Guest Blogger: My Story of an Almost Carjacking

A friend sent me this story of an uncomfortable interaction with a gentleman that clearly wanted his car. Being parked outside a bath house (doing outreach for work...not as a patron) can be creepy enough - but this was certain to increase ones blood pressure. I found his tale quite entertaining, so I asked permission to post it as a guest blog. His name is Ian, and he's fabulous...and also an engaging writer...and a snappy dresser...and may possibly have the greatest laugh I have ever heard EVER!

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I tested two people at the bathhouse, and nearly got carjacked. Seriously. I was sitting in my car on the street alongside The Club, before going inside. I was talking to Roger on my cell phone.

An old burgundy Honda pulled alongside my car, coming from the opposite direction my car was pointed. The driver stopped in the middle of the street. I glanced over at him, and he pointed at me, then to himself and nodded his head. I know there’s been drug activity going on in that area, so I thought he thought I was some kind of dealer. I made mention to Roger on the phone of the oddity, then continued on with my merry little conversation, but keeping a good eye on my mirrors.

I saw a thirty-something African American guy get out of his car and cross the back of mine. I gave Roger details as the event unfolded. The man then walked up to my passenger side and tried the handle. I’m always safe, so it was locked.

“What’s goin’ on?!” I shouted. Roger fell silent on the other end of the phone.

“Hey man, let me in. Roll down the window, I don’t want to shout.” The man was wearing a white wife-beater, jeans, and had a simple gold crucifix around his neck.

“No!” I responded, “What’s goin’ on?”

He explained something about working for a ministry, that he’s from Alton, some lady had died, and some “probably a drug dealer” had wrecked into the side of his car. He said MoDOT had come out and fixed something or other. I had no idea where he was going with the story. It wasn’t getting anywhere fast.

“What do you want?” I asked aggressively.

The man threw up his arms in disgust and crossed the front of my car and approached my window. I rolled down the window a hair. He again explained the story about the ministry, Alton, dead woman, car accident. I pointed him to the direction of The Club entrance. He said, “I did that. They kicked me out. No solicitating.”

“Well, what are you soliciting?” I asked, finally the story was getting somewhere.

“I need help for gas.”

“I’m working in there tonight for a non-profit.” I replied, hoping that whatever belief he had would be dispelled as to why I was sitting alone in my car, cell phone in hand, in this sketchy neighborhood.

He stammered a moment, then said, “I work for a non-profit, too.” The man was further hoping to lure me into the details of his story.

“Well, then you understand…I don’t have any money.”

“A dollar?”

“Nope, sorry.”

The man was clearly upset. He hurried across the street, got into his beat up jalopy, and sped off. After his taillights disappeared into the night, I moved my car into the parking lot of The Club. Roger was concerned. He told me I should be careful who I talk to…but HELLO…he tried to get into my car!!

Once inside the establishment, I was still shaken. I reported what had happened to the staff, and they acknowledged that a man fitting the description had come in earlier and they turned him away.

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Quick Question: How did he drive away if he needed money for gas? And on what planet do preppy white guys sell drugs in sketchy neighborhoods?