CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
2000- Designated White Girl Tings
Here is a day in the life of a white girl courier, involved in an EBT fraud scheme, as she runs her route between Fort Greene and Bushwick.
I’d wake up each morning around 10, 11, and do a line or two of the good PanStar shit- Doe may have been gone from my life, but his uncle’s heroin remained a dark comfort.
Then I’d head down to the bodega for a large black coffee, get caffeinated, maybe eat some dry toast.
Then shower, get dressed in my “cute white girl riding ‘round the hood strictly for exercise purposes” costume, load up my backpack with my drop bags, then head out.
It would have been around 1 p.m. by this time. ‘Brón may or may not have checked in with me. And if it were one of the weekdays that Biz was supposed to be in residence, he may or may not have been there.
I’d grab my gorgeous silver Trek and head out. It felt so freeing to blow by all of the grungy city blocks with their random pops of color and beauty. I really loved my corner of Brooklyn.
Each month, I had a set route of stores I needed to hit. There was a little fluctuation around who/what/where/when, but for the most part it was pretty stable, and very straightforward.
My North Face backpack was dark grey with lots of access points and a waist strap to keep it secure as I flew down up and down the avenues along the triangle route between the Stuy, Fort Greene and Bushwick. It held up to a dozen top-zipped nylon camping bags- each of a different color, each stuffed with EBT cards with corresponding PIN numbers and books of old-fashioned food stamps.
The play was that I’d ride over to a store on my route, grab a D&G ginger beer and bring it up to the counter. I would do this at every single store- same drink, same signal that I was the girl with the package. The person manning the register (9 out of 10 it was a man) would flash me his nylon bag. I’d peep the color, reach into my backpack, fish out the corresponding bag and make the exchange. Then I’d be out. I’d do this 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 times until my route was done.
The only real switch up would be when I had to deal with the Hasids. They weren’t working out of bodegas. With them, it would be something like a produce store or a real estate office. But they didn’t need a sign- I was as obvious as a ham sandwich sitting on top of a pile of freshly sliced Swiss cheese. They’d see my trayf ass coming and basically throw the sack of money at me. I hated dealing with them, strictly because of the dirty looks they threw my way. It made me feel disposable.
As soon as my route was done, I’d head back to my house with the money or whatever and wait for my crazysexycruel work boyfriend, Cabrón, to show up.
I could tell that ‘Brón was, against his better judgement, starting to grow fond of me. And well he should have- I never skimmed. I never snooped. I never asked. I never caused a problem. I was always good for a quick round of verbal sparring. And, on the rare occasions he needed to show up somewhere with a presentable looking female that he didn’t actually have to pay attention to, I was also useful in that capacity.
The two of us were starting to find a groove.
