I rarely venture into downtown Akron. Even ignoring the loathsome parking situation, it is just an ugly little city. On the few occasions life forces me into this shithole metropolis, I try to keep my head down and just get whatever errand I’m running finished.
Thus, registering for my Spanish classes at the University of Akron found me hopelessly searching for a parking spot at 10 in the morning on a snowy 17 degree day. After circling the Polsky building like a frustrated shark, I ended up stashing my car at a meter on Main Street. Directly in front of some minute convenience store near a law office.
As I exited my car, I noticed there were 3-4 people milling about said store and internally groaned. You could just tell by looking at them that they probably weren’t the people you wanted to cut through. However, my mind raged that it was all just simple paranoia and I was not about to cross the street to bypass the group.
I should’ve crossed the street.
One thing I’ve heard about New York City is that you should always keep your head down and continue walking no matter what. So it was with that in mind that I stepped through the group. Of course, I heard someone say “Yo! Michigan!” (I was wearing a Michigan knitted hat) In Kent or the Falls, I’d usually turn around and find someone that was excited to see another Michigan fan in Ohio. I knew better in Akron.
As I continued walking, I heard “Yo, Michigan, I’m talkin’ to ya!” Now my predicament: Do I turn around and answer or keep walking? I decided to turn around (probably because I’m an idiot). A black woman in her thirties, who looked like she’d had a very rough time getting to her thirties, stepped towards me. “Ya got a cigarette boy?” Her three friends formed a semi-circle behind her and images of pigeons flocking to bread floated through my mind unbidden.
I forgot to mention, I was already smoking a cigarette. I stammered through an excuse about the aforementioned nic-stick being my last. At this point Gladis (we’ll call her) acted as though I’d just called her a whore or some other slander. The conversation went something like:
“What? Can’t give a n****r a cigarette? What you too good? I seen what car you drove up here in. Don’t act like you a fuckin’ broke n***a or something.” At first, I was kind of flattered that someone though my car meant I wasn’t broke, but then I remembered I don’t drive a Benz or BMW or Aston Martin.
“I…uh….I’m sorry,” I stammered as I tried to back away and turn to leave. At this point though, I began to seriously ponder the safety of my car. I began having flashes of a keyed and mangled car pop into my head.
“Gimme a fuckin’ cigarette ‘fore I get nasty.”
I was stunned into silence. I’ve never really been put in a situation like this. Oh, sure, there have been bar fights and whatnot but those were generally with middle-class college kids. I had no idea what this woman would do nor did I wish to find out. Her stooges were, likewise, in the background hurling things like “Get that muthafucka.” and “He got smokes! You know he do.” It was dialogue straight out of New Jack City.
An artist rendition of Gladis
I stood there, like a moron, surveying the situation and trying to figure out how the hell to get out of it. Then, like some Convenience Store Angel, the proprietor of the shop we were standing in front of came out (if I’m lying, I’m dying) with a BROOM. He literally “shoo’ed” the women away. I looked at the elderly man, his broom held as though it were a pike of old as he yelled “Go on! Get tha hell outta here!”
A few less-than-friendly words to me later, the women took off walking down the street (blissfully away from my car). I started to the thank the man but was met only with silence and a blank stare. A couple awkward seconds passed before he turned and left and I was on my way to the Polsky building again.The whole thing felt very much like 1950s Alabama or a bad race-relevant Lifetime movie.
I don’t do well in odd situations such as this. I would like to think that I’d be able to just yell back at them or walk away or something. I don’t know if it is because I’m ultra polite or what, but I simply wasn’t able to do anything other than stand slackjawed as the episode unfolded. Finally, I was able to register my classes and get back to my precious car to find nary a scratch (thankfully) on it.
-Chad 2
Please note: All you “AK-Rowdies” can just pass on the hatemail. I don’t care how cool you think your shit city or your kangaroo mascot is, I still hate it here.
