The suburbs of Detroit, MI. Its roughly 2004. We called it ‘The Summer Of The Purps’.
Most nights ended with a group gathering in the basement of our friends house. His parents were both artists and designers so this isn’t the typical stoner den you are expecting. After a long day of work, stepping into their house was like walking into Wonderland. The door handle to the front entrance of the house was in the middle of the door. Upon entering the home you found that each room had something special to offer. The kitchen was painted like a French bistro, the living room had a huge fireplace and baby grand piano with huge drapery and perfect lighting. Each chair and sofa was unique to itself. The basement had a huge seating area that would accommodate 10+ with a fireplace, workout area, and two drumsets.Our addition to the basement: A white label Roor bong, a two foot clear gravity bong, and enough purps and swishers to last a zombie apocalypse.
On my way to meet up with the group, after a long day of work, I decided to stop at a 7-11 for a Red Bull. I exited the building to a parking lot occupied by my lone vehicle. I noticed a stocky middle aged black male in a U of M knit hat and puffy winter coat walking right towards me. I could see that he had a question for me but as he approached, that question turned into a demand.
OK, I need you to give me the keys to the car.” Shocked, I replied, “Are you serious?” He stated that he was serious and he had a gun.
Yes. Really! Do you want to see it!?”
My eyebrows raised, “well yeah.”
It was a revolver.
My ride was a 1994 Isuzu Rodeo with 120,000 miles on it. I didn’t care if he took it but I had some musical equipment in the back that I needed the following day. I explained that I needed to grab my stuff from the back and he could take the truck. I noticed him starting to get spooked.
“Listen,” he yelled, “I just need a ride! The bus never came and I’ve been sitting behind a dumpster for two hours!” I asked where he needed to go.
“Just get in the car! I’ll tell you where to go!”I was speaking calmly but my legs were shaking as we pulled away from the 7-11. I looked over at my, now, kidnapper and said, “I’m not going to lie to you dude. When I get home I am going to smoke the fattest joint.”"Aw man! Why didn’t you say something!?” –out comes the bag of shwag and zig zag papers.
As my, now, friend rolls up a joint he begins to elaborate of the circumstances that brought him to carjacking me. Early that day he had managed to get a ride from Detroit to the suburbs to confront his girlfriend about talking to another guy. Apparently that confrontation ended with the back window of his girlfriends car being smashed out. This explained the bloody Wendy’s napkin he had wrapped around his hand. “The gun,” he told me, “was at her house so I grabbed it in case I needed to find a way home.”
He asked, “Do you have a lighter?” Indeed I did and when I went to hand it to him he grabbed it with the napkin.
He looked at me, “I kinda got a record.”Now this is where I can tell you that what frustrated me most about the night was not that he was wasting my time, wasting my gas, or that he pulled a gun on me. What really got to me –PUFF PUFF PUFF PUFF PUFF PASS!
Fortunately, my story doesn’t get much crazier than how it began. When we finally got off at Chicago St. in west side Detroit we pulled into an abandoned gas station. He made me sit for five minutes while he finished his story and when he got out of the car he pushed the lock button on the passenger door (he knew to hold the outside handle so it would lock – I laughed at this) and he waved goodbye. I found comfort knowing the one of 5 doors was locked just in case someone tried to carjack me.
An hour later I finally made it to my destination. I walked into a room of about 8 people.
“Pass that blunt. Do I have a story for you guys!”