This inexplicable wave of panic came over me as I started to turn around and tighten every muscle I have in my body. I came to the conclusion early on in the robbery that I was going to get shot, so rather than avoiding it, I started to mentally construct the least painful and frightening ways of getting shot.
Stupid, I know, but your brain thinks of some weird shit when you’re faced with the possibility of dying. Mikey once rolled his car off a mountain, he was telling me, and while flipping over and over he explained, “I thought, if I didn’t close my eyes, I couldn’t die.” For some reason I figured if I was facing him I could turn my shoulder, take the bullet in my shoulder and everything would be ok, ok as in I wouldn’t be dead. So here I am in Kansas City making this sort of life or death decision while visiting for a Halloween skate trip. Ironic considering Halloween is a celebration of life and death, and what better way to celebrate life, than with a little brush with death?
I’ll be completely honest with you. I had absolutely no desire to go on this trip when Sean called me up and invited me. However, not because I didn’t want to go to KC.
Fall in the Midwest is beautiful, but I had little to no desire to leave my house—more specifically my room. I hadn’t been home more than a few days before this trip, but in that time I got the most amazing bed set. Oh man. I really went for it with this one—high thread count sheets, a new comforter, four new pillows and new foam padding. It’s perfect. A beautiful fusion of style, thrift and comfort—truly is a thing of beauty. So, as you can imagine, the prospect of leaving said perfect bed fell nothing short of a huge “No.” Actually, a huge “Fuck no.”
Coupled with the fact that for the last few months I can’t seem leave my house without something weird occurring, this trip was not happening. No way in heck was I about to leave that perfect, warm, safe and cozy bed for KC.
“Hey do you want to come to KC?” Sean asked when He called.
“Ok,” I said.
So Mikey and I flew out to KC and Davis drove down from Minneapolis to meet up with Malto and the KC crew for a week of partying and skating.
The day before I left I’d come down with a pretty bad cold so I decided to venture out on my own to get some much-needed soup. After eating, one of my friends told me to swing by the Done house, just a few blocks from the hotel, and say “What’s up.”
So I started walking. I love walking, but I hate walking on busy streets because the noise and traffic just end up stressing me out. I take to a side street instead, one I’ve walked many times before. About a block from the hotel a man walked by me as I was on the phone.
“What up?” He says.
“Hey what’s up?” I replied, continuing walking. I walked maybe five steps when he yelled to me, “Hey,” and as I turned around he rushed at me and shoved a gun in my face.
“Hey give me all you’re shit right now!” he demanded while nervously waiving a gun in my face. I gave him my phone, a knife and my wallet (which is made of recycled paper and looks like a cheap map). He looked confusingly at the wallet and looked back at me—I was sick, had no cash on me and I hadn’t showered or changed clothes in at least days.
I think he knew his gig was up. “Ok go,” he told me and did that wavy gun motion you see in movies when people with guns want you to go away. So I turned around and walked off.
I turned around for maybe a second; took one step and I froze. I couldn’t move, I could barely breathe. The idea of getting shot in the back as I were walking off became too overwhelming and I thought that if I could see the gun, if I could see his eyes he wouldn’t shoot me. So I did probably the dumbest thing ever and turned around, stared him dead in the eyes. He had no clue what to think, I could tell.
I hadn’t really thought of what to do once I turned around. I broke the awkward, tense silence with my plea, “Dude, please don’t shoot me.” I really said “dude” too. I remember criticizing myself as I said it, “Dude? Don’t call him dude, you don’t even know this dude.” He was irritated. No money, a broken phone and then this dude, calling him, “dude.”
“If you turn around right now and run away I wont shoot you,” he said. With conviction this time, with confidence. So I ran. Fast. Faster than I’ve ever run, dude.
After ducking behind some houses, I ran to a busy street corner where two guys, one dressed as a lumberjack the other as a weird shirtless American Indian, were on bikes going to a Halloween party. They were drunk. I was hyperventilating at this point and gasped for them to call 911 while lying in the street trying to choke back tears from all the adrenaline. The shirtless Indian called 911 as the lumberjack stood in disbelief, trying to calm me down as I stared up at the sky.
The cops came soon, arriving to me lying on the ground, this lumberjack towering over me and a shirtless Indian drunkenly swaying on his bike talking to the 911 operator. I have been in weirder situations, I think—I just can’t remember when.
It took about 20 minutes to recount the story. I told my side, the lumberjack and the shirtless Indian gave their accounts and the paperwork was filed. A loud jumble came over the walkie-talkie of the police officer, he yelled “Lets go” to his partner, threw me a copy of the police report and they all left. The lumberjack and shirtless Indian—they biked away.
"...I ran to a busy street corner where two guys, one dressed as a lumberjack the other as a weird shirtless American Indian, were on bikes going to a Halloween party." - Sam McGuire
I was alone again. I decided to take the busy street back to the hotel this time and I started thinking of my bed. How neat and made it was. How fluffy and safe those pillows were and the copious amounts of threads that were in my new sheets. It was all at home rubbing it in my face, “Hey, we told you not to go.”
They never caught the guy, although they did find my wallet. Sadly it had exactly the amount of money it never had in the first place. The weather held up decent the rest of the trip and everyone had a good time dressing up for Halloween, skating around the park and enjoying the last few dying days of summer before winter reared is ugly head. People kept asking me if I was ever going to come back to Kansas City after being robbed.
I always gave the same answer. “No.”
But it’s not that I’m never coming back to Kansas City, but, rather that I’m just going to stick to my original idea in that I should never, ever leave that big, warm, pillowy safe and comfortable bed again.
- Share on Facebook
- Tweet it
- Share on StumbleUpon