady was there arguing with the counter-guy. It seems he'd sold her a scratch-ticket and she'd won $6 which she was trying to redeem. Seems reasonable, right?. Well, apparently he'd only paid her $4 and this was grounds for assault. Problem was both only spoke very broken English, and the native language of each was quite different form the other's.
So here I am, minding my own business trying to catch a weeknight buzz and I get this bit of entertainment. She first started yelling at him, but he didn't understand. I didn't either. Her accent was very thick and her English very bad. Of course the counter guy was straight out of Africa. I'm not sure exactly where he was from but he looked like Manute Bol and was about 6'5"; he didn't speak Vietnamese. So the lady got frustrated at not being able to put toghether the right series of clicks ans whistles the guy would understand, so she started throwing packs of gum and Altoids at him demanding her money. Finally after pointing at her ticket and holding up various fingers, counter guy realized what she was after.
He claimed to have paid her the correct amount and physically forced her out of the store. I paid my $2 for 48 oz. of Miller Lite while she beat on the window and gave him dirty looks. After he and I kind of chuckled a bit she became incensed and came back into the store and tried to climb over the counter and take from the still-open register the very $2 that he'd taken from me. I guess this is when it escalated to robbery and Manute picked up the phone.
I guess little Vietnamese women are conditioned to have a strong fear of authority and of anyone in uniform (can't guess why); so as soon as the word "police" was mentioned she climbed back over the counter and walked outside. I figured this was over so I headed out to my car. I tried to encourage her to keep standing up for herself and that she needed to get the money that was righfully owed to her. I offered to call the cops and have them straighten it out but she ran away while Manute told me I had to leave too or I'd go to jail.
Keep it real.
posted by Monkeydrunk at 11:12 AM
1 Comments:
You don't jog because you are fat. Sex offenders have nothing to do with it.
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