Welcome to L.A. Moment Part III: The Case of the More Than Slightly Inebriated 14-Year Old Beer Mugger on the Beach.
The scene is Dockweiler Beach on a late Saturday night, which even at the time, didn’t seem like the greatest idea in the world. About a dozen of us new Angelinos drove there following a little birthday surprise for my roommate Scott. We threw some lawn chairs in the car, bought some cheap beer, (and boxed wine inexplicably for Collin), and headed down south about 11 p.m.
For one, the unattractive beach (a stone’s throw from LAX airport which means you have planes buzzing over your head every 30 seconds or so, inevitably killing all extended conversations) was closed at 10 p.m. and we couldn’t find a place to park. Also, as we walked by, we could see drag races in the parking lot and other shady looking activities. John Hooker and I got stared down a couple of times but some hard looking Latino guys in hot rods as we walked by.
But being the naïve white kids from Missouri that were, we threw caution to the wind and built a little fire on the beach and drank and smoked and chatted and saluted all the airplanes. It reminded me of the beach party scene from Karate Kid, minus the 80’s music and confrontation between Johnny and Ralph Macchio. Of course little did I know that a confrontation of sorts would indeed occur.
After about 30 minutes or so, I notice a youngish Hispanic kid in a Lakers shirt (I guessed about 17 or 18) approaching a cuddling couple whose fire was about 20 yards from us. After a short conversation I couldn’t hear, the kid stumbles on to our circle.
“Hey, I want beer, give me beer,” he slurs, obviously he meant “more” beer, because it seems he’d had 2 or 3 or 10 that night. People in our group reacted with giggles, muffled laughs or uncomfortable stares.
Collin who’d pulled out the plastic bladder full of wine of the box and was drinking it like it was a giant bag of Capri-Sun handed it to the kid and said, “Yeah, I got some.” The kid awkwardly grabbed it, and then took a couple steps and looked around. Confusion was plain on his face. He turned back around and said “What is this?” “Wine,” Collin insisted.
“No, I want beer,” the kid responded. “Where’s the beer.”
The only thing you could hear then was the distant roar of a plane engine. We sat quiet, not sure who was going to speak up or who was going to do what.
“Do you wanna get smoked?” said the kid quietly. Another pause and he reaches back to a lump in his backpocket and keeps his hand resting on it. “Do you wanna get smoked?” he repeats menacingly, or at least as menancingly as a wobbling, barely coherent drunk kid can be.
“No man, we’re cool,” Andy replied calmly.
“Then give me the beer.”
I was planning my own move in my head. I half considered tackling the kid, but I couldn’t be 100 percent that wasn’t a gun in his backpocket and not a cellphone. With so many people around, it wasn’t worth the risk. So I just sat tight and rode it out.
“Where’s the beer?” he again asked. And he was directed to a spot between me and Joel where sat a cheap $5.99 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in an Albertson’s bag. Joel reached down and pulled a can out and reached out as if to offer it to him.
“Put in the bag,” he ordered, and Joel quickly did. Suddenly the kid reaches down, takes the entire bag and starts walking away without another word. As he does, some people in our group laugh…which rubs me the wrong way…while it was I guess a funny sight to see him staggering along with a sack in his hand, this kid had just threatened to shoot us if we didn’t give him our beer.
“That’s not right, you don’t just go threatening people like that,” I said as I stood up and began walking alone to the direction where I thought I could find a cop. Or something.
I walked about 30 yards before I realized I had just gotten lucky. A police car was driving down a hill towards the kid and his friend who’d been sort of hovering around the whole time. When the kid saw the police car, he instantly dropped the beer on the ground. Ironically, the police officer thought he was littering, and told the kid to pick the bag up and keep walking.
But a few short seconds later I was able to flag the squad car down and quickly told the officers what had just happened. They sped off and drove up the hill to nap the two kids. It didn’t take long for them to grab and cuff both of them (although apparently they were able to hide the beer beforehand.) We told the police the second guy had nothing to do with it and they let him go.
Meanwhile the cops asked if any of us would testify against the kid in court; he said he’d need two people or it wouldn’t be worth it to try to charge him with robbery. Andy and I volunteered.
Oh, and we were told that our cheap beer thief was only 14 years old. That’s about the end of the story, the cops saw some people on top of the hill, and drove up there to make sure we weren’t going to be jumped…they also told us that old Dockweiler Beach isn’t the smartest place to go because there’s a freeway from South Central that goes right there and lots of gangsters hang out there.
And now we know…and knowing’s half the battle!
The scene is Dockweiler Beach on a late Saturday night, which even at the time, didn’t seem like the greatest idea in the world. About a dozen of us new Angelinos drove there following a little birthday surprise for my roommate Scott. We threw some lawn chairs in the car, bought some cheap beer, (and boxed wine inexplicably for Collin), and headed down south about 11 p.m.
For one, the unattractive beach (a stone’s throw from LAX airport which means you have planes buzzing over your head every 30 seconds or so, inevitably killing all extended conversations) was closed at 10 p.m. and we couldn’t find a place to park. Also, as we walked by, we could see drag races in the parking lot and other shady looking activities. John Hooker and I got stared down a couple of times but some hard looking Latino guys in hot rods as we walked by.
But being the naïve white kids from Missouri that were, we threw caution to the wind and built a little fire on the beach and drank and smoked and chatted and saluted all the airplanes. It reminded me of the beach party scene from Karate Kid, minus the 80’s music and confrontation between Johnny and Ralph Macchio. Of course little did I know that a confrontation of sorts would indeed occur.
After about 30 minutes or so, I notice a youngish Hispanic kid in a Lakers shirt (I guessed about 17 or 18) approaching a cuddling couple whose fire was about 20 yards from us. After a short conversation I couldn’t hear, the kid stumbles on to our circle.
“Hey, I want beer, give me beer,” he slurs, obviously he meant “more” beer, because it seems he’d had 2 or 3 or 10 that night. People in our group reacted with giggles, muffled laughs or uncomfortable stares.
Collin who’d pulled out the plastic bladder full of wine of the box and was drinking it like it was a giant bag of Capri-Sun handed it to the kid and said, “Yeah, I got some.” The kid awkwardly grabbed it, and then took a couple steps and looked around. Confusion was plain on his face. He turned back around and said “What is this?” “Wine,” Collin insisted.
“No, I want beer,” the kid responded. “Where’s the beer.”
The only thing you could hear then was the distant roar of a plane engine. We sat quiet, not sure who was going to speak up or who was going to do what.
“Do you wanna get smoked?” said the kid quietly. Another pause and he reaches back to a lump in his backpocket and keeps his hand resting on it. “Do you wanna get smoked?” he repeats menacingly, or at least as menancingly as a wobbling, barely coherent drunk kid can be.
“No man, we’re cool,” Andy replied calmly.
“Then give me the beer.”
I was planning my own move in my head. I half considered tackling the kid, but I couldn’t be 100 percent that wasn’t a gun in his backpocket and not a cellphone. With so many people around, it wasn’t worth the risk. So I just sat tight and rode it out.
“Where’s the beer?” he again asked. And he was directed to a spot between me and Joel where sat a cheap $5.99 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in an Albertson’s bag. Joel reached down and pulled a can out and reached out as if to offer it to him.
“Put in the bag,” he ordered, and Joel quickly did. Suddenly the kid reaches down, takes the entire bag and starts walking away without another word. As he does, some people in our group laugh…which rubs me the wrong way…while it was I guess a funny sight to see him staggering along with a sack in his hand, this kid had just threatened to shoot us if we didn’t give him our beer.
“That’s not right, you don’t just go threatening people like that,” I said as I stood up and began walking alone to the direction where I thought I could find a cop. Or something.
I walked about 30 yards before I realized I had just gotten lucky. A police car was driving down a hill towards the kid and his friend who’d been sort of hovering around the whole time. When the kid saw the police car, he instantly dropped the beer on the ground. Ironically, the police officer thought he was littering, and told the kid to pick the bag up and keep walking.
But a few short seconds later I was able to flag the squad car down and quickly told the officers what had just happened. They sped off and drove up the hill to nap the two kids. It didn’t take long for them to grab and cuff both of them (although apparently they were able to hide the beer beforehand.) We told the police the second guy had nothing to do with it and they let him go.
Meanwhile the cops asked if any of us would testify against the kid in court; he said he’d need two people or it wouldn’t be worth it to try to charge him with robbery. Andy and I volunteered.
Oh, and we were told that our cheap beer thief was only 14 years old. That’s about the end of the story, the cops saw some people on top of the hill, and drove up there to make sure we weren’t going to be jumped…they also told us that old Dockweiler Beach isn’t the smartest place to go because there’s a freeway from South Central that goes right there and lots of gangsters hang out there.
And now we know…and knowing’s half the battle!
