Jurassic J almost got clapped at the mart

A guest post from the esteemed and sometimes ferocious roommate. As it happens, he came somewhat close to getting clapped, or at least jacked, one night on a visit to the mart.

So I've finished off the Harris Teeter sub special of the day (which rarely leaves you completely satisfied) and I start planning a night around HBO On Demand and Season 4 of the Wire. I sit down and realize I don't have enough Skoal to help me pound out two or three episodes before I go to bed. Now, I could have purchased a tin at the Harris Teeter when I was scoring point number 28 on my sub tab (for some reason I can't bring myself to use sub points unless it is a special occassion), but the Harris Teeter grossly overcharges for smokeless tobacco. So I take a trip down Graham Street to the mart. You may know this as the Fourth Ward Market, but for me and everyone else in the know, it's just the mart. A stroll down Graham Street to the mart is never uneventful.

After nearly having my left elbow torn off by a sideview mirror, I finally get to the mart. Instead of the usual half-smoked menthol cigarrettes still burning on the sidewalk, I see two of North Meck's finest's vehicles parked outside. No sirens, no lights. To the untrained Fourth Ward eye this looks like it could a routine stop for a complimentary snack for keeping the hood safe. I walk in knowing from past experiences this is probably not the case, and I throw the hoody up. Inside the mart the clerk is jabbering to the tall officer while the officer repeatedly responds, "Did you scan the lotto tickets, sir?"

As I march up to the counter, the shorter officer looks up from his clipboard and casually says, "He just got robbed at gun point." He went back to writing his report, murmuring, "Improperly scanned lotto tickets were stolen."

After a few seconds of scanning the scene, I glance over to the shorter cop and say, sarcastically, "Oh yeah, you gonna catch the guy?" Both cops immediately stop what they are doing and laugh in unison. With the clerk's incense still burning, the shorter cop leans over to me and motions to his buddy: "Watch this, I'm gonna make him file the report." He chuckles to himself. "Hey, Foster (name redacted to keep the anonymity of the officers that protect us intact), how about I stick around here and gather up all the eye witness information. You can head back to HQ and..."

"Hell no," Foster interjects. "I ain't heading back to HQ with the video tape. All that means is I'm the first one back and expected to file the report. No, no, no. I will not file this report!"

During this exchange the clerk is creepily manuevering his way around Foster to get to me at the register. "Yes how may I help you?" he asks in his foreign accent. "Skoal mint, please," I reply. The clerk rings me up for more than the standard rate. After all, he's got to find a way to make up for those lost lotto tickets.