In 1994, I went to my first Ozzy Osbourne show. I went to Sepultura and Type O Negative, and if I had to deal with granpa-rock, I guess it would be ok. Suprisingly enough, Ozzy is one hell of an entertainer when he's not too high. Needless to say, it was an awesome show. What I didn't realize is that during the concert, the guy who I rode with was in an accident and was rushed to the hospital. I found out while we were in the parking lot from people who I knew who had also attended the concert. The assumption was he was killed. His pregnant fiance was still in the building and I was urged to go find her. And I was promised that they would make sure I got a ride home. By the way, this was 35-40 miles from home. I didn't find her, but I came out to an empty parking lot. So there I was 17, no money, and stranded in the center of a ghetto in another city.
What to do? He was sent to Moses Cone hospital, an 8 mile trek through a ghetto on a Friday night. I had to hoof it. I was thrown out of the venue, the police that were attending were only kind enough to point in the direction of the hospital and tell me to move or get busted for loitering. During my 3 hour death march, I was accosted by a wino who wanted me to "lie down in the bushes with him" for $5. I was chased by a group of guys that were older than me. I think they were just trying to scare me....and it worked. I got side-tracked off the main road and lost in the worst section of Greensboro, NC. And there I was, a 5'9", 155lbs, long-haired, 17 year-old white kid lost in a very bad section of town.
After an hour or so of trying to meander towards down town (and hopefully a road I knew), I found a cabbie who was between fares. He was a very large African man who spoke in a thick, but fluid accent. I asked him for directions to the hospital, which he gladly gave me. He then looked around and asked where my car or bicycle was as it was very dangerous for a young white man to be out in these neighborhoods at night and I then explained everything that had happened to bring me to this point. He told me to get in his cab and he would take me to the hospital, which I uneasily did. He was very kind and told me all about his native country, Gambia. When we arrived at the hospital, I told him if he were willing to wait for me, I'd get my wallet and gladly pay him, he refused any payment and wished me well. I never saw him again, but I wish him only the best. He didn't have to do that, and I didn't ask. Sometimes I wish I could be a good a person as that cabbie.
As for the guy who promised to stay and make sure I was ok.....Shawn. I hope you burn in Hell.
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