recruiting.

I was walking back to my car in the Southpoint Mall parking lot in Durham when a black guy in a silver car pulled alongside me. The lot was jam packed, and so I assumed the guy was stalking me for my parking space. He rolled his window down and said something to me. Rather than try to figure out what he said, I figured he was asking about my parking spot, and so I answered, "Yeah, it's right over there," while pointing to my car twenty feet away. He shook his head and decided to enunciate as he repeated, "Do you smoke?"

Oh. A real life drug offer experience! Cool!

Thanking the heavens I hadn't coincidentally answered something affirmative that had made sense the first time, I shook my head no and kept walking. He drove away. My mother and my D.A.R.E. officer would have been proud.

The whole situtation seemed a little weird and very sketchy. Why had he asked me that? Even without knowing the answer to why he asked, I'm pretty sure that answering in the negative was the correct solution. Still, there are a few explanations for his question.

One: He was looking to buy some drugs - highly unlikely. White people may drive around black neighborhoods asking people if they have any drugs, but black guys in nice cars do not drive around malls asking white girls for drugs.

Two: He sells drugs and was looking for someone that might be interested in making a purchase. That is possible - this was in a private college town, so there are probably lots of rich white girls who like to smoke pot. But does this dude really need to go around soliciting? Durham is a town with many sketchy areas. I'm sure there are plenty of people who will be happy to buy his wares without him having to go out and find them. Advertising is always a good idea in business, unless your business happens to be illegal. I confess, I do not know much about business or drug dealers, but demand never seems to be a problem for them.

Three: He was recruiting crack-whores. I guess that's a rather harsh way to put it. But imagine that this fellow fancies me, because he's got bad eyesight or whatever. As a drug dealer, he knows that he has a valued commodity, and as a girl, he knows that I, by definition, have a valued commodity. It's not uncommon for drugs or sex to act as currency, and it could be that he and I would build a sort of business relationship based on the exchange of our special currencies.

*Shudder.

What's most upsetting about that third scenario is the fact that he picked me. Apparently, I look like a future crack-whore; I fit the profile. I really don't know all that much about girls who sell their bodies for drugs, but I in no way imagined that I look like I would fit in with them. I was wearing jeans, sandals, a vintage t-shirt, and glasses. The drug addicts in the movies never wear specs. Maybe I should get a haircut or something.

The whole scene lasted probably five seconds and was only scary afterwards, when I realized what had probably happened and the implications thereof. I realized that my fifth grade D.A.R.E. program had prepared me to say no to drugs, but the curriculum never said anything about what to say to a life of prostitution in exchange for drugs. Luckily, I managed to come through without having been coached. My mother and my D.A.R.E. officer would have been proud.