Craigslist, Sick Speakers , and the Folsom Ghetto

I’ve been really busy so I didn’t have a chance to write this earlier, but I had to get this down because the whole experience was so amusing. Anyway, a few weeks ago, I bought some speakers off I guy on Craigslist. The speakers are nothing short of awesome. Each box stands 3 or 4 feet tall and the subs are each 15 inchers. I needed these speakers so badly because my father-in-law, Paul had an extra stereo receiver that I’m guessing is older than I am and he gave it to me. I hooked it up at my work bench and knew I needed something really fantastic to facilitate all the power this beast would put out. Hence, the 15 inchers.

So this guy in Folsom had these speakers and wanted to sell them for 50 bucks. Kathy really likes Folsom so we both got in the car on a Saturday morning and hit the road. For those of you reading this in So. Cal. or any of the random places in the world that isn’t the Sacramento area, Folsom is a nice area. It received a bunch of awards for most popular suburb or something like that. The reason I feel it necessary to bring this up is neither of us were expecting to find Folsom had a “ghetto”. But there we were, pulling into a massive, less-than-adequate apartment complex, parking lot. I called the guy (Michael) and told him I’m there.

He said, “Turn to your left. I’m waving my hand at the other end of the parking lot.” This guy is a piece of work. Dirty blonde hair, kind of moppy, but it’s stuck out in every direction. I’d think he did it on purpose, except for the sleep in his eyes. The phone in one hand, a cigarette in the other. A grungy t-shirt, sweats , and those plastic sandals with the single fat strap that covers the top of the foot but leaves your toes exposed. He said, “Come on in and check ‘em out.” His apartment kind of resembled Quentin Tarantino's house in Pulp Fiction.

"Wasn't he a drug dealer in that movie?!" I thought to myself. I couldn't get us out of there fast enough-not really because I was afraid for our safty, but more because I was afraid we might catch something if we touched anything.

As Kathy and I are gingerly placing the speakers in the backseat of our car, he’s telling us, “I don’t have room in my trunk either. The other day I got pulled over in the middle of the night. The cops are pretty suspicious of any 1986, Cadillac DeVille in Folsom. Anyway, the cop asked to see my trunk but I didn’t want to show him because it was full of dirty laundry!” Then he laughs a little too hard.

Kathy and I shot each other a look. I couldn’t help but think that maybe there was something else in Michael’s trunk that he didn’t want the cops to find. But instead of mentioning it, I laugh politely with him and hand him over the 50 bucks.