I Don't Like Milk Chocolate Candy Bars

We call it Scary Chinese. I have no idea what the real name of the place is, nor would it matter. It's, quite frankly, a real dumpy hole in the middle of an equally dumpy strip mall not too far from here. They usually have a Health Department score of 98 or better, though, so I don't judge them by their surroundings. We get take out from there because it is cheap and good and the worker's are lovely.

The thing is the parking lot in this little strip mall is stupid crowded on the weekends, but there just aren't any business open except Scary Chinese. I can assure you that all the people are NOT in Scary Chinese. So begs the question, where are all the people? And so begs my one gene of common sense left, "Let it go."

I don't look around, I don't make eye contact and I most certainly don't ask question of the few random people I'll see in the parking lot driving up in their expensive black SUV's complete with pounding bass music, shiny chrome wheels and heavily tinted windows. I don't need to know. I just want my eggroll.

So, last night I broke the rule and decided I wanted Scary Chinese on a Saturday night. I'm not going to lie to you. I was a little unnerved about going over. Yet, it's an adventure and it was, after all, a Saturday night.

I joined the slow moving line of cars on the street and put my right blinker on. We inched our way in through the back up of vehicles trying to find spaces and I kept my eyes on the lot in front of me. The restaurant is at the far end of the lot and as I was about there, a woman appeared in front of my car. She was waving me into an empty spot. It was clear to me that she was selling something that really wasn't marketed to me. Oh dear.

I pulled into the space, pulled the keys out of the ignition and heard a rap on my window. I looked up expecting to see the woman asking for money and instead there was a little boy holding a box of candy bars. I rolled down the window and he asked if I would like to buy one for a dollar.

Gang, I looked around the parking lot, looked up at what I now know to be his mother, and just took it in. This is what his life looks like. I'm trying to keep my head down to avoid seeing anything that could get me shot later and this little guy's mother has brought him down here, of all places, to peddle chocolate bars.

"Yes," I said. "I'll take one. You pick out your favorite kind and that's what I want." He dug through the box of bars, which all looked alike and pulled out one from the bottom and handed it to me. Then, he took the money and gave it to his mother, who put it in her bra.

-b