My Pimp Hand Was Strong, But I Broke It

I wrote this on Facebook and people thought it was an April Fool’s joke but not quite. If they have them in that county I’ll share the police log when they post it. Anyways here it is, and what happened.

At the age of nearly 41 last night I got into a huge fist fight (while John was nowhere near, he was visiting a friend. The fact I feel the need to defend that is a big sign if you were about to ask about him you should get your nosey ass elsewhere too. Before I beat you up.). It’s a long story on why, 30 year old score to settle I guess. If you know me you know I’m really calm and soft spoken so after the 10 police officers on me stopped laughing (got a seatbelt ticket once so I guess my record was less than impressive, but not my ability to lose my shit) they took me to a hospital in the wrong direction. Long story longer John wants to visit his Jennifer and since I can do nothing about daily requests for grandma and daddy look out lake county. We’re headed your way.

The other day I got a weird call on messenger but not a real unusual one. If that makes sense. My life rarely does. I help people because they ask me to, not because I try to be helpful. So a young woman, 16 years old, called and told me maybe I didn’t know who she was but before her mom died she told her to memorize my name and if I was ever in a position where i had nowhere to turn, go online and search and find me. I of course asked a few questions and remember her mom, she’d died from cancer and when she was dying she wanted to fill her neighborhood with joy but she was an ex junky and they just shyed away. I helped pick out slip and slides and stuff, got a few big dorks like me to loudly have fun and subtly invite and get neighbors playing and quietly found ways to tell them her story and how much just being there had meant to her and thanked them. I never saw her again but told her what she told her daughter later, how to find me. I didn’t remember the kid, she’d mostly been at a relatives. (She told me later the neighbors decided they should make her last days as happy as possible and the daughter didn’t remember not living with her mom cuz mom then had enough help she came home.) Sorry, I’m bragging a little but stuff like that was the start of wanting to go into marketing – figuring out ways of getting people to do what I think is the right thing without making them feel I forced them.

I asked what was wrong and she said she was being held captive by a pimp, she had been rebelling and went to one of her mom’s old “friends” and he wouldn’t let her go and sold her.

I said the obvious, call police, you have a loving family why haven’t they called or simply gotten a bunch of men to get her. (Before I even give her reasons I wanna say I did what I did for the same reasons. The consequences were way more dangerous.) Basically this guy, in his line of business, is powerful. A bunch of men wouldn’t get near before he was informed and she was whisked off. Police might save her but her uncles, cousins, etc. would be considered a snitch and snitches get stitches. For some reason the ones doling out the punishment never accept there was no other choice to save her.

First I tried to find guys anyways, if they’re shady enough they’d be welcomed, but I had no luck. No one closer than 200 miles and she’s tearfully telling me the next day he’s set up some thing with 3 men. Oh hell no. So I tried friends, a group of women are witnesses and probably safe but I’m unfamiliar with the area and found one. Just enough to watch my son, I’d never even have him in the car in a place like that. Soo I told the girl to draw me a picture of the layout of the house and I called someone I seriously hate, but who knows the guy. Coerced him into helping so he called the guy and told him he knew a hooker looking for protection and could he tell her it’s ok to come by. That was just to cover me if he saw me outside, the plan was sit on the street, have her message when he was somewhere he couldn’t see who came in the door, beeline to her and grab her stuff and walk as fast as we could to the door and start running for the car. It almost worked. I had on a wig before you think it was the bright red hair, was hoping he’d never know who I was. But he saw me as I cleared the door and grabbed the strap of the bag I had slung over my shoulder, yanking me back and dislocating my shoulder. People often think I’m a total hippy pacifist and wonder to someone who doesn’t, “Why are you scared of *her*?” and they reply they’d seen me lose my temper. Even then I make great efforts at self control so it doesn’t come to blows but I’m mean as hell really so scared of no one. I get punched a lot and handle it other ways because if I let my temper not logic reign I’d eventually kill someone. That sounds like bragging again but I’m just trying to explain what happened next. I’m not scared of anyone but I’m not stupid and I know he wouldnt kill me if he got the upper hand it’d be a lot worse than death, and the sudden unbearable pain robbed my ability to think logically and see a way out, so I grabbed the first thing my hand felt when I fell forward, which to his bad luck was a brick. So I hit him with it, knocking out several teeth. And when the girl did what I’d told her to do and started screaming “my baby my baby is trapped oh my God someone help us!” (They say yell fire to get people to come and not be scared but that doesn’t work. They heard the same advice and assume you’re being attacked when they see no smoke, etc, and are in an area ravaged by fire can get seriously pissed.). My confused brain took that as “you are between a monster and baby – he gets by over your dead body.” and so I didn’t stop, and when he tried to flee, I wouldn’t allow it. Then I fainted, and he ran off. That part the neighbor saw, after calling police, who arrived right when I said “what the hell” and stumbled toward the girl. She’s covered in bruises, I don’t have a mark on me so they came to the obvious conclusion and took me down. She of course intervened and 2 officers took her away to explain her side of the story while I rocked and cussed. They came back and quietly explained to the others who backed off me but as cops do remained suspicious, and they asked to hear my side of the story. I was still confused and in pain and when I’m upset I make stupid jokes so I told them as I struggled to my feet, “My pimp hand is strong, but I didn’t read the directions.” and the last thing I remember is their angry faces looking incredulous, then burst out laughing before I passed out again.

Hours later I slept with John in the backseat in a truck stop because I didn’t want to drive on pain pills and was treated to 6 officers who patiently explained when I bitched that yes it’s okay to sleep at a truck stop but since I was out cold in the back seat (my knee kept hitting the horn) they’d been prepared to possibly battle the biggest monster of their careers, obviously if they got the child and knocked me out cold they were the seriously dangerous. I told them my reasons then that it’d be nice to get going but I’d forgotten to pay my registration and had just realized but wouldn’t have money til the next day so I wouldn’t be going anywhere with cops all up my butt, could be a trick to follow me and get me in a minute, last time I’d called them for help they rolled me after all and I was just going down the way a bit for breakfast then swinging by the person who had helped me get the girl to drop some off some as a thank you. It could wait. They laughed at me some more and said it was okay they wouldnt tow a car only a week late anyways, and especially not someone who had given them such a funny story to tell. They said “how about we escort you instead, you follow, then you can be sure you’re feeling okay and we can assist if not, we’re headed that way anyways.” So that’s how I beat some dude with a brick, kidnapped a kid, and got police to help me break the law, then escort me to get donuts to drop off at a brothel.

Don’t know why everyone thinks it’s a joke, that was just the end of the day but the rest was too weird to talk about.

Published by SlabCityOracle

artist, lunatic, activist, minister, interpreter for God, mom...

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