"The Block is Hot"

Expect More. Pay less- There's always something happening at your non-local target.

"How many enemies do you have?!"

Exiting my car in slow motion, I was in total disbelief as I stared at the vehicle pulling into the parking spot directly next to mines.

Still, with only my left leg free from the confines of the driver's seat and my afro puff coming in at a close second, I continued to hold tightly onto the steering wheel, unsure of my safety and reluctant to make any more sudden and unnecessary movements.

As the driver of the car remained seated, searching and wrestling with the items in his arm rest, I decided to use his distraction to my advantage and slowly began to bring my left leg back into my car's captivity along with my afro puff that was now in the lead. Quickly and quietly, I retreated back into my seat like a vampire scurrying back into the shade after stepping way too far out into the sun, but with my eyes still locked in on the driver, I quietly closed my car door and sat timidly before shifting my gaze and focusing in on the cause of my distress:

The right side of the driver's car.

Slouched down and with my seat as far back as it could go, I stared at the side of the car and underneath my breath, I began to count...

"ONE... TWO... THREE..."

"FOUR..."

"FIVE... SIX..."

My eyes grew wider as the numbers went higher.

"SEVEN... EIGHT... NINE..."

"TEN!"...

"TEN TIMES?!"

I was baffled, baffled I say, but even with the look of shock plastered across my face followed by the utter disbelief that presented itself in the form of three consecutive headshakes, I was still aware of my current situation and completely sure of my next step:

I needed to find another damn parking spot!

With my eyes now back on the driver who had now moved his search from his arm rest to his glove compartment, I slowly slid my seat back in an upright position to thoroughly scan the lot in a desperate attempt to try and find a safer- uh, I mean more appropriate place to park, however, it was just my damn luck that the lot was completely full. But moments before accepting my new fate that I would be trapped side by side with this assumingly cursed vehicle, I spotted a gray Kia Sorento pulling out of a spot just opposite of my aisle and only three spots away from the entrance to the store.

I quickly turned my car back on, put my gear into reverse, and prepared myself to Fast & Furious my way to a new location...

To Freedom!

---

Now before I go any further in confirming whether or not I got that spot or providing more details about this mysterious and strange driver, and more importantly, sharing less cryptic information as to what it was, that in which I saw, allow me to take you all back as to how my ass ended up in the predicament in the first place, (see, this is why I stay home).

---

But it was 30% off!

...and I just had to have it.

There it was.

Four rows down and three columns over... oh, there it was.

After searching atop the highest of mountains, trekking through the lowest of valleys, and crossing over the widest of rivers, I had finally found it. Yes, I had finally found the best thing that I never knew I needed. And it was beautiful... magnificent even.

A carefully handcrafted, "Made in India" masterpiece, whose elegant design and whimsically woven golden honey bamboo patterns had me in absolute awe, and unfortunately for the poor soul who too needed this item, unlucky for them, this was the only one left.

And what exactly was this Michael Angelo of an object that had my undivided attention and wallet wide open, you ask?

Well, of course! It was none other than a

16 x 30-inch-wide rattan ottoman!

*Only found at Target, (top sold separately because ya'll know they be scamming).

Either way, this rattan ottoman was absolutely flawless, and the perfect new edition to my bedroom's aesthetic, (the Ralph Tresvant of my room, if you will).

Hurriedly, I selected my item, added it to my cart and proceeded to the checkout screen eager and naively hopeful that I would somehow be offered two-day shipping, (FREE two-day shipping is preferred. One can dream, right?), but after carefully selecting the options that wouldn't add on any additional fees, (because they love asking about a damn warranty plan), and finally in the ending stages of sealing my purchase, I spotted a red pop up on the left hand side of my screen informing me in bold, bright red letters that my, "Made in India", golden honey rattan ottoman was now on sale for...

30% off!

For what was once an item that was originally $89.99 plus tax had quickly turned into an item that was now a whomping $62.99... (plus tax).

I was elated!

God had indeed confirmed my decision to buy this 'Sistine Chapel' adjacent wonder with a gift in the form of a coupon, but as my praises to the most high had come to an end, the devil and its consistently hating ass had struck once again.

As I gave a closer look to the

Now 30% off

sign that demanded one's attention in the top left-hand corner of the screen, I saw, just below in small, black, Times New Roman font a statement that made my upper lip curl harder than the curls on a black girl's successful flexi rod set, (you know the curls are popping when the hair is completely dry), a statement that shook me deep to my introverted core.

The statement:

"IN STORES ONLY".

(gotdamnit! Don't nobody feel like driving out there!).

I sat for a moment and looking briefly at my finely handcrafted selection that sat patiently, yet isolated in my cart waiting to be purchased, I turned the idea over in my head that maybe, just maybe this damn item wasn't really worth the drive. That maybe, just maybe, going to my non-local Target to pick this shit up wasn't really that deep, however, I still managed to create a short mental list of pros and cons that I believed would help give me a general idea of how badly I wanted this rattan ottoman.

My List:

The Pros:

• It was beautifully handcrafted and whimsically woven. (The intertwining of the bamboo was probably done by some legendary craftsman who cares much about the details in life).

• It was lined with pure spider silk! And most likely from the Black Widow herself, (Or maybe it was regular satin. Either way, it's being added to my list).

• It would complement my space perfectly! This ottoman was exactly what I needed to offset my room, (The Migos not included. *Inserts chuckle).

AND most importantly:

It was on sale!

The cons:

• The shit probably wasn't even 'made in India', (It was China at best).

• Would the ottoman really even be on sale once I arrived at the store? (What if my non-local Target forgot to update their site? What if it was all an error?).

• What if the ottoman was sold out? Hell, what if the ottoman was never even sold in?! meaning: they never had it in the first place! (I told ya'll they be scamming. I'm just wasting gas).

What if... What if... What if.

These cons were starting to feel more like doubts rather than much needed attacks on my item's insufficient and ineffectiveness to properly do what I would essentially be paying for it to do, and that's to bring beauty and swag to my bedroom. But was I really having a mental breakdown over upholstery?

As I examined back over my mental list, carefully weighing my options and understanding in its entirety the gravity of either choice, I had finally made my decision, a conscious one at that. And my decision...

Oh, I'm going gotdamn!

And there I was.

Twenty minutes and thirty stoplights later I had finally arrived in the parking lot of my non-local Target. And after weaving back and forth and in and out of aisles while simultaneously battling it out with an older white woman on the rules of the road, I had also finally arrived at the perfect parking spot... so I thought.

I pulled in, quickly and precise, right behind a white Lexus that was slowly pulling out. I placed my car in park, turned off the engine, and prepared myself to track down that golden honey rattan ottoman, but before I moved in on the mission; Operation: Track Down, I thought it would be a good idea if I took a screenshot of the

Now 30% off

sale being advertised on my item in case they had questions, (I had to have proof for this kind of transaction. I did not bring my ass all the way down here to be trifled with). I pulled out my phone to take a screenshot for proof and quickly gathered up the rest of my necessities as I began to exit my car, but with only my left leg free and three curls of the afro puff gracing the sun with its presence, a red sedan that was obviously in a rush entered the parking spot directly next to me almost slicing off one of my three perfect curls, (he better not be after my ottoman!).

Lifting my head in preparation to give this driver and his rudeness the ultimate stare down, I quickly changed facial expressions when noticing the right side of the driver's vehicle. So, for what started off as one hasty snarl had now turned into a quiver of fear followed by a sea of questions.

With the driver distracted by the items in his arm rest, I slowly began to bring my entire body back into the safety net of my own vehicle and slouched my way down into my seat as if my afro puff couldn't still be detected.

Looking at the man's vehicle then to the ground then back to the vehicle, it was clear that this was no hallucination. This brotha had indeed ten bullet holes plastered across the right side of his car that were scattered in various directions with one particular position and an even more particular target, (well, it looks like he's come to the right place. A Target for a target. What are the odds?). With bullet holes the size of the gotdamn ozone layer and a window that was hanging on by pure faith and four pieces of duct tape, I didn't need A&E to tell me that this man clearly had enemies.

While the driver played around in his glove compartment, I decided to use his distraction to my advantage and move my seat back in an upright position in a desperate attempt to find a new place to park, and almost giving up after seeing that the lot was completely full, a gray Kia Sorento slowly started to back out heading towards the main street. With my car turned back on and my hand on the gear ready to reverse, I paused; hesitant to leave my spot... but why?

There was such a conflict in this moment, a strong one. To my surprise, I was caught in between the need to leave and grab the next available spot but also a strange desire to stay so I could see whose ass would be whooping whose ass if someone came back to whoop some ass, (I just KNEW someone was getting their ass whooped).

The decision was a tough one and one that I couldn't seem to make alone, so, once again, I decided to revisit the idea of creating a mental list like the one that I had used before that brought me here, and create a new set of pros and cons, this time starting with the cons, (it just makes more sense).

My Other List:

The Cons: Or are these doubts? I can never tell.

• aww shit... did he see what he wasn't supposed to see?... is this brotha a loose end?! Better question is, are they coming back?! (Just unsee it, my man, just unsee what you didn't see!).

• This man has enemies... rivals! What if this is a gang war? or worse... a drug war! or worse than that... both!! (lawwd, I'm about to be on the first 48).

• He's a suspect! A suspect, I say! The Opps... the cops... Everybody is after this man! (I should rat his ass out. Mickey mouse, the way I should rat his ass out!).

And my last and final hypothesis:

• My mans is a witness! A witness, I say! Giving out Testimonies like the church and probably helping out the prosecutors and what not! He's a snitch! Snitch! (Mickey mouse, the way he's ratting their asses out).

The Pros:

*crickets*

And as I examined back over my second mental list, carefully weighing my options and understanding in its entirety the gravity of the obvious choice, I had come to my final decision, and that was...

Oh, I'm going gotdamn!

Once again, with my foot back on the brakes and my right hand clutching the gear, I was now seriously ready to leave this very haunted spot. But I messed up. With my 'awkward in the body' phases followed by my 'awkward in the mind' mentality... oh God did I mess up.

With a simple task that only required me to back out and then in, once I reached my new location, I had somehow turned such a feasible quest into yet another unprompted and awkward moment.

As the driver wrapped up with the items in his glove compartment, which just so happened to be at the exact same time that I began to look both ways to make sure my coast was clear for takeoff, the unexpected happened. As I looked to my right and then slowly towards my left, a powerful force, one that cannot be explained, swept through the vents of my vehicle like a gust of wind and compelled me to look slightly behind my left shoulder, and when I did, I came in direct eye contact with the driver himself who had climbed over to his passenger's seat and moved his search to yet another location...

His damn backseat!

What was he looking for?! A weapon?!, (I knew someone was after him).

---

Now I know what you all are thinking. Yes, I can still escape this embarrassing and awkward encounter. I could simply just look away and speed off to that still available spot just opposite of my aisle and only three spaces away from the entrance to the store, or better yet, I could just speed off completely and go the hell home, but c'mon y'all, you should all know me by now, that would just be too easy.

---

Looking at the driver who was now looking at me, look at him, I couldn't, for the life of me, think of what to do in this very weird and uncomfortable moment. As the driver and I continued to stare at each other, both frozen, I could see out of the corner of my right eye a blue car swing into the parking spot, assumingly MY parking spot just seconds into my very intense stare down, (damn!).

With nowhere to run and being completely uncomfortable with this disturbing and acute eye contact, I thought it would be best if I did something that I always do:

make the situation even MORE awkward by inviting conversation.

(Not only should I no longer leave the house, but I most definitely should not leave the house alone).

But before I could even get a word out to talk about something random like the weather or spark up a man's favorite like, "so, did you see the game last night?", the driver could obviously sense the tension and took complete control over the dilemma at hand.

The conversation:

"What the hell are you looking at?", shouted the driver who still had his right arm outstretched across his backseat and gripping tightly onto a wrinkled navy-blue t-shirt.

"Oop", I said to myself followed by a matching facial expression.

I couldn't even be upset at this brotha for calling me out like that because I was indeed minding his business, however, his aggressive tone and bellicose demeanor still elicited my next response.

"I could ask you the same damn thing!", I replied with much sass, (this man was acting like I was looking at myself! He only knew I was looking at him because he was clearly looking at me!).

The driver sucked his teeth in a very much, 'whatever' attitude and continued rummaging through his belongings desperately trying to find whatever it was that he needed, (was it a gun, perhaps? I should really stick around to see what it is that this man is looking for. It could be the key to me finding out if someone would indeed be getting their ass whooped). But still hopeful, I redirected my attention from the driver back to the parking lot in one last attempt to scope out another available spot, and after coming to the mild conclusion that I would remain parked next to this crime scene of a vehicle, I, for the second time, gathered up my necessities and headed for my car door, (what was I going in this store for again?). With my left hand gripping the handle and with another simple task to complete, that powerful force- you know, the one that infiltrated my cars vents like a gust a wind? Yeah, well, it returned.

Left hand on the door and right hand around my purse, I had one job!

Do Not Make Eye Contact!

The door wasn't even opened before I turned again slightly to my left to find myself, once more, face to face with my new enemy, (why was he looking at me in the first place? Could this man sense me sensing him?), but this time, I quickly looked away and evaded what could have possibly turned into another intense stare down, and to do that, I had to do what every sensible human being would do in this situation, make it awkward!

In order for me to evade this man's gaze, I pretended that I was in fact looking at my window, examining a spec; a streak that was causing such a flaw on my Jeep's appearance. Squinting my eyes and rubbing down this streak with my elbow and the fabric of my shirt like it was someone's dirty ass bathtub, it was clear that the smudge was actually on the outside of my car's window, and I was doing nothing but making the situation even more awkward and my minding of his business even more obvious.

"You know that shit is on the outside, right?", shouted the driver from his haunted house, gracing me with yet another attitude.

"You know your tape is falling off... right?", I replied, gracing him with the same energy.

We both watched as his second piece of duct tape came to its untimely demise and slowly started to peel away from the car's window like a dramatic scene in a rom-com between two characters who didn't want to let the other one go.

Not feeling an ounce of empathy, I continued to head towards my car's handle with my left hand and after a full and very complicated fifteen minutes, I had finally brought my entire body out of the captivity of my driver's seat, (ya'll see that? Progress has been made).

Closing my car door behind me and no longer being fearful of leaving my vehicle unattended next to this trap house of a sedan, I was now, more than ever, ready to continue my mission of; Operation: Track Down, (wow, I finally remembered why I was here), but as I wrestled with my keys to lock up, the driver, maybe being driven by his own powerful force, did the unexpected...

He- He opened up.

The conversation Part II:

"Maan, I just taped that shit up for the third time today!", said the driver whose frustration I could sense from behind me. "They could've hit the headlight, the taillight, even my damn mirror or somethin'! Not my window! Shit!".

Still wrestling with my keys and trying my absolute hardest to avoid this conversation, I still couldn't help but be puzzled at what was being said.

(The headlight? The taillight? The mirror? None of those were better options. These are all essential to the road, sir), but wondering what was so special about his window, I still chose to fight the urge to respond and continued to ignore this brotha and his complaints.

After finally locking up my car, I quickly turned around and started in the direction of the store, but in mid turn, heading towards the entrance of my non-local Target, the driver asked a question that I was not prepared for, stopping me in mid stride and now forcing me to engage.

"Aye! You think you can pull that piece of tape back up for me? I don't want nobody robbing me while I'm in the store".

Was this man forreal?! Was he really asking me for assistance after scolding me for being in his business? And now that I'm here, minding my own, he needs my help?!

But what really had me perplexed was this brothas order of priorities. First, he'd rather have his headlight, taillight, and mirror shot up than his window and now, he's more worried that someone in the parking lot of a Target will rob him of his navy-blue t-shirts than someone coming back to finish what they started, (potentially attacking his left side).

Stuck in position and deeply lost in thought, the driver shouted at me once again, repeating his question that sounded even more absurd than when he said it the first time.

“Just pull that piece back up for me. That piece right there”, he continued, pointing to the fallen piece of tape and giving me directions as though I was his assistant. “If you press the tape tightly against the glass and lift, it’ll bring the window back up, and you just attach the other end of the ta…"... "the glass should hol…"... "then grab the other pie…”.

My mans was fading out. He spoke to me as if I was his son and the two of us were attached at the hip in the garage of our family home working on a car that was once his father's whose father passed it on to him who then passed it on to my father who will one day pass it on to me. I was being spoken to as if this moment was somehow a valuable lesson.

“Are you hearing me?!”, he asked, interrupting my thoughts. “You gotta grip that piece on the rig…”.

“Let me stop you right there”, I interrupted. “I don’t want to help you lift the window of your wounded car. I have to hurry up and retrieve an item in this store before it sells out. It’s urgent!”.

“The hell you mean?", started the driver. "This shit is urgent too!"... "And damn! Why you have to talk about my vehicle like that? I know it’s shot up and shit but you ain’t have to bring it up. It still gets me from point A to point B for your information!”.

“Yeah, but does it get you from point B back to point A?”, I challenged.

The driver looked at me with pure disgust. I had apparently pushed a button, but no matter, I still couldn’t find an ounce of empathy to give and again, started in the direction of the store.

“They shot my car up because they was hating”, yelled the driver.

I stopped again in mid stride and swung around in pure irritation to find the driver no longer ransacking through his backseat, but instead, head hung low and still holding on to that navy blue t-shirt. He had once again forced me to engage.

“I was over my boys house”, he continued, (I didn’t ask). “We was just chilling... ordered some wangs from the spot up the street and I was tearing them thangs up, forreal”, he said happily, (but I really didn't ask). “We had the jojo fries... and they sauce go hard! Ever had them wangs at the spot up the street?”.

“I can't say that I—".

“But yeah, like I was saying, next thang you know I hear, POW POW, BLATT, BBBAALLAATT, BLAT… it was like the Fourth of July on my boys block”. (I really, REALLY didn't ask).

I took a deep inhale, counted to five and slow and steady released for an exhale.

“Glad to know you survived”, I replied, completely unimpressed by his story and unaware that my comment would strike up another response.

“I’m a survivor forreal. All I do is live and survive, survive and live”.

I found myself, once again perplexed by this man’s thought process. Why was he saying "live and survive and survive and live" as if the two weren't synonymous? To live is to survive. I wondered if knew he was being redundant in that statement? But either way, he clearly didn't think too hard on it because he still had more to say.

“Crazy thing is, I wasn’t even who they were looking fo’!”, he continued. “I think they were just shooting, and my car just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time". (Sooo, he wasn't the target? That brought me a strange sense of relief). "Yeah, my boy—"...

“Wow, that’s crazy”, I said cutting him off mid-sentence. I didn’t want to be rude, but I was tired of being an unwilling participant in this rendition of "Boyz-N-the-Hood". I no longer cared about this driver and what he had to say, nor did I care anymore about the items in his car and what he could or couldn’t find. I was now refocused on my mission, the real reason I was here in the first place.

“I really need to get this item”, I said dramatically and standing as though I had to pee.

“What is it?", asked the driver, genuinely curious.

“It’s a golden honey rattan ottoman... made in India!”, I replied joyously. “It's perfect for my room and just what I've been looking for. You want to see it?!”. But before the driver could even respond, I quickly pulled out my phone, excited to show him, (hell, anybody), my new and glorious find.

“BOOM!!”, I shouted, whipping my phone around in front of me and pressing it up against the driver's window. "You see it? Aye! Can you see it?".

“Damn girl, watch the tape!”, he yelled.

But once again, ignoring this brotha and his complaints, I stood there, giddy, yet patiently waiting for him to acknowledge my rattan ottoman and stare in complete awe at my 'almost there, but not quite yet' purchase of the best thing that only a few could own. But of course, instead of receiving an equally excited response, I got a response that I should have already expected coming from a brotha of his circumstance, (I should've expected nothing less).

“This?!!”, he started, lifting his index finger and pointing it at my screen. “This is the shit that got you tripping and calling me out on the flaws on my vehicle!?”. "Thiiiss?", he repeated. I was flummoxed! Flummoxed, I say!

“Yo ass is tripping over a stool?!”. The brotha kept his index finger pointed at my screen as he laughed uncontrollably at my 'almost there, but not quite yet' purchase, mocking me and my 'Made in India' piece of upholstery. “A stool?!”, he repeated, still shouting and laughing over his backseat.

“Fuck you!”, I shouted. “It’s not even a stool! It’s an ottoman! Why would I be standing on this? Huh? It's clear you have no refine taste. And you don’t get to make jokes on refined items when you have bullet holes bigger than the potholes in this damn parking lot on the side of your car!”. (I refuse to let a 'wanted' man question me and my home decor!).

His laughing stopped now. I watched as he stared at me, eyes narrowed and body in an upright position, no longer gripping onto his navy-blue t-shirt. With his mouth slightly opened, the driver leaned forward, climbing from his passenger's seat to his backseat and bringing his face only inches away from his duct taped window. We were indeed face to face now. With his head tilted to one side, the driver, with me in his direct line of sight and with a face that seemed to be holding in a laugh, looked at me and said:

“Why you so defensive about your stool?!”.

His laughing continued, and annoyed, I found it to be the perfect time to turn away and try, yet again, to head towards the entrance of my non-local Target, but before making my first steps to the door, I decided to get vengeance on behalf of my rattan ottoman before leaving for good. Facing the brotha and his traumatized car, I grabbed the slowly falling piece of duct tape, ripping it off completely, and with the driver distracted, still laughing at his corny ass joke, I watched as the window, no longer being supported, come to a complete drop.

Walking away satisfied, I had finally made it to the stores entrance where I grabbed myself a cart and began, Operation: Track Down. I quickly headed towards the home decor section of my non-local Target where I just knew my rattan ottoman would be there waiting. As the passed by the throw pillows, and then the candles, I saw a lovely white couple holding hands and wheeling around something familiar in their own Target cart. I quickly turned the corner, hoping to catch them in the next aisle over by the lamps, desperately trying to get a better visual of their item. Racing through the aisles and speeding past the lamps, I found the lovely white couple stopped in front of the curtain rods with their cart now facing me in the perfect position to finally make out that familiar item.

These mothafuckas have my ottoman!!

©2023, Arien Simone