Babies First Drug Deal

I’ve had horrible luck with neighbors for the last 3.5 years that I’ve lived in this building (and in LA, for that matter). I regaled you with the tale of my Midnight Piano Playing Casanova, but I didn’t tell you about the two other nightmares I’ve lived through. Stay tuned.

My current neighbors, the ones with whom I share a bedroom wall, are just generally loud. It used to be house music at 3am, loud parties, and the like–but then they got a stern talking-to from my building manager and gave me their number to call them directly. Now I just can’t get them to shut the eff up between the hours of midnight and 3:30am when they finally stuff a sock in it and go to sleep. I’ve complained to the building manager AGAIN but I have very little faith that things will change.

So, out of sheer sleep deprivation and a drive to get some peace and quiet, I turned to the ever-popular, ever-ridiculed “Craigslist” to check out some possible new digs.

You guys.

Bad idea.


While apartment searching on “the List”, you’ve got to contend with crazies, false advertising, money and sex trafficking scams, and photos that somehow make the apartment look ten times bigger than the little sardine can that you inevitably encounter when you visit in person.


I found an apartment that was advertised to be in the general price range I was looking for and in one of my most coveted neighborhoods LA has to offer: Larchmont.

It is one of the absolute cutest neighborhoods you ever did see, surprisingly adjacent to Hollywood (for how expensive and classy Larchmont is). Just look:


See the cuteness:


Love the cuteness:Larchmont_620x275.jpg

I drove by these streets and smiled.

And then kept following the GPS and lost a little of the smile as I turned the corner off of this idyllic street.

And then my smile was completely wiped from my face when I realized that my ETA was a clear 5 minutes longer to the East.

And a frown fully formed on my face when I realized I was headed into Koreatown.

Now, let me be clear that I know about 7 friends that live/have lived in K-town–of those 7 friends, only 2 have had positive experiences living there. One even witnessed a stabbing across the street from her apartment.

But I had made the appointment, and I was going to see it through.

“How bad could it be?”

Hahahahahahaha, oh Short and Feisty, you should know better than to ask that question.

I pulled up to the complex and parked behind a grey Toyota that was made circa 1990, a hispanic middle aged gentleman sitting in the front seat. I was about 15 minutes early, as I am perpetually early for everything, and didn’t mind sitting in my car waiting for the property manager to arrive.

5 minutes pass and no movement from my parking buddy. I wonder if he’s waiting to see the same unit that I am waiting to view. He can have it.

Two other younger hispanic dudes approach the car from an easterly direction.

One stands by the passenger side window and leans partially in–he’s got a crumpled, aged, McDonald’s bag in one hand and starts having an animated conversation with the driver (in Spanish).

“No big deal,” you might say, “maybe he’s just delivering days-old McDonald’s to his friend!”

I would agree had the second younger dude not stepped back from the car–right hand inside of his jacket pocket (it’s hot out, I know that hand isn’t cold), the other hand on his cell phone–


–I kid you not–

he moves his head right to left, backwards and forwards, constantly monitoring and taking in the immediate surroundings.

I have seen enough “Lock Ups”, “Ganglands”, and “Cops” to know exactly what’s going on.

It was then that I put my car in drive and blew that pop stand. Sure, it could’ve been something much more innocent, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I circled around to the opposite side of the block until it was time for me to see the apartment, went back on the dot when I saw that the two other guys had left, but noticed that Toyota man was still there.

The apartment manager didn’t even show up (the butthole), but called to give me over the phone instructions. Maybe it’s a sign when the property manager doesn’t even want to be in that neighborhood in broad daylight.

You’re running late, Ms. Property Manager? Suuuuuuuuure.

I dashed inside to see the building with over the phone instructions, took a quick look around at the tiny apartment with 1950’s stove (no, like legit stove out of the 1950’s) and kicked rocks!

All in all, I would say this is about as good as a first drug deal witnessing can go considering there were no gunshots or drug busts, so two thumbs up, Los Angeles!



One thought on “Babies First Drug Deal

  1. Pingback: Here. | Short and Feisty

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