Rich's Trip To The Ghetto

This weekend, I participated in a time-honored tradition in Los Angeles. I didn't attend a Lakers game. I didn't meet a celebrity while strolling down Hollywood Blvd. I didn't get shot.

No, what I did was much better than all of those things combined.

I accidentally visited the ghetto.

Allow me to explain...

I was driving North on the 405 when I looked down and realized the my low fuel light had been on for an indeterminable amount of time. I was scared that I was going to run out of gas, so I took the next exit I got to in search of fuel.

I should have known right off the bat that I was in trouble. The street I was on was Alameda Ave. On the left side of me was nothing but train tracks and big freight trains and not much else. This was warning sign number one. Land in LA is at a premium and very expensive. If you ever go anywhere in LA and there's an empty space with nothing much built on it, there's probably a good reason for that. On the right of me was nothing but big warehouses with trucks coming and going.

After a few miles, I started getting nervous. My surroundings were decent, but I couldn't find a gas station. I didn't know if I should continue on down Alameda, which was yielding no results whatsoever, or take a turn down a random street and see if my luck would improve.

I stuck to Alameda thinking that on my way back, I wouldn't have to worry about getting lost because I would just have a straight shot back to the 405. After 10 miles or so, I was really getting anxious, as I was in the middle of nowhere and I could run out of gas at any time.

Well...that's not entirely true. I wasn't in the middle of nowhere. At a random stoplight, I looked up at the street sign for the street I was about to cross:

COMPTON BLVD
City of Compton

Trying to keep myself in a safe state of denial, I thought "Well, that's just a street. Just because I'm at Compton Blvd. doesn't necessarily mean that I'm in Compton, does it? Wait...what does that little part at the bottom of the sign say?"

City of Compton

"Oh...awesome."

(Now before anyone even thinks of accusing me of being a racist, you can just stop right here. I wasn't scared of being in Compton because it's mostly filled with blacks and Latinos. I was scared of being in Compton because it's a very violent place, regardless of the race of the person currently stabbing you. Bad things happen there, and they happen a lot. Rappers always talk about how dangerous Compton is. They actually lived there. I visited once by accident. I will believe them.)

I got my phone out and called Claire.

"Claire...I'm in Compton. What do I do?"

"(silence)...what?"

"I'm in Compton!"

"Turn around and get back on the freeway!"

There really was no right answer to this problem. Either I kept driving into the heart of (statistically) one of the unsafest places in the country in the hope of finding a gas station, or I turn around and leave, which puts me at the risk of being stranded there.

I decided to keep driving. Luckily, a block after I got off the phone, I was able to find a Shell station. I filled up, got in the car, and left without any kind of incident.

And now I can act a lot tougher than I really am. "What, you think you're tough? I go to Compton! Hell, I buy gas in Compton, son! What's up now?"

I'm just glad I didn't run into any hardcore thugs...like Jamie Kennedy. That dude is harder than concrete. Legit.