A week after that, I was hanging around at Ben’s house late one Saturday night when Sammy asked to ‘borrow me.’ With a raised eyebrow, Ben asked ‘what for?’ An answer was whispered into Ben’s ear by Sammy and ten minutes later I was plonked in the front of his blacked out BMW and told that if we got pulled over I had to pretend I was his girlfriend and that he had been picking me up from a party.
At the time, I had obviously been drinking, and was still desperate for a distraction, so didn’t really question what was happening or what Sammy had whispered into Ben’s ear to let him agree to me going to work with him. I was just going with the flow, like I had promised myself. I remember being excited as I’d never been to work with him before and wondered what type of people he chauffeured around. To keep me happy, he also let me take a few drinks in the car with me as ‘it was going to be a long night.’
I wondered how far we would be chauffeuring someone. Maybe to the airport, I thought. However, much to my dismay, I spent the next five hours of my life driving around while complete strangers jumped into the back of the car, were driven around the corner or up the street, and got back out again without talking or acknowledging myself or Sammy. I was told, in no uncertain terms, not to turn around and look at the customers and not to talk to anyone at all.
Although I obviously wondered why those people needed to be chauffeured for such short journeys, I didn’t really linger on the thought for too long. I was enjoying driving around the city having a few drinks with someone who I hoped would become a friend. Plus, why would I question it? I had never had a chauffeur before and so had no idea what was or wasn’t the correct etiquette in that situation. After about an hour, Sammy pulled over, reached into the back seat pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He then, without saying a word, reached to the dashboard and pulled out one of the air conditioning vents, exposing lots of the familiar tiny plastic bags filled with white powder. He grabbed a number of those bags and shoved them in the back seat pocket where he had just taken the cash from.
Now it took me to that point to realise what was in fact happening there! We, of course, weren’t actually chauffeuring those people anywhere, and I realised that Sammy was not, in fact, a chauffeur but a drug dealer! I felt very stupid and naïve after what had happened the previous week, but I had never dreamt Sammy was involved with what his friend had been doing. He was far too nice; I had thought to myself. After a few hours, as the customers got a bit more ‘sociable’ and Sammy no doubt began to trust me more, I was allowed to speak to them and in most cases could steal a glance when they were getting in or out of the car. The customers were actually, for the most part, very well dressed individuals, could hold a conversation, and truly seemed like very normal, nice people. I had never really had that much insight in to drugs before, but that was not what I was expecting at all, and I was surprised. Of course, personally, I could never get past the fact that I would have to put it up my nose. Once a small town girl, always a small town girl, but at least Sammy no longer thought I was an undercover police officer!‘Who are you to judge the life I live? I know I’m not perfect and I don’t live to be, but before you start pointing fingers make sure your hands are clean.’ — Bob Marley.