The Thug

He stood casually hanging out against the wall, chatting with people as they passed. Slightly better dressed than most of the men in this crowed bar, on average much taller, and sporting a shaved head that fitted his angular features. Ok, so I was attracted at first glance. He definitely had that "thug" look that I like. He glanced over my way and I shot him a smile and returned my attention to “the guy I had been talking to, and ironically had been out on a date with several years before. The fact that I was at this stupid party, or should I say Jewish meat market, was mostly due to peer pressure. Additionaly, my willingness to talk to almost anyone came from the challenge my best friends had made earlier that night: talk to at least 10 guys I didn’t know during the party. Thankfully I had enough sense not to follow their other suggestion that I start my conversations with: “I like your pants.”

I was feeling a bit sassy and was not going to make the first move- hell, let him make the first move for a change. As soon as hockey guy got up, the thug approached and sat down and introduced himself with one of the heaviest Brooklyn accents I had ever heard. As we chatted I tried not to laugh because his accent, bald head, and his angular features only further lead into my first impression of him as a "thug." I casually asked him what he did for a living and The Thug responded that he had his own business, supplying cheese and sauce to pizza restaurants. Ok. A little unconventional, but I like pizza. He took my number and we parted ways. A few days later The Thug called and we made plans to meet up for coffee. He was either neurotic or nervous because he kept repeating the time and place of the date over and over again until my cell phone cut him off.

I was sitting at the coffee bar when The Thug arrived. After getting his coffee and the usual opening pleasantries, I asked him to tell me more about his business. He looked me in the eye and said in that heavy accent, “Look, I am going to be honest with you.” I already had a feeling that this was not going to be my soul mate, but conversations that start with that statement usually implies an impending doom. “I am into hot sales,” he continues. “Hot sales,” I asked confused. ! Sensing my confusion, he opens his jacket, glances down in a sly manner and says, “It almost like those guys on the street who say hey, you wanna buy a watch.” The Thug goes on to tell me that he has friends that work at a local pizza joint who smuggles pizzas out the back door. He the travels around the state and approaches different businesses with the line that the pizza place screwed up a large order and that he needs to get rid of them. He tells them he will sell them the pizzas, or a few slices for ½ price.

That is the long version; the short version is I really am on a date with a thug who sells stolen pizzas for a living. To make matters worse, yes worse, he has been doing this for 10 years!!! 10 years, not as a part-time side job to make extra money, but 10 years as a full-time job At this point I am perched on my stool with thousands of exit strategies running though my mind, unable to settle on any one fast enough.