I Got Robbed (at gunpoint)

I am a very proud person. Some parts of this entry were actually difficult to write. My friends, I know I am not the most up-front and honest person, but this entire story is true...
Before getting into the actual details of what happened on April 22, 2008, I'd like to share with you a short timeline.

January 2, 2007 - I make the new year's resolution to never use racial slurs again.

April, 2007 - Neighbors that lived in the same house as myself and two friends get robbed (it was a duplex) at gunpoint. The gunmen made my neighbors lay on the floor and held guns to their heads. It was drug-related. After hearing about it, I express how effed up it would be if the gunmen went to the wrong front door of the right duplex and came into our house, demanding drugs and drug money. How effed up it would be if they didn't believe us because, after all, who would just give themselves up right of the bat anyway? And, after all, they were at the right address. Seriously, that would be effed up. Someone could have been killed.

March, 2008 - I move to Houston into a pretty nice apartment complex. I immediately begin getting ticked off at the amount of mail I'm getting from the previous resident, who we'll call "S". I ponder looking him up and letting him know how much I despise him and that he needs to inform all parties that he no longer lives at this address. If I only knew...

April 22, 2008, 10:30 PM - I'm playing poker and updating my blog. I'm wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. The TV is off. I hear someone knocking at my front door, which is unlocked.

"This is kind of weird," I think. There's honestly no reason for a person to be coming to my house at 10:30 on a Tuesday night without calling.

I go up to the door and peek through the peep-hole. I see a black man who I do not recognize and say:

"Hello?"

"Is Tony there," the man says. He seemed to be turning his face to the side.

I lock the door. I somewhat cringe as the clicking sound breaks the silence. What a racist I must be.

"You have the wrong place, I'm sorry," I tell him.

The man continues to talk and I drown out his voice by yelling, "You have the wrong place. This is T. Tony doesn't live here."

I go back to my computer and sit down. For a moment, I actually feel a little bad about the blatant clicking noise and how African Americans have to put up with those sort of little things all the time. I begin editing my previous entry "Baseball". I added fake stats at the bottom that included my 3 seasons of coach's pitch and remember having outlandish batting averages like 51/52 on the season. I'm laughing as I wonder if anyone is going to think I'm really bragging about this when I hear another knock at the door, about 10 minutes after the last incident.

"This is shady," I think to myself. As usual when I answer the door, I begin making a plan to get out of a sticky situation, should I find myself in one. I'm not sure how common this is amongst guys, but I ponder getting my 7-iron, which is usually what I go with. I decided to go up there with my fists and told myself to simply not answer the door this time.

I look through the peep-hole again. I was frustrated as it was the same guy. People like this tick me off when they don't know when to quit.

"What?" I yell through the door.

"Hey man, I got this address written down, I need help finding this place," he said. I know what you're thinking and if it has something to do with me being a moron or falling for a trick, then to you I say "shut the fuck up". Me and you are very different people.

"Sorry, I just moved here, I have no clue man," I yell through the door.

"Man, please, I'm really lost," he said. He held up the paper to the peep-hole.

I figure, "What the hell, I can help him out and he will go away."

I crack the door open and look the guy in the face.

"You ever seen this address?" The man says.

He holds up the piece of paper to me and I realize it's a receipt with a squiggly line written on it.

"This isn't adding up at all," I think, feeling weird as I realize there's something truly fucked up about to happen.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sorry I can't help," I say, as I lean my body back inside and begin to close the door. (This is getting hard to write)

I feel a small force from his side that's pushing against the door as I close it. The gears turn in my brain.

"I'm about to get robbed," I think.

When something like this happens, your brain switches into a mode that only certain types of people can enjoy. Everything you do is instinctual. You want to live. It's completely primitive. They say survival and reproduction are the only true pieces of a primate brain, in that order of importance. Mine was set on survival mode immediately.

As I begin to push the door as hard as I can, I realize that it was definitely true. He began pushing hard, attempting to force himself in.

"Mother fucker!" I yell. "fuck no." But the son of a bitch was overpowering me. I let him in, knowing that the only ways I could get out of this was to run or fight. I wasn't winning this door battle.

Run or fight? If any of you truly know me, there's really only one option for me. I'm a runner. And when I'm scared, there's no chance of catching me. Ask the Officer from BPD. No chance.

However, upon further review, there was really nowhere to run. I was trapped in my own house and the door was blocked by the very thing I was running from.

So, I chose fight. The man came through door and I grabbed his neck as hard as I could and wrestled him into the wall. He went about 6'2", 190, according to my description to the police.

"I have a gun mother fucker, I'm going to kill you," he said.

I went into shock. I sort of blacked out at this point, but the next thing I remember I was on the ground staring at my Rawlings baseball bag. I didn't have a gun mother fucker. But I would have killed him.

So I'm on the ground with this tall, black man on me. I feel the gun on my head. Round, metallic hole.

"Where's the money mother fucker," he said. The word 'the' struck me as odd.

"In my wallet. You win. I'll give you whatever you want. FUCK.," I tell him. He lets me up and I go over to my wallet.

I open the wallet and pull out a "measley" 25 dollars and hand it to him.

"That's it?," he says. I wanted to explain to him the law of Beggars and Choosers, but now really wasn't the time. I also notice his neck is all fucked up. I look down at my finger nails and see muck and greasy mire spread throughout, the likes of which have never been seen. Atleast I got something.

I was scared to look at his neck for more than a split second, I didn't want him to get more mad. He was already appalled by my lack of money. I know, I'm so poor. I offer him my credit card and debit card and whatever else was in my wallet.

He eyes my TV. My brand new TV. My 36" plasma flat screen Olevia brand fuckin' new $700 TV.

"Start unplugging that TV. Hurry."

"Unplug it?"

"Yeah mother fucker, unplug that shit! Do it fast and you better not fuck it up."

At one point, I had given up. That was the point when I woke up with the black guy above me with a gun to my head. But for some reason at this point I decided this wasn't over. Maybe it was the way he was tearing through my wallet and casting these "useless" items to the ground in disgust as I was unplugging my TV. Leaving them there for me or whoever was cleaning up my body to pick up later. Maybe it was the fact that this guy was in MY house, telling me what to do with MY new TV. "Not fuck it up". That's what got me.

"I can't unplug this shit," I told him, getting up from behind the TV. I had spent some time frantically tugging on wires from behind my TV after he told me to "unplug" it. It's hard to do when your hands are shaking and a dude is standing there with a gun, throwing crap from your wallet onto your ground that you pay for.

"Shut the fuck up and hurry," he said.

I eyed the door.

"You can have the TV," I said, and I meant it. "Fuck this. I'm not unplugging my own TV."

I eye the back door and take a quick step towards it. Trust me, since he first started pushing on my door, I was looking for any type of exit strategy. Once I got to running, I'll be gone and he can do what he want with my house. I just needed to go for it. That's when I got what I can look back on and say was "pistol whipped".

As I said, I took one quick step. Then there was a flash (this was the pistol whip). I figured I got punched.

"Now you better go unplug that TV. And quit yelling, mother fucker."

Looking back, I believe I was saying a lot more things to this guy as he was digging through my wallet, standing in my house because he kept telling me to quit talking and to quit yelling, but I'm just really not sure.

Just then, another black man came through the door. Shorter, a little fatter, a little more clean cut.

"Don't worry about that mother fuckin' TV," he said, "Where's the dope?"

Before the "where's the dope" comment, I was 50/50 in my mind about my chances of dying. There were several moments with the first guy that involved him pushing me around and sticking the gun in my face, threatening to kill me, but I can't place them in proper order in this story. Just know it was happening, and I gave myself a good chance of getting shot.

After "where's the dope", I upped it to 75/25. I flashed back to what happened to my neighbors and how weird I felt knowing it could have been me. Now it was me, and I knew a misunderstanding was about to happen.

"I don't have any fuckin' drugs. I don't do that shit man" I told him.

"Don't fuckin lie. You owe some people a lot of money, so you better give us the drugs or the money," #2 said.

"Dude, I wouldn't lie right now I'm pretty fuckin' scared yall can have whatever yall want just please don't kill me," I said.

"Shut the fuck up," #1 said, "Just know that if you're lying, we're gonna fuckin kill you."

"Scour my house," I said. It was funny, because for the first time in my life I felt like I was telling the truth to get out of trouble. Hell, I even thought there was a chance they'd let me have my TV.

As #2 went scouring the house, #1 talked a lot of shit to me. He told me to start unplugging the TV again. When #2 came back, he realized I wasn't the right guy.

He seemed very sensible and was clearly the leader of the two. "Say man, you really have no clue why we're here?"

"No fucking clue," I said, "I'm not in that shit."

"Well the last guy that lived here, he fucked with some bad mother fuckers," he said. Again, I hate S. I thought about all that mail he left in my box, now this. I even told the thugs about the mail thing and how I hate that mother fucker too, so we have something in common.

"Yeah man he fucked with the Colombians, man," #1 said. "And we just here to collect. When someone fucks with the Colombians, they send us. If we don't get what they want, they send 50 more." As he said all this he kept approaching me and waving the gun in my face.

"Yeah so we gonna take your TV," the sensible one said. "Cause if we come back with nothing, we fucked." He seemed a little sorry that this was happening. He went into my room as I unplugged the rest of my TV, not so nervous this time. This time however, when I put my hands behind the
TV, I got a little spooked as blood poured from my face onto my new TV stand. Stained wood. I was a little worried that the pistol whip was much worse than I originally thought and the adrenaline was getting me through. I touched my face and looked down in disgust at my blood soaked left hand. "This is so fucked up," I thought.

"Now pick that shit up and put it on this blanket," #1 said as I realized #2 went into my room to get my bed spread to cover my tv so that they could take it from my house with my TV getting fucking damaged. He made me carry it over to my new couch and set it down. I looked around my house in disgust, as I realized that #2 had gone through all my new shit, looking for money and drugs...

#1 was a very angry person. #2 kept leaving the room, I guess to go look-out for cops as well as bringing the TV to the car. Everytime 2 would leave the room, 1 would threaten me and my percentage of getting killed would go up in my head. #1 made me sit on my new couch. I sat, but tried to stand just out of nervousness. He pushed my back down and pointed the gun at me. God, I wanted #2 to come back inside. He kept #1 in check. #2 apologized for 1 making me bleed. He said that was unnecessary and he's gonna give him shit for it on the car ride back.

"It's all good," I said. It really was. I honestly felt they wouldn't kill me. I just wanted them to leave. It was funny, though. He kept asking if I had gold. He wanted to steal my jewelry so he could pawn it off. I said, "Do I look like the kind of guy who has gold?"

"Go get him a towel for his face," 2 said to 1. 1 walked to my room, reluctantly. 2 explained that I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time (yes, my house was the wrong place, wrong time) and that I took it like a champ. He actually gave me dap. Fuckin' tool, I thought. But I was glad he was there.

1 came back with the towel.

"Here you go, mother fucker," he threw my towel onto my shoulder, "clean yo' shit up."

I wiped my face and the side of my head and looked down at the towel with disgust. There was a lot of blood. I touched the side of my head and realized the top of my ear was cut up pretty bad.

At this point, #1 was still playing hard ass. I kept noticing his scratched-up neck and figured he was still pissed about the tiff we got into by the door. 2 continued to talk and express sympathy and explained to me how if I call the cops they will send 50 mother fuckers on me. He wanted me to be calm before they left. We talked about how I had renter's insurance and would get money for the TV. He actually gave me dap again before he left and told me to have a nice night and walked out the door.

1 stayed. He came up behind my ear, whispered some shit about how you don't fuck with Colombians (what a tool), clearly trying to scare me out of calling the cops. As he was walking out the door, I got really upset that I didn't own a gun. I slammed my hat down. Just as he walked out the door into the hallway of my building, as I still sat on the sofa as ordered, he turned around...

he touched his bloody neck and said, "You lucky my boy showed up."

He closed my door and ran down my hallway. I heard him get into someone else's car and peel off.

There, still on my couch, I touched my ear and said, "You're lucky mine didn't."

I sat on the couch, in shock, looking around my house. I was somewhat scared to move.

When I finally worked up the courage to get up, I quickly went over to my front door and locked it. The click of the lock pierced the weirdest silence of my life. It was the sweetest sound in the world.

And I'm totally ok.

UPDATE:
I officially broke the lease at my apartment because I don't want anymore people showing up looking for S, who I really have a good reason hate next the whole mail thing.

I found I new place to live and will move on May 9th.

After I felt the guys were definitely gone, I SPRINTED out to my truck and drove about 70 mph down Westheimer to my sister's house. Due to the adrenaline and thankfulness of being alive, I laughed during the whole car ride. I was glad it happened. When I got there (around 11:15-11:30), I went up to her door and banged on it. She didn't answer. I went up to some random people, with a bloody white t-shirt on and a mangled ear and borrowed their cell phone. I called my sister and she let me in. Then I called the cops and filed a report.

The thugs also stole my cell phone so I couldn't call the cops. I got one off ebay today so it's all good.

Renter's isurance for me covers 10K in damage, so i'm good on that.

The place I'm moving to is really nice and I think I'll like it even better, so I'm good on that.

One last thing: If this were 2007, my new years resolution would be in absolute ruin.

I'm glad it happened. I know it's messed up for me to feel that way, but instead of convincing me that I'm not glad it happened, just be glad it wasn't you.