Heels, Crack, Heroine and EA

Entrepreneurial spirit

If you have been following me you have seen my restackes. One of my restacks included a series of letters my son Rodrick wrote to me. In one of his three-part letters he revealed my hustling in heels inspired his entrepreneurial spirit. He stated this is the reason he always has his book in his trunk; ready for sale. When he added that into his story I was like this boy telling all by bidness. Knowing I have shared my hustle stories many times to friends and acquaintances. But for him to remember this and incorporate it into his life in a legal way astonished me. It also inspired me to write this post and share with you my experiences hustling crack and heroine in heels on Edmondson Avenue.

Some of you might know Edmondson Avenue from the world famous club song sung by Ms. Tony. Ms. Tony was an old school Queen from the 80’s. She was the first and only Baltimore trans to make a club song that was played in the mainstream club media. Ms. Tony asked “how you wanna carry it” and represented “E A E A” on the Mic. EA is an acronym for Edmondson Ave. This is where I hustled that my son remembers. What he does not know is I hustled in Glen Burnie in my independent living era. I graduated from Glen Burnie High School; well attended until my dad was diagnosed with AIDS in my senior year. I dropped out and got my GED to be near him during the day hours when I should or would have needed to be in class. I was a college prep senior taking AP classes that I excelled in. But I could not be in class while my dad was dying of this horrific virus. His mother was too afraid to deal with him in the hospital so I had to do it.

OK, moving on from the violin moment. While I was home I needed to make money. Dad needed Ensure and in the 80’s ensure was like 5$ for one can. That was the one nutritional supplement HIV/AIDS patients could drink to provide them with the nutrients they needed as a meal. I also needed to be able to get to and from Glen Burnie to Baltimore with ease to care for him. Somehow I got close to the drug dealers in Pasadena and the surrounding areas. I saw the guys come to school with their cars, money at lunch time and jewelry. I needed to get some of what they were doing. This guy from the school, let's say his name is Craig, gave me a pack. It had 27, 10$ crack bags in it and I was to give him back 200$. So, I get 70$ for selling your pack and giving you 200$. How much for my own? I can't do that. I took marketing classes in high school. This did not make sense to me and no I can't work for someone and give them most of the money. I used the money the independent living program gave me for my bills and brought my own crack. I bagged it up and got this guy from school to spread the word. I made a killing and it was easy. I had teachers, doctors, lawyers, etc. I sold it to those who wanted to stay low-key with their weekend activities. I drove cars I would never believe I would be behind the wheel of with no license. I took my friends to NY for a weekend just to shop.

I was in foster care/ independent living during this time so my kids came on the weekend- Ashley and Rodrick. I would take them out during the day and sell drugs at night. My customers respected my kids because they had kids of their own. It was a fun time and I had everything I could want and so did my kids. Mind you I was not over 18 years old and I was living the dream while in foster care independent living. So when I got to Edmondson Ave I already was versed into crack selling but the City was different. In the County I sat in customers house while they partied and they came to a room where I was and purchased their drugs. In the city I had to be outside and hustle against guys. This was different. I couldn't hide my hustle from my kids.

Come Edmondson Ave. I used my DSS money to get my own crack. I bagged it up and went outside. I saw the optics I was up against and I wasn't that girl. I was classy, now a chocolate barbie doll. I couldn’t be out here looking all crazy. I had to be cute and maybe I could attract customers with that and my kindness. Plus I took their lil change. I took their shorts and allowed them to give me 8$ so they could get a lighter and rose to smoke their crack. I was kind and cute. Classy but vicious. I got the classy addicts. The nurses again, the construction worker at 5 am, the McDonald’s worker at 2 am. I was there for my customers and had respect for each and everyone of them. I was so popular the police would come to me and say shut it down until my shift is over. They are complaining about you.

I sold crack so well; I was then given packs of heroin. Now that is one drug whose customers I can't deal with. I can’t deal with the dealers either. Dope is like shrimp and lobster in Baltimore and the pressure to get rid of it before it “falls” is too much. ( not potent=falls back then) That arena I learned quickly was not for me. It was too dangerous, police wise and robbery set-up wise. But my crack customers had as much class as they could and I was there for them like it was a full-time job. So, now you know my story of selling drugs while looking, smelling and feeling good in my heels. Oh, yes, I had a bag to match that held my drugs in cute little bags. I was a brand.

This story is not told to glamorize the drug trade in no way. It is told to show how one survives in a concrete jungle using the resources they are given.