Stories - give us ya best, most unbelievable story

This might be fiction. Or not. You decide.

So I'm staying at a homeless shelter and feeling rather manic. Almost like suicidal, but not quite; more like just not caring about whether I live or not. And thus prone to risky behavior. Also bored.

Then Isaac (not his real name), a fellow bum, comes up to me at breakfast. I don't like him, but Isaac's had a bad time recently, for which I am partially responsible - but that's a tale for another time. In any case, this full-grown man asks me, another full-grown man, if I wanted to go with him to his grandmother's house.

At this point I enter Sherlock Holmes mode. There are these things called phones, so if he wanted to talk to her, he could just use one. And if he was on good terms with a nearby family member, he wouldn't be staying at a homeless shelter. I thus conclude decisively that he has no intention of visiting his grandmother.

I say "sure." And off we go.

After a bus ride and a walk we eventually arrive at a residence. Inside is a single sofa in front of a TV set and a PlayStation. No other furniture or decoration. On the couch is the African-American equivalent of Marv from Sim City. If you don't get the allusion, just imagine the Marauder and you'll be close enough.

No introductions are made. A series of practiced, wordless body language directs me to sit on the couch, easily within Marv's reach. Isaac proceeds to a hallway, then up some unseen stairs.

Upstairs is a far more talkative fellow. Through the floor I can't make out words, only tone. Isaac is acting a fool, and his conversation partner doesn't appreciate the disrespect. The volume increases as the "Boondocks moment" escalates.

Then an angry scream of a racial slur I can't use here. Then two gunshots. Then Marv pauses his game and faces me, still sitting as I am. He's already between me and the door.

Suddenly, I do not feel as reckless about my life as I did before. I hear footsteps on the stairs, like a countdown to my doom. I want to live, but how? Step. I need to think of something. Step. If only they knew how I don't even like Isaac. Step. It's not like he's my bro or anything. Step. How can I convince them? Step.

I know I'm out of time. Now, or never.

I say, in the most natural tone my bad acting can manage, "hey, you guys got any Doritos?"

There is a silence for a good four seconds. A very long four seconds.

And then the gunman turns and heads to another room. Comes back with a big bag of Cool Ranch. So yes. Yes they do.

So Marv unpauses and goes back to his Gran Tourismo. I sit there, slowly munching away on the Doritos, trying to keep it together. After maybe an hour, and almost the entire bag, I figure more waiting won't help. I thank them for the grub and walk towards the door.

I fully expect to get shot in the back. I don't. I finally find myself outside the house. And I take the bus back to the homeless shelter.

And that, folks, is why I can't stomach Cool Ranch Doritos.

Standing on the side of the road as usual, sticking my hand out and waiting for some good soul to stop. Most of the time, people in "rich" cars don't even notice you, they just speed by as if my presence on the road was somehow tainting them. Not this time. I can not say what car was it, don't remember now, but it was looked expensive and old. So it stops, guy opens the window and asks me where I want to go. After exchanging few words with him I got in. I noticed another guy, same age as the driver (50-60) on passenger side seat. So we talk a bit (in Polish hey ho) and then all of the sudden they switch to Russian. Lucky? for me I understand Russian a bit so I said something in Russian too. They stopped talking immediately. The passenger seat guy instantly looked at me with sort of surprise/annoyance? in his eyes. They didn't answer me, they didn't talk and that guy was still staring at me. I felt horribly uncomfortable, the feeling of "oh fuck what did I get myself into" slowly poured into me. After few mins (seemed like ages to me) the passenger guy slowly turned away and put a small briefcase on his lap. Of fuck what is going on...And then they started talking in German. I didn't understand it at all this time but picture this please. They speak German in this low whispering voice, almost as if were planning something evil and despite me not understanding a word they wanted to keep it low. Don't get me wrong but every word in German sounded to me like a saw cutting of my limbs (if that makes any sense). Now my mental pants were full. So I slowly started to "casually" look around and what did I noticed? The doors were locked. Holy fuck. And then they stopped the car. Driver got out for a smoke and passenger guy just sat there with his hands on briefcase. It looked like they were thinking about something and couldn't decide. The driver got in and asked me if I am ok, like fuck I was but of course managed to squeeze out "yeah". They were silent for the rest of the trip. They stopped at the first occasion in my town and told me to disappear (yes, he used exactly that word). I think I never got out of the car so quickly. To this day, whenever I remember this I shiver a bit. I think I was incredibly lucky on that day, could have ended up much worse.