I was out of the ghetto one week after a bang shook the neighborhood; one of our neighbors was randomly robbed, both at gun and knife point. I was at work, but some of the boys were home and we able to go over and assess the damage done. I was naturally alarmed when I got back to the house and was thankful that nothing had happened to us- not that any of us have anything of great value, but the few things we do have are special and essential. The boys in the house talked about getting a communal shotgun for protection and while I am all for that, it makes me pretty uncomfortable.
I emailed a new coworker of mine that day as she had mentioned needing another roommate. I went over the next day to check the place out and took her up on it. I have a safe place to live in a neighborhood that is quirky and quiet and although it is fairly far away from work, it is cheap and I can deal with it. Whew! Problem solved.
I couldn’t move in until a week later but spent most of my time at work for the rest of the week. I was a bit put on edge and definitely more nervous about living in the ghetto with the knowledge that bad things did happen to perfectly normal people. I ended up going on a random weekend adventure to Wyoming with my friend Cowboy (he’s from Texas and wears Wranglers, the nickname fits) and moved in when we got back, so it all worked out! No one had to knight-in-shining-armor me out of there.
My new roommates are cool. I work with one and our other roommate is her friend from college (they’re both from Nebraska) and he works at a different restaurant. I have an air mattress (but I’m getting a real bed!), a bike (borrowed), and a coffee maker that is saving lives every single morning. Am I…. am I turning into a real adult?