August 5, 2011

The IPhone story

So this summer my family decided to vacation in the U.S. We wanted to explore New York and Washington D.C. mostly, but figured we'd stop in Virginia as well. New York was as amazing as ever. After a day of exploring, it was clear to me that the best place to buy an iPhone would be from Harlem. So I jumped on an up-town bus tour, and got off at the corner of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King blvd. and immediately began scanning the area for what I was looking for: hustlers. Now, I wouldn't call myself cheap, but I am thrifty. I can smell a good deal from miles away, and I consider my knowledge of "the game" to be immaculate, hence I don't get hustled. Upon finding my group of hustlers, I confidently strode up to the one with the biggest set of grills (read: dentures with diamonds) and asked if he was "dealing" (correct slang when dealing with hustlers lets them know that you know the game) iPhones. He shifted his eyes and closed his hands, but nodded very discretely.

Seems I was in luck.

He took me to an average-looking Honda and opened the trunk. Half-expecting to be a trap, my eyes lit up at the sight of an iPhone box that appeared to be new. I reached in and grabbed the box, opened it and pulled out the glistening iPhone which shone brilliantly amongst the grills of fellow hustlers. I pictured myself stroking the glassy surface ever-so gently.

Quickly, the grilled hustler brought me back down to reality and demanded five bills (one bill is $100). I bartered for $400, threatening to deal with another hustler. Reluctantly, he agreed. I believe I laid my game down pretty well.

Leaving the barbecue (pun: there were so many grills) with my smashing new iPhone, I went back to the hotel. The rest of my vacation was a blur I thought I'd only vaguely remember with the aid of photos. However, it appears as if my cockiness may have caught up with me.

I was just enjoying a placid afternoon of single-player Jenga, when suddenly my iPhone informs me that I have one missed call. I check the number: "unknown". Strange? Somewhat. I pushed the thought aside and continued setting up the Jenga. The iPhone rang. "Unknown".

My fingers trembling, I answered the phone.

For seconds that seemed like minutes there was a long pause.

Then a voice. A New-York-grills-in-your-mouth voice spoke.

"You're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air".

Without hesitation I whistled for a cab, and when it came near, the licence plate said “FRESH” and it had a dice in the mirror. If anything I could tell that this cab was rare, but I said "Nah, forget it. Yo Homes, to Bel-Air!" I pulled up to a house at about 7 or 8, and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo Homes, smell ya later." I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, to sit on my throne, I was the Prince of Bel-Air.

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