(St. Louis via I-55, while getting pulled over for expired tags)
The reason I have not posted any photos until this point is because there weren't any. Illinois for me is pretty boring, so I figured it would be the same for you. There wasn't anything cool, trust me.
After Tony "the tap dancing sailor" left, we thought the excitement was over.
We were wrong.
Not even 5 minutes later, another man approached us. He was wearing a pink beanie, but he wasn't gay.
A short, bald black man wearing sweat pants and a sweatshirt that matched. He wore dusty Air Jordan's, although they were most likely knock offs. This guy didn't look particularly interesting to us. We have them all over Chicago. They are called drug dealers.
Dealing with drug dealers in Chicago is pretty simple. Half of the time you just nod your head "No" or just keep walking. Looking around, acting sketchy and nervous, he definatly fit the profile of a west side drug dealer.
As he sat down, he said "Whats up?" fairly loudly, which means we could hear him pretty easily. We both exchanged greetings, and then he got quiet. He cupped his hand around his mouth and his voice dropped down to a whisper. If he was any quieter he would be completely silent. He began to mumble something completely inaudible. With his mouth over his mouth, it took us 5 tries to hear what he was saying. Was he asking us if we needed drugs? Or did he need them? Was he asking for change? Finally, we understood him.
"Arm Wrestle?", he asked Neil.
Although we heard him correctly, it was such an odd question we had him repeat himself one more time. After a few minutes, we were able to decipher the entire sentence. He wanted to arm wrestle for drinks. Ah HAH! He wasn't a drug dealer. He was a hustler, but not a very good one.
What good hustlers do is set up shop at a pool table or dart board, and play as if they have never played before. Going through the motions, sooner or later, someone will ask you to play for money. They play one or two games and lose. That is when they switch into hustler mode. They ask for a chance to win their money back, or play for WAY more than they were playing for, and then they smoke their opponent. If done correctly, they walk away with at least double the money they had in the first place.
Being a hustler takes patience, and it was pretty clear this guy had none. Although it was clear he was not a good one, you never go to a strange town and try to beat a hustler. Well apparently Neil didn't feel the same way.
"Sure!", Neil said and before they could exchange names, he was in position. The hustler was pretty shocked. Neil can be deciving. He isn't exactly small, but he isn't massive either. He is the most dangerous type of person because you cannot get a read on him at all. He could be a complete wuss, but unfortunately for Mr. Hustler, he isn't.
The table they were going to wrestle on wasn't exactly perfect for the sport. It wasn't level and the wood was rough so it could easily give you splinters. As they locked hands, Neil prepared as if he was in the movie "Over the Top" with Sylvester Stallone. Mr. Hustler's eyes showed a hint of fear, and he braced himself.
Before he knew what happened, Neil had him almost to the table. Neil started laughing, and pretended to struggle. He joked about something, but Mr. Hustler had to concentrate completely on losing. Although it was clear the fight was over, he didn't give up. Neil acted as if nothing much was happening. Neil finally decided to end his humilation, and brought him down to the table.
Their hands weren't even unlocked yet, and a tall man that looked like he could beat anyone in arm wrestling came over. It was clear he wasn't happy.
"HEY! We told you, you can do that here!", he yelled. It was clear he was a bouncer of some kind. Mr. Hustler knew the drill. He got up, showed his hands as if he were the police, and started mumbling again. The bouncer didn't exactly pick him up and throw him out, but he might as well have. It was clear this wasn't the first time he had tried to arm wrestle someone for drinks. What an odd thing to do.
I thought for sure we were on our way out as well, but the bouncer instead apologized to us. I tried to get more information about the mysterious arm wrestler, but he didn't give much up. Because of his pink hat, it was pretty easy to see him moving around outside through the cracks of the fence.
Behind our table, the fence stopped before it started again after about two feet. Definately enough room for someone to sneak through.
Sure enough, not even five minutes later, Mr. Hustler snuck through and sat down with us again. In one smooth motion, he slinked through the fence, put his first leg over the chair, and as if he was dancing, he sat down. He apologized, and we told him it wasn't a problem.
But we still wanted our drinks.
"Aww man, I can't even help you. I'm sorry.", he said.
He tried to cement the fact he had no money by showing us his wallet. We are smarter than that, and asked to see his front pockets.
"Lets see those bunny ears!, I asked.
"Bunny Ears", as they are called, is when you turn your pockets inside out so they hang floppy, like bunny ears. Before he could actually prove he had no money, the bouncer was back. We quickly acted as if we wanted nothing to do with him, and said he was annoying us. A sad look of betrayal came across his face.
He didn't even have enough time to say anything before the bouncer had him by the arm and was dragging him out. He no longer looked as slick as he did when he sat down.
After such an odd experience, we decided it was time to get the fuck out of St. Louis, but not before we got some food. We found a gas station about a mile south of the bar, and Neil spotted a "Rally's. "Rally's" is a place with pretty decent and cheap food. After we circled the block we ordered, and pulled up to the window.
The way the drive through was situated, we had a hill on the right side of the car. As we sat and waited for our food, I was something bright moving through the dark alley. It was a pink hat!
He must have followed us, although given the nights events I would have not been surprised it was cousincedence. He sat down on the hill so his face was lined up with ours, as if he was sitting in the car with us.
At this point I begin to think this was all apart of some long, stupid con to rob us. Although Neil motioned to the tire iron on the floor, and I prayed Mr. Hustler didn't try anything stupid. I was not in the mood to explain anything to the police about why we had to beat a local drunk to keep him away from out stuff.
"What's up, man?", he said.
"Not much man, what's up?", we replied, almost in unison.
"Nah man, I was just making sure you were alright", he said, for some reason being concerned.
"We're cool, man.", Neil said. I tried whispering to him to roll up with window. He didn't hear me, and thankfully he didn't so we could hear Mr. Hustler ask us if we wanted to arm wrestle for a cheese burger.
Thinking it was hilarious, Neil agreed and was about to get out of the car. That is when the lady who worked their handed us our food.
"HEY! WE TOLD YOU! YOU CAN'T TRY TO PULL THAT SHIT HERE. GO SOME WHERE ELSE!", she yelled.
It was amazing. Apparently, Mr. Hustler tried to set up games all over town, bars or not. Although he wasn't very subtle, and clearly not very good at his job. Maybe that is why he was so hungry.
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