Loading ...Shady Craigslist Deals And Anti-Terrorism Car Inspections
By Evan ~ October 24th, 2007. Filed under: daily life.
We were supposed to meet at the In-N-Out off the 405 in Inglewood this morning at 11:30, but the mysterious Craigslist seller who was trying to unload two high-powered fans changed our plans at the last minute. Our new meet-up point: beneath the underpass at the end of the Howard Hughes Parkway/Sepulveda exit. I’m not joking. If there’s a single location less desirable for meeting a stranger than Inglewood, I’d have to say “beneath an underpass on a random highway exit” takes the prize. I sat in the shoulder for ten minutes, my car idled, hazard lights flashing, wondering exactly what type of transaction was about to occur. Visions of an unmarked white van screeching to a halt beside me and a man in a mask with a chloroform-drenched rag rushing towards me filled my head. This was either going to be the most mundane Craigslist deal ever, or the most epic.
By the way, here’s a great pick-up line you can try out this weekend. Walk up to a cute girl at the bar and ask, “Excuse me, does this rag smell like chloroform?” If that doesn’t work, try “If you give me a handjob, I’ll show you the bar where all the cool guys hang out.”
…Anyway, the deal turned it to be quite uneventful. An olive-skinned woman in her mid-to-late thirties rolled up in a Lexus SUV and dumped the two boxes on the side of the road. I handed her a crisp $20 and returned to my car. Total buzzkill. I was hoping to make the six o’clock news as either a statistic or an artist’s rendering. There’s always next time, I guess.
Then I got my car searched at the airport. I guess police officers at LAX don’t like it when you roll through the stop sign when they’re motioning you to halt before entering the arrivals area. I told the cop that he was being very vague with his hand gesture, and he responded by “randomly” choosing me to have my vehicle inspected. After pulling to the side of the road, one guy walks a radiation wand around the perimeter of your car — to check for dirty bombs, I guess — a second guy rifles through your trunk, and the third asks ubiquitous questions like, “Are you carrying anything with you that you don’t want us to know about?” How am I supposed to answer that, with a “Yes”? I don’t think the guy liked the look on my face, because he asked to look in the boxes in my backseat and trunk. Stupid cop only found a couple of fans and a deep fryer. That’ll teach him to fuck with a scrawny white dude with glasses who drives a Volvo. I bet that when I left he said something to himself like, “I really thought I had that one.”
After finding insufficient reason to detain me any longer, I was free to pick up Ilya from his terminal. The only problem was, he wasn’t there yet. I had to leave the airport, return to the In-N-Out parking lot on Sepulveda, and wait for his phone call. When I reentered the airport, the same police officer who chastised me for not stopping at the stop sign was there waiting for me. I acted like a dick, stopping well short of the sign, rolling down my window and asking if I was sufficiently behind the white line. He smirked and waved me onward. I guess if he wanted to trump my being a dick he could have “randomly” chosen me to endure another inspection. Actually, if that had happened, I would have killed the engine, gotten out of my car, shook his hand, and said, “Well played, sir!” So, while I still hate all cops and will continue to question their authority whenever possible, the airport safety crew at LAX get a barely passing grade for their efforts today. Something between a check-minus and a check.
PS: Just when I thought blogging was going to get me laid (sure my good looks, charming demeanor and penchant for taking girls for fast food on dates has worked wonderfully, but what about all those Internet nerd girls with the Lisa Loeb glasses and full bookshelves in their rooms, they need loving too!), it turns out that the pretty Russian girl named Bethany who e-mailed me looking for company later tonight was no more than a cyber-trollop spambot!
That’s a joke, people. Do you really think I’m that much of a pathetic dolt?
Wait, don’t answer that.
