When I was about nineteen I took my first road trip alone. On my return I took a wrong turn and wound up lost at about three in the morning in East St. Louis, a place I had heard horror stories about for as long as I can remember. I drove around until my tank was nearly dry, expecting to get carjacked at every stoplight. Finally I had to stop at a 24 hour gas station, with thick bullet-proof glass between me and the clerk, who took one look at the petite, terrified white girl with the nice car and just said "You're lost."
There were a group of men in the shop, all wearing red bandannas and t-shirts. The clerk kept looking at them nervously, more so when they all approached me. The biggest one smiled, and gave me directions back to the interstate. They kept an eye out while I filled my tank and waved to me smiling as I left. I found out later that these were "Bloods," members of one of the larger gangs in the country.
I wouldn't recognize them if I saw them again, but THANK YOU, SCARY GANGSTER GUYS! They got me home safely.
Submitted by Anonymous
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