Questions I Have For My Drug Dealer Neighbor

Questions I Have For My Drug Dealer Neighbor

A little over a month ago I moved into my friend’s house as a short term living situation. And despite being 4 years younger than me, she owns the house, has a dog and just got back from a vacation to the Bahamas. Basically her shit is pulled together.

The same, however, cannot necessarily be said for her next door neighbor.

You see, when I was contemplating moving in, my friend let me know that the guy in the house across the way was a drug dealer.

Now honestly, who am I to judge anyone’s career choices? If dealing makes you happy, then by all means, you do you! My friend had been aware for a while and there hadn’t been any trouble, so what’s the harm?

Of course I appreciated knowing what I was getting into before committing, but in the end the price was right and somewhere to live was a bit more important than rumored crime in the close vicinity.

So here we are, not far into our journey as people whose driveways are basically the same driveway, and only a of couple nights ago did I finally have my in-person introduction to this fine, upstanding citizen.

And oh, man, do I have some questions for you.

First of all, and perhaps most importantly, what kind of drugs are you dealing? My friend doesn’t know and has somehow never asked. Pretty sure as soon as you tell me you’re dealing, I’m asking what you have to offer. Are we talking something casual like pot, or something more serious like the people across the street whose house just got busted by a SWAT team of Feds at 6 a.m. a few weeks ago? (I swear the neighborhood is actually decent and I won’t get killed here.) Just because I smell weed on occasion doesn’t mean that’s the actual product and inquiring minds need to know.

Why do you insist on your look being that of a stereotypical drug dealer? Close your eyes. Now think of the clichéd version of a drug dealer that has been portrayed in every movie you can think of. Okay, got it?

If you pictured a guy with baggy pants that fall so far down that his boxers are prominently displayed constantly, a white wifebeater on top that is missing the caress of bleach it used to know, a flatbill hat (most likely on backwards), a gold chain or two around his neck, and multiple tattoos then you have a solid image of our guy.

And to that I ask, why?! Sir, you can wear whatever you want. It’s 2017. But you are literally choosing to look like a trashy dude. Can you not afford better clothing? Do you honestly like struggling to walk due to tripping on your jeans? Do you not know how to properly do your laundry to remove stains? I don’t get it.

How is business? We are about 90% sure that he has no other job than dealing, and Saturday afternoons are usually hopping at the house with lots of cars in and out of the driveway. This would lead someone to assume that business is good and that he is pulling in some cash. However, we do have a couple of red flags that lead us to believe otherwise.

Like the fact that he doesn’t even own a lawn mower and has to borrow my friend’s whenever he needs to mow his yard.

If he were successful, couldn’t he afford to buy his own? I mean, some old rich couple gave him a Cadillac presumably in exchange for drugs, so things can’t be terrible, right? But I suppose that supporting his four kids is perhaps a little too draining on his wallet.

I don’t know, guys. Maybe he needs to get a real job on the side.

When is the right time or place to communicate my interest in purchasing your products? Look, as I mentioned earlier, we don’t know what kind of drugs are being dealt, but it never hurts to have a guy just in case you need something. And perhaps he could be that guy for me!

Now that we’ve actually met, do I casually pop over asking for a cup of sugar in the hopes that we get this “friendship” train rolling? Or do I avoid all that beating around the bush and flat out say what I know and that I want in? Is there even proper etiquette for this kind of thing?! So many questions.

Perhaps you and your life will always remain a mystery. You’ll just be that guy I lived next to for a hot second who sold drugs, let his kids run rampant in our driveway, and made me realize I could be attracted to facial tattoos. But I guess maybe in the end, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

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Whatever Lola Wants

Unemployed, living with the parents and perfecting the art of the Quarter Life Crisis. Almost as good at avoiding commitment as I am at holding my liquor.

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