Showdown at the crack house

This is a honest-to-god, true story. Well, true-ish. Some names and facts have been changed because my memory sucks.

WARNING: This story involves drugs. In fact kids, this is why we say no to drugs.

Back when I first got out of the Army, life was rough. I was struggling to find work, and the jobs were pretty few and far between. I had really no idea what I wanted to do, so as a result, I just started responding to any newspaper ad or wanted listing in the ACAP Database (Army Career and Alumni Program) that sounded interesting.

I bounced around a little bit at first. My first job out of the Army was selling cell phones to businesses. Of course, I should say that I really only tried to sell cell phones to businesses, since I didn't actually, technically, sell any. None. Not one. I liked the job description that was advertised because it was something I could do 'out of my house' (hidden meaning: There was no actual office building for this 'fly by night' operation), and it had 'unlimited income potential' (hidden meaning: You don't get paid unless you sell something). Honestly, all the businesses that I talked to all thought it was a scam. And I had a hard time convincing them otherwise because...I kinda knew it probably was a scam.

This is the first, and so far only, job that I ever quit simply by never showing up to work again. Well, that and disconnecting my phone.

Later, I answered an ad in the paper that said something like this:
Managers wanted!
Large international business expanding to the Pacific Northwest. We need Managers for our stores that we are opening in the area. No experience required!

Now, if I knew then what I know now, I'd have been suspicious of this Ad. It has all the tell-tale signs of a scam. After all, if you were a 'large international business' expanding to a new area and were putting in new stores, would you really hire a 20 year old kid with 'No experience' to manage your new store? Of course not.

But...I was young. And dumb.

Anyway, I called the number and asked how to apply and was immediately granted an interview!

Yes...just like that. I had an interview scheduled, and they hadn't seen a resume, an application, or knew anything more about me than the name I gave them over the phone. I may have been young and dumb, but even I was suspicious at that point.

But I was living off top ramen and whatever I could mooch off my girlfriend, so I was desperate. I went to the interview.

Immediately following that less than 10 minute interview, I was hired into their 'management training program'. When I was hired, I didn't have to give a Social Security number or any other information. This also set off some warning bells in my head, but maybe they would just do the paperwork later...

I wouldn't get paid of course, in their 'management training program' (I was told this is 'Standard'), but there was UNLIMITED EARNING POTENTIAL if I passed their program.

So I took the job. And for about 3 weeks, I tried to sell...perfume. That was, of course, their 'management training'. I would go the the office for about an hour for motivational speeches, and then walk for miles trying to sell perfume to people on the street.

I got to keep a 'portion' of the profits from the perfume I sold, but that was barely enough to cover the gas to commute to work and the cigarettes I was smoking at the time. Meanwhile I had to sell plasma and mooch off of my girlfriend in order to afford to actually, you know, eat.

The people that I met who were doing this job were not particularly...bright. One of the 'trainers' I found out, was a crack addict with no car.

I didn't know that of course (the crack addict part anyway), up until the time where I was giving him a ride home from work and he asked me if we could stop at a friend's house real quick to pick something up. It was right on the way, so I said 'sure, no problem'.

Well, we went inside, and it was a crowded place...the living room was maybe 50 square feet, and it was packed with 8-10 people. And as I looked around, I could tell they were all smoking. And I don't mean cigarettes. I don't even mean weed.

I knew immediately that I didn't need to be here. In fact, if I went down the list of places I would like be at that moment, I could probably list several million before I got down to 'crack house'.

My 'trainer', found his friend, who happened to be an extremely skinny black woman (who quite possibly could have actually been a black man...it was really hard to tell, if you know what I mean) and made a 'transaction', but before the deal could be made, I was encouraged to sit down and have a smoke off of his 'friend's' pipe. As politely as I could, I declined, and attempted to walk casually to the front door. (At this point I was attempting to decide in my head if I was walk or run to my car once I got outside. Run was definitely pulling ahead)

This is where the 'friend' pulled out his pistol and made it clear that his (or her) hospitality was not optional. You see, apparently, he/she believed that my 'trainer' had brought a cop (me) with them. Of course, I was not a cop. But apparently, to them, I looked like a cop. And of course, since cops can't smoke crack, their litmus test for whether I was a cop, was whether I would smoke crack.

Let me tell you friends, up until that day I had a rule about smoking crack. That rule went something along the lines of 'There is no way in hell I will ever smoke crack". I did find out on that day that there is actually an addendum to that rule that I had never considered. After that day, I have a new, amended, rule. That is "I will never smoke crack unless there is literally a gun pointed at my head."

Yes, ladies and gentleman, I did put the pipe to my lips that day. I did not, of course, inhale (no, really..I didn't.). But....I put the pipe to my lips and went through the motions which seemed to satisfy the observers present. At least he/she put the gun away. Afterward, I was allowed to leave the building (and I did so as fast as I could), and of course, told that 'trainer' that he would have to find another way home. I believe I may have used some colorful metaphors describing exactly how often he would ever get me to take him anywhere ever again.

I quit the perfume job the next day. A few weeks later, I got a job doing tech support for Windows 95, and have not had occasion to frequent any crack houses since.

Some of you may be asking yourself, 'did he soil his shorts'. I'm happy to report that I did not, but I don't think it was out of bravery as much as I didn't want to offend he/she with the smell. I was actually too scared to soil myself.

The adrenaline was still pumping for hours afterward. It was, to this day, the most frightened I have ever been in my life.