What do Gian, Tupac, Martin Luther king, and Abraham Lincoln have in common?

Only, I’m the only one who didn’t die from it. It was May 3, 2000. In February of this year my engine cracked and it was 2000 dollars to replace. So when I got my car back I was in Domino’s day and night trying to make my hustle. For a couple of weeks straight all I did was work and go to school. And I’m not that responsible a person so something had to give. Anyway this evening was a Saturday and for some reason Domino’s was extra busy that night because even though we had three drivers closing we still didn’t get out that bitch til 3 am. When we were finally done my friend Terrence, who worked there with me, told me that some of our friends were going to the “Million Dollar Spot.” Now for those of you who aren’t familiar with New Orleans or are too young to remember the “Million dollar spot” is located in the heart of the hood. I mean the worst part of New Orleans known as the “7th ward” (Irnonically I now live around the corner from where this place was located. There were shootings there pretty frequently but this is back when I thought I was immune to bullets, and there was no where else we could count on going at 3 in the morning so we headed there. Now, let it be known…I hate the club. Now that I’ve taken up drinking it’s a little more tolerable. But I’ve never liked going to clubs. I don’t usually like most of the music they play and I can only enjoy dancing if the song moves me. So I, as well as my friends had no intention of going in. Our goal was to get some drinks and “Parking lot Pimp” but only the latter for me because I still didn’t drink at the time. The good thing about “Parking lot Pimping” is that it’s free and the music is at your discretion. The bad thing, is if you’re at a club where there’s shooting than you can count on being privy to gunfire. But we had been here many times before and shootings nly happened on nights when we didn’t sow up. So anyway, we were just sitting there on the cars minding our buisness. There were only a few stragglers outside so we were just kind of hanging to ourselves. Then a loud burst came from my left. My friend Terrence said nonchalantly “That’s just fire crackers.” I, who choose to err on the side of caution, and the rest of the people I was with slid in between two cars. I looked up and through the back window in the car I could see a young man with an orange S-curl, a wife beater and jeans and some kind of semi-automatic machine gun in his hand. He was facing the same way we were and the gun had fire blazing from it’s barrel. He was about 100 feet from us and not shooting in our direction so I felt pretty safe. I ducked back down and waited for the shooting to die down. But instead the sounds of bullets flying got closer and I started to hear sounds like aluminum popping and/or bullets penetrating cars. Then suddenly I felt a very sharp sting against my leg. It felt like someone had taken a rock and hit me squa in the left thigh. I looked down and there was a hole in my jeans and a little blood on them. My friend Jamal screamed that he had been hit so I assume the bullet must have grazed me and gotten him in the leg. I looked forward and there was my friend Terrence standing right out in the open with this terrified look on his face like “I guess those weren’t fire crackers.” So the shooting stopped and we piled into the car to get outta there. We went around the corner to Jamal’s house. We got out the car and Jamal ran to his porch and fell down. I looked down at myself still not really bothered by pain wondering what had happened. There was very little blood on my jeans so I assumed I was ok. I pulled my pants down and much to my surprise there was a hole in my leg on both sides about the size of a quarter. I stood there in amazement for a while not believeing that I had actually been shot. Then I promptly called my mother.

“Hello?”
(monotone) “Mom, I got shot. what hospital do I go to?”
“Go to Lakeside out there on Read.”
“OK, bye”

by the time they cleaned that wound and bandaged me up I was starting to feel some pain. But for the most part it didn’t really hurt that bad. I was confined to my bed for about a week, mostly because my mom would have a conniption fit if I walked around too much. But a month later I was back playing basketball at full speed. The really bad after effects of being shot are that I’ve lost that invinciblity I once had. I can’t be in the presence of too much commotion without my heart racing. I mean I don’t know how that bullet found my leg in between those cars but it did. Everytime I hear anything resembling a gunshot my heart jumps out my chest, and every nightmare I have now there’s someone shooting at me.

An interesting prologue to the story just to lighten the mood I experienced my most embarrasing moment not too long after this. Me and my friends had taken one of our many trips to Houston. I was still not fully healed and had to walk around with bandages on. However, under my jeans the bandages would sometimes loosen up and start to fall of leaving the wound exposed so every now and then I would have to readjust everything. Well on our last day in Hou we went to one of the malls. After walking around for a couple of hours of course things started unravelling so I went to the bathroom to fix up. When I got in there I swear fo Lawd it was atrocious. I mean every stall I walked in had urine or worse on the seat or the floor, unflushed toilets. It was a hot mess. I wasn’t about to sanatize myself in that place but I couldn’t just pull down my jeans in the middle of the mall and start dressing wounds. So I decided to act quickly. The women’s bathroom was right next door. I yelled in there to see if anyone was there and no one responded. So I put a paper bag over my head and walked in very slowly eyes pointed downwards as not to embarass anyone. I sat in the stall and no sooner had I fixed up I hear the voice and footsteps of John Q Law. They come in and start kicking in stalls and shit and I’m like “Holup I’m right here bruh.” so they come in and basically tackle me while I’m sitting there. They cuff me and start walking me out. There’s a big crowd gathered around the bathroom and of course right there front and center were my friends, jaws agape. I have never seen that look of disbelief and utter amazement on any of their faces before much less collectively. Being ushered back to the security office downstairs I didn’t have time to explain just to shake my head like “It’s not what you think.” Not like I knew what they were thinking anyway, but I couldn’t say nuthin. SO there escorting me through the mall and there’s this really pretty hispanic woman standing in the shoe store she works at. As we pass she’s like. “Awww, you’re too cute to be acting up.” So I’m wanting to be like “I’m not. It wasn’t me, they got the wrong guy.” Anything so she’ll know I’m Gian and not some criminal. After interrogating me for a while I guess they figured I wasn’t much of a threat so they let me go but banned me from the mall. Apparently someone had seen me walk in with the bag over my head and thought that it was some kind of prank. But after much beratement and commentary about the classlessness of New Orleanians I went on my merry way. In hindsight I wish I would have told them if their bathrooms weren’t so unkempt I wouldn’t have had that problem in the first place, but since I didn’t go to jail I guess I did the right thing.

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10 responses to “What do Gian, Tupac, Martin Luther king, and Abraham Lincoln have in common?

  1. damn.. i couldn’t imagine being shot.. a fukin hole? gotdamn bruh! lol@conniption fit..good shytthat storys if funny as hell…where in the fuck u get a paper bag from so quickly? thas funny usually woman’s rest rooms are nastier! woman clean up behind urselves! lol

  2. I know that this was an extremely traumatic experience, but I was cracking up when your boy bust out, “I guess those weren’t fire crackers.”And then the phone call to your momma. Damn, I would have been hysterical.Oh and I’m curious too…where did the paper bag come from?

  3. i dont like any type of pain, so i couldnt imagine getting shot! and just getting up int he car and the pain not hitting you yet? man i wouldve been CRYING! i almost screamed out when i got some extra holes in my ears, but i didnt, cuz i was in the mall…lol, why would you go to the womens bathroom? lol, brutha-free is right, the women’s bathroom is usually nastier…

  4. @brutha I don’t know where I got it from? it wasn’t a paper bag. It was actually a plastic bag like you get in a grocery store and I don’t know where it came from but I sure wore that MFer like a hat.@Diggs I’m surprised she wasn’t hysterical. She has a heart attack about everything else.@Toya I can’t imagine that women piss and shit directly on the floor and seat like men. Maybe so but I made the right decision…Except for the fact that I got detained by the police of course. @Cymple I wasn’t saying it didn’t hurt. the initial hit just felt like something hitting my thigh real hard and after that there was a stinging like somebody was poking me with a knife. It just wasn’t what I assumed a gunshot would feel like. But hey, maybe I’m Superman.

  5. Why do I go crazy over men who can communicate effectively?I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, yr blog. Especially the 100 list.Wow. I’m a sucker for a good writer.

  6. LOL! A plastic bag over your head? I would’ve thought you were the mall killer or something. That was hella entertaining. I cant even imaging being shot…the size of a quarter?? DAYUM!BTW, great Blog!Lambchop~

  7. OH HELL NO! That is exactly why I don’t go to “The Spotlight” in St Louis, folks always wanna act up.Wait, a minute…**scrolling up** Did you say..?…yes, you did…An ORANGE S-Curl? LMAO…no wonder that brotha was mad.The mall story is funny. I’m always nosy about men restrooms. That description may have just killed my last ounce of curiosity.

  8. @ Tee well you’re always welcome. Like you said we gon kick it in the blogosphere here on out.@lamb same to you. I’ll be checking yall’s lil team blog out. Seems interesting.@ Reza ya boy went straight to homebody status for a good minute after that. That kind of stuff will turn you into an adult quick.@Soul lol I don’t know if it was the orange s curl. In New Orleans that’s a haircut of preference. He was probably mad over some kind of serious political issue like someone stepping on his tennis shoes. That’s an adeuate reason for gunfire out here.

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