Super Sketch

My room mate and I have been to some pretty sketchy places in our days, and today's post will share a few stories about times when we wondered if we would make it out alive. The two easiest ways to find someplace really creepy is to go to either a city or get way out in the middle of nowhere.

Now, naturally these aren't the only ways to do it, but it's a safe bet that most cities, even small ones, have a region where you definitely don't want to just kind of stroll around in and anyone who's familiar with ominous banjo music is probably already a bit creeped out by super isolated little hamlets in the backwoods.

(Insert creepy red-neck quote here.)

Probably the first memory I have of going somewhere I really felt like I should be afraid of something ridiculous happening to me was our nation's capitol. Yes, for those of you not aware of it, Washington D.C. is also in the running for sketch capitol of the nation. Nestled in between the country of Virginia and the bustle of Maryland, it is a veritable treasure trove of sketch activity.

Now, I know that most people think of things like the Library of Congress, the Smithsonian Museums or the Lincoln Memorial when they think of D.C. Some unfortunate souls might even associate Washington D.C. with the seasonal disappointment that is the Washington Wizards.

"What do you mean we're terrible?"

The first time I visited D.C. it was with the Boy Scouts and we stayed in a hostel on the outskirts of downtown. Sign of sketch number one: the word hostel. When has anything connected with that word ever ended up being a good thing? Sign of sketch number two: the place had bars on the windows up to the third floor.

I mean, I can see having bars on the windows for the first, maybe even the second floors, but three? Seriously? What kind of cracked out Spider-Man imitators live in this area? If it gets to the point that you need metal rebar over the openings to your building thirty feet above the ground, I think you should probably just start handing out shotguns to tenants as they check in.

"Don't forget your complimentary guard dog, sir."

Sign of sketch number three: at least every half hour some sort of ambulance/police/fire truck siren combination roared down the road. There's a reason why D.C. got the nickname "murder capital", with over three times the national average of violent crimes per capita. With that in mind, some of the guys I was with decided that the best way to enjoy their trip was to taunt homeless people rummaging through mailboxes outside the hostel.

Now, I don't mean your average friendly "Hey man, you spare some change?" homeless guys.

How can you say no to a story like that?

I mean the "I just got done jerking off in public and am now robbing you at fork-point so I can go buy some meth" homeless guys.

"Seriously though, I want some meth."

The other guys were laughing about how funny it was when they creatively shouted "Get a job!" to the hobos, to which the street people replied that they would, and I quote "fucking kill you punk-ass kids". I was not laughing. And for good reason.

About five minutes later, there was an angry knock on the door to our room. I quickly dove under my bed, where I figured I would soon witness multiple murders from as the homeless person made good on his promise.

Luckily, it was merely the security officer from the front desk warning us that someone had complained about kids yelling at them from the windows, and that we shouldn't antagonize the people out on the street like that.

Just like how you shouldn't feed wild ponies.

Moving right next door to Baltimore, we take this sketch-fest to the next level. My room mate and some friends took a bike trip around Baltimore about a year or so ago. All of them regretted it. Baltimore is like the younger, slightly less sketch version of D.C. It's got all the sketchiness you've come to know and love, in a bite sized package.

Oh yeah, we went with the obvious mini joke.

When you're a group of lily white college students riding around on bicycles in an area of the city that is inhabited mostly by minorities in the lower socio-economic strata, it's not a great idea to take too many long stops or interact with the locals more than you have to. While not as dangerous as a line of Humvees driving through Falujah, my room mate and his friends were quickly beset by difficulties.

"Somebody just ordered some grape juice. There's white folk about!"

First off, they quickly became lost in the twisting and turning labyrinth of that particularly sketchy area of Balitmore. Secondly, some of them had to answer the call of the wild, and not in a "running free with the wolves across the tundra" sort of way.

Where's Charlton Heston when you need him?

Wait. Sorry, wrong movie. Here we go.

Wait, this still isn't the right movie.

You know what? Forget I even mentioned him. Back to our story.

My room mate really has to urinate. So he starts asking around to see where a bathroom might be. A public restroom would be cool, also like a gas station or something could work. Well, supposedly there aren't any nearby. How is that even possible?

Well he's really got to go, so he keeps wandering further away from the group, asking random people on the street where he can go potty. One guy he happens upon offers up an interesting solution.

He said, "Hey man, for three dollars, I'll watch you pee."

"WTF?" in ASL, according to the interwebs.

Either he means that he will A: accept a payment of three dollars to watch out for policemen while my room mate takes a whiz in an alley or something, or B: he will watch while my room mate takes a whiz in an alley. And yes, I mean that last option in the creepiest way possible. Like if he really needed to score three dollars and thought my room mate was into some weird stuff.

"If you have to ask what it is, you can't afford it."

After he manages to convince the dude that he didn't want to pay him three dollars for questionable services, my room mate tries to back-track to the rest of his group. Unbeknownst to him, but knownst to us, they had left for a more fortified position. Literally.

In the days of the Old West, the practice of circling the wagons was common place. However, circling the bicycles didn't exactly provide the same level of protection, and the natives were closing in quickly.

Too bad they didn't have air support.

After coming to a group concensus to get the hell out of Dodge, my room mate and his friends pedaled as fast as their little legs could take them, vowing never again to return to that particular city unless they had to.

Yeah, that might be worth it...maybe.