Never use this pick-up line

*notice: this post contains swear words*

As I’m walking home through the 6th St. tunnel, a young black man about my age enters on his bike. He rides towards me as says “Hey, this is a stick-up. Give me all your money right now so I don’t have to hurt you” (or something to that effect). I stop, and my left hand moves questioningly to my bag as thoughts tumble thought my mind in rapid succession: Shit. Is this really happening? I’ve got like 20 bucks! And I know that the only thing to do is to give it to him. Damn. Well, I will if I have to. Does he really mean it? He’s not threatening me, he’s not even close to me yet. This is weird…
I stand still, my pulse accelerated, waiting for him to get closer, wondering what to do, what he’ll do, with a shocked and befuddled expression on my face. The next words out of his mouth are “Psych! Just kidding.” As he glides past me on his bike he exclaims, “Happy Martin Luther King day!”
Relieved, I laugh weakly and wish him a happy MLK day, too, as I continue walking, then turn toward him around and make some awkward comment about how I’d the stick-up was little absurd because he didn’t have a weapon.
Next thing I know, he dumps his bike on the ground and comes jogging back toward me. “Hey, what’s your name?” I tell him, and he tells me his, although I promptly forget it. We shake hands, he gives me a hug, side kiss included, and he wishes me a happy MLK day again.
I have barely begun walking again when he asks, “Are you a student at Rutgers?”
“Actually, no.”
“Oh. Well, you’re really cute. Can I get your number?”
In my head I’m screaming ack! noooo! why me? I reply, “Sorry man, I don’t think so” and continue walking again.
“Aw, why not? You seem really nice. I’d just like to get to know you, take you out to dinner or something…”
I make my i-hate-to-let-you-down-but-i’m-really-not-sure-about-this-and-i-really-don’t-think-so face and he launches into an explanation about how he’s a student at Rutgers and this and that and how he got in an accident on his bike a few years back (here he rolls up his right pant leg to show me the damage) and how he gets insurance/settlement payments or something because of it, and he’s getting one soon, and how he’s gonna buy a house, and how he’ll be able to take me out and pay for everything and treat me well, etc…
By now we’ve reached the end of the tunnel. I tell him, “Sounds like you’re doing really well, that’s great to hear. But I’m not going to give you my number.”
“Look, I’m a nice guy, I’ve got money, I just want to take you out on a date. Please?”
“No…I’m glad to hear things are going so well for you and I think it’s great, but, no, not today.”
I keep walking. There is a pause. Then, “Is it because I’m black?”
I spin around to face him again. “No! Not at all! It’s just, I’m not looking for that in my life right now, and I’m not at a place in my life where I’m ready for it.”
I look at him apologetically and am relieved when he doesn’t pursue it any further, just gives me another hug and side kiss (I’m glad I’ve got my hat and scarf on, because it was longer than a casual peck and otherwise it would have made me very uncomfortable). We wish each other happy MLK days (again!) and go our separate ways.
Whew! Now that’s one pick-up line I’ve never heard, and never hope to hear again.
And I’m lucky. This is Camden. It could easily have been real.