Last Monday, Patrick Kelley and I went to the Tin Can for drinks after work/dinner. We were both wearing dress-clothes, since neither of us had had time to change after getting off of work, and it just so happened that we coordinated rather well.
He had on a blue button-down and khakis, and I was wearing this fantastic new dress I had just purchased -- blue, 50s style, with sailboats.
Upon parking and getting out of the car, we were approached by a homeless man, who promptly asked, "Are you two on a date?"
Seeing as Patrick thinks of me as another dude-friend, and I think of Patrick like a slightly obscene (no offense) brother, we both looked at each other, laughed, and told the guy "no."
Still, the homeless guy wanted to chat...
"Well, even though you're not out together, I'd like to sing you a song. Would you mind if I sing for you?"
"Um...sure?"
He started talking about his lack of vocal ability and how prison really changed his life and how he was thankful that God had been sent down to guide him, and then after his spiel, he started to sing...
And it was actually really good. I'm not saying he's going to win a Grammy or anything, but he sang an R&B style, Gospel-influenced song about how God had turned his life around - how he was no longer addicted to drugs and crime.
It was really interesting, and almost embarrassing to watch, because it was so personal, but I'm glad we stood outside the Tin Can and listened.
What a night.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The Sandwich Man
I was walking back from Keiner Plaza today, after eating a filling lunch in the sun, and I saw an older black man rummaging through the trash. The guy looked filthy and desperate, and was picking half-eaten Bread Co. sandwiches out of the full can. At least 10 people walked by him, ignoring the fact that he was so hungry and poor that he had to eat other people's trash.
And then something happened that really surprised me. A man walked out of Bread Co., approached the homeless guy, and instead of telling him to piss off, he quietly said to the guy, "Are you looking for food? Why don't you come over here with me, and I'll buy you a sandwhich." And he did.
I'm floored. People just aren't this nice anymore. Kudos generous sandwich man.
And then something happened that really surprised me. A man walked out of Bread Co., approached the homeless guy, and instead of telling him to piss off, he quietly said to the guy, "Are you looking for food? Why don't you come over here with me, and I'll buy you a sandwhich." And he did.
I'm floored. People just aren't this nice anymore. Kudos generous sandwich man.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
30% Survival Rate
The Target on Brentwood Blvd. is by far my favorite Target store in the St. Louis area. Don't get me wrong -- the Hampton Village Target is nice, what with its underground parking and Starbucks (bleh), but the Brentwood Target is the prime location for people-watching and weirdo spying. (They've also got an excellent cosmetics section, if I may be so girly.)
Anyway, stories:
30% Survival Rate
I always try to make a list of things I need before I go to an all-purpose box-store, because I have a habit of impulse buying really expensive stuff. (Like the time I went to Wal-Mart (yeah, yeah go ahead and judge me) to buy deodorant and ended up buying a DVD player.) So I'm at Target, with my list in hand....
Face Wash
Q-Tips
Work Socks
Curtain Rods
...and I've carried all my goods to the check-out area. I survey the open lanes...
Lane 2 - Elderly Woman, trying to buy electronics. Obviously confused.
Lane 6 - Pregnant Couple, mid-20s, buying every single thing their kid will ever need from the time they are born until they are 7 years old.
Lane 7 - Middle-aged Man, alone, purchasing cleaning supplies, a pack of gum, and a giant bag of Super Plus Maxi Pads.
Lane 15 - Single female, relatively close to my age, buying a DVD. Great! Then, Blinking...intercom...pricecheck! Shit.
I settle on Lane 7, the middle-aged guy with the pads. Weird, yes, but his order was short, and the cashier seemed efficient.
It is only once I've nestled myself between the conveyor belt and the trashy magazines announcing, "Jamie-Lynn's Having Quads!" that I start to eavesdrop on the Pad Man.
"My wife and I were together for 20 years when she tells me that she doesn't think she loves me anymore. That bitch just wanted to see other people. After 20 goddamn years. I'm tellin' ya (directed to the middle-aged, female cashier), people who remarry after divorce are the stupidest people in the world. It didn't work out once, why would it work out for you the next time?!"
Then the cashier pipes up, "Well, actually, I'm about to be married to my 2nd husband. I met him through a friend, and he's really the love of my life. We've got so much in common, and our goals are the same, and he...blah blah blah."
Out of nowhere, Pad Man blurts out, "Your next marriage only has a 30% chance of working. Good luck with that! My wife was a cheating bitch. I'd never do that again!"
The cashier was clearly a bit shaken. And just as she was about to start her retort, a young woman walks up...
"Dad, you're not talking about mom again, are you???"
"No, honey, why would I ever do that?"
*smirk*
Anyway, stories:
30% Survival Rate
I always try to make a list of things I need before I go to an all-purpose box-store, because I have a habit of impulse buying really expensive stuff. (Like the time I went to Wal-Mart (yeah, yeah go ahead and judge me) to buy deodorant and ended up buying a DVD player.) So I'm at Target, with my list in hand....
Face Wash
Q-Tips
Work Socks
Curtain Rods
...and I've carried all my goods to the check-out area. I survey the open lanes...
Lane 2 - Elderly Woman, trying to buy electronics. Obviously confused.
Lane 6 - Pregnant Couple, mid-20s, buying every single thing their kid will ever need from the time they are born until they are 7 years old.
Lane 7 - Middle-aged Man, alone, purchasing cleaning supplies, a pack of gum, and a giant bag of Super Plus Maxi Pads.
Lane 15 - Single female, relatively close to my age, buying a DVD. Great! Then, Blinking...intercom...pricecheck! Shit.
I settle on Lane 7, the middle-aged guy with the pads. Weird, yes, but his order was short, and the cashier seemed efficient.
It is only once I've nestled myself between the conveyor belt and the trashy magazines announcing, "Jamie-Lynn's Having Quads!" that I start to eavesdrop on the Pad Man.
"My wife and I were together for 20 years when she tells me that she doesn't think she loves me anymore. That bitch just wanted to see other people. After 20 goddamn years. I'm tellin' ya (directed to the middle-aged, female cashier), people who remarry after divorce are the stupidest people in the world. It didn't work out once, why would it work out for you the next time?!"
Then the cashier pipes up, "Well, actually, I'm about to be married to my 2nd husband. I met him through a friend, and he's really the love of my life. We've got so much in common, and our goals are the same, and he...blah blah blah."
Out of nowhere, Pad Man blurts out, "Your next marriage only has a 30% chance of working. Good luck with that! My wife was a cheating bitch. I'd never do that again!"
The cashier was clearly a bit shaken. And just as she was about to start her retort, a young woman walks up...
"Dad, you're not talking about mom again, are you???"
"No, honey, why would I ever do that?"
*smirk*
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Scalpers
I work within 5 blocks of Cardinals Stadium, so when there is a game, the streets surrounding my building are filled with families in red shirts, vendors hawking beer and hotdogs, and my favorite, scalpers.
The other day, I spent about 6 hours at a job site. When I got back to the building, my regular parking lot had already changed it's rates from $2.50/day to $20.00, on account of a game.
I swung around and parked about a block from my building, on a street that usually has a few vacant spots, and walked in to work.
Three hours later, I emerged, rounded the corner, and immediately let out a long line of curses.
"Mother F*$%#! God Dammit! A Ticket?!"
There, under my wiper blade was a green and white envelope. The meter had expired....three minutes earlier.
I look around, fuming, trying to spot the bastard that had the nerve to ticket me when I was less than 5 minutes over time. He/she is nowhere to be seen.
A large black man is walking towards me wearing an over sized FUBU t-shirt and jeans and holding a handful of baseball tickets. He looks sympathetic.
"Did they ticket you for that?!" he says, eyeing the blinking '4' on my meter.
"Yeah, bullsh*t, huh?"
"Man, those guys come out of nowhere! It's like they're hiding in the bushes!"
We both survey the area for possible culprits as I open the ticket.
"$25 f$&%ing dollars!" I shout. The man gives me a look that obviously means he'd knife the guy who had the nerve to write me that ticket.
I sigh and unlock my car. Once I'm in, the man bends down and motions for me to roll down my window. I do, thinking he's going to try to pawn the tickets he's holding.
"You want me to pay for that?" he asks.
"Oh!" I laugh. "No, it's okay."
He frowns. "I thought we were going to be friends."
"Sorry!"
"You married?!" he shouts, over my stereo.
"Yeah," I lie.
"Too bad. You got the prettiest smile I've ever seen."
I'd buy tickets from him any day.
The other day, I spent about 6 hours at a job site. When I got back to the building, my regular parking lot had already changed it's rates from $2.50/day to $20.00, on account of a game.
I swung around and parked about a block from my building, on a street that usually has a few vacant spots, and walked in to work.
Three hours later, I emerged, rounded the corner, and immediately let out a long line of curses.
"Mother F*$%#! God Dammit! A Ticket?!"
There, under my wiper blade was a green and white envelope. The meter had expired....three minutes earlier.
I look around, fuming, trying to spot the bastard that had the nerve to ticket me when I was less than 5 minutes over time. He/she is nowhere to be seen.
A large black man is walking towards me wearing an over sized FUBU t-shirt and jeans and holding a handful of baseball tickets. He looks sympathetic.
"Did they ticket you for that?!" he says, eyeing the blinking '4' on my meter.
"Yeah, bullsh*t, huh?"
"Man, those guys come out of nowhere! It's like they're hiding in the bushes!"
We both survey the area for possible culprits as I open the ticket.
"$25 f$&%ing dollars!" I shout. The man gives me a look that obviously means he'd knife the guy who had the nerve to write me that ticket.
I sigh and unlock my car. Once I'm in, the man bends down and motions for me to roll down my window. I do, thinking he's going to try to pawn the tickets he's holding.
"You want me to pay for that?" he asks.
"Oh!" I laugh. "No, it's okay."
He frowns. "I thought we were going to be friends."
"Sorry!"
"You married?!" he shouts, over my stereo.
"Yeah," I lie.
"Too bad. You got the prettiest smile I've ever seen."
I'd buy tickets from him any day.
Palm-Reader
This is a story from when I still rode the bus...
So it's a Tuesday evening, and I've left work a few minutes early to catch the 11x home. I'm sitting on a bench at the bus-stop right in front of the Adam's Mark Hotel, when I am approached by a middle-aged Asian man, wearing a business suit. Assuming he is a tourist, I ignore him. (I am constantly asked for directions by tourists.)
The man stops in front of me, smiles, and tells me that I have really good energy.
My "weirdo alarm" sounds. I laugh nervously and bury my face in my book, hoping this is the extent of the conversation.
But, it isn't. The man lingers, I try not to make eye contact, and he finally asks if he can sit down next to me. There is another bench, completely unoccupied, right next to the one on which I am sitting; I am wary.
The Asian man sits down and won't stop talking. For about 2 minutes, it is small talk....What do you do? This weather is nice, isn't it? Then, out of nowhere, he asks to read my palm. At this point, I'm knee-deep in the situation, so I accept.
He holds my hand, palm-up, in his, and follows the lines of it with his finger. I nervously look around, hoping the bus will come or someone else will need the bench.
"You have a very long life line," he says. "You have traveled much in your life, and you are well-liked by your peers."
Flatterer.
"But you seem to have trouble in relationships. Trouble opening up...trouble...connecting."
This is true. I am flabbergasted, but pretend not to care.
"But you will find love someday, that is sure. You will be happy." I am expecting him to say that I'll fall for a late-40's, dark-haired man with an accent. I think, "Please don't hit on me...please..." If my hand wasn't in his palm, I would have crossed my fingers. I crane my neck, hoping to see the bus -- and there it is!
I stand up, my hand still in his, and thank him for the very accurate palm-reading.
"Can I get your number?" he asks.
Shit. "My bus is here. I really have to go. Thanks again."
"Oh, no, is okay. I'll get on bus with you."
Oh, no! indeed.
I board the bus, looking a bit frightened, and the Asian man follows. He insists on getting my number, and won't leave me alone until I hand it over. He's even got a pen and a piece of paper handy. 314.303.1343. Close enough that I can pretend he wrote it down wrong, if we ever meet again.
"And an email?" This one I pull out of my ass. The poor girl at meghanrocks84@hotmail.com will be surprised when she finds an email from a fortune teller...maybe it'll just go to spam.
I scribble this down and the man abruptly stands and disembarks.
So it's a Tuesday evening, and I've left work a few minutes early to catch the 11x home. I'm sitting on a bench at the bus-stop right in front of the Adam's Mark Hotel, when I am approached by a middle-aged Asian man, wearing a business suit. Assuming he is a tourist, I ignore him. (I am constantly asked for directions by tourists.)
The man stops in front of me, smiles, and tells me that I have really good energy.
My "weirdo alarm" sounds. I laugh nervously and bury my face in my book, hoping this is the extent of the conversation.
But, it isn't. The man lingers, I try not to make eye contact, and he finally asks if he can sit down next to me. There is another bench, completely unoccupied, right next to the one on which I am sitting; I am wary.
The Asian man sits down and won't stop talking. For about 2 minutes, it is small talk....What do you do? This weather is nice, isn't it? Then, out of nowhere, he asks to read my palm. At this point, I'm knee-deep in the situation, so I accept.
He holds my hand, palm-up, in his, and follows the lines of it with his finger. I nervously look around, hoping the bus will come or someone else will need the bench.
"You have a very long life line," he says. "You have traveled much in your life, and you are well-liked by your peers."
Flatterer.
"But you seem to have trouble in relationships. Trouble opening up...trouble...connecting."
This is true. I am flabbergasted, but pretend not to care.
"But you will find love someday, that is sure. You will be happy." I am expecting him to say that I'll fall for a late-40's, dark-haired man with an accent. I think, "Please don't hit on me...please..." If my hand wasn't in his palm, I would have crossed my fingers. I crane my neck, hoping to see the bus -- and there it is!
I stand up, my hand still in his, and thank him for the very accurate palm-reading.
"Can I get your number?" he asks.
Shit. "My bus is here. I really have to go. Thanks again."
"Oh, no, is okay. I'll get on bus with you."
Oh, no! indeed.
I board the bus, looking a bit frightened, and the Asian man follows. He insists on getting my number, and won't leave me alone until I hand it over. He's even got a pen and a piece of paper handy. 314.303.1343. Close enough that I can pretend he wrote it down wrong, if we ever meet again.
"And an email?" This one I pull out of my ass. The poor girl at meghanrocks84@hotmail.com will be surprised when she finds an email from a fortune teller...maybe it'll just go to spam.
I scribble this down and the man abruptly stands and disembarks.
Bus Hiatus
I've stopped riding the bus. There are many reasons for this (see It's Snot What You Think...), but the biggest are that it's expensive and time consuming. I live 3 miles from my building, and it takes me about 35 minutes to get there on the bus. This time includes waiting for said bus, which is either 5 minutes early or about 15 minutes late. It costs me $3.50/day (with a discount pass) to take that 35 minute journey. There is a parking lot about 3/8 mile from my building that charges $2.50/day to park....and I certainly don't spend $1.00 in gas to get myself ~2.5 miles. So I'm driving.
I know, I know...the environment...blah blah blah. I care about it, but I also care about my free time...free time which adds up and allows me to do better things with my life, like take out the recycling or work in my yard. Plus, on days when it isn't hot as fuck, I bike to work, which is free, takes me only 15 minutes, and doesn't negatively affect the environment at all. Huzzah!
But me announcing the end of my bus affair was not the point of this post...the point of this post was to say that, even though I don't have an immediate connection to the weirdos on public transportation anymore, I still have stories....
Please see next post. :)
I know, I know...the environment...blah blah blah. I care about it, but I also care about my free time...free time which adds up and allows me to do better things with my life, like take out the recycling or work in my yard. Plus, on days when it isn't hot as fuck, I bike to work, which is free, takes me only 15 minutes, and doesn't negatively affect the environment at all. Huzzah!
But me announcing the end of my bus affair was not the point of this post...the point of this post was to say that, even though I don't have an immediate connection to the weirdos on public transportation anymore, I still have stories....
Please see next post. :)
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Master Sperm!
So I get on the bus this morning and Sal is talking to the Bus Ladies about the woman in Texas who hung her children and herself in the tiny closet of their mobile home, because her husband/lover/whomever left her.
Sal: I don't know how you could do such a thing. I've been trying to have kids for years. I'd give my arm for a son.
Bus Lady #1: Maybe you're too old...maybe your stuff doesn't work.
Sal: Yeah, I'm approaching 40. I'm no spring chicken.
Bus Lady #2: You need you some Master Sperm!!
Heh.
The conversation went on from there, but nothing topped a woman shouting "Master Sperm!" across a crowded bus.
Sal: I don't know how you could do such a thing. I've been trying to have kids for years. I'd give my arm for a son.
Bus Lady #1: Maybe you're too old...maybe your stuff doesn't work.
Sal: Yeah, I'm approaching 40. I'm no spring chicken.
Bus Lady #2: You need you some Master Sperm!!
Heh.
The conversation went on from there, but nothing topped a woman shouting "Master Sperm!" across a crowded bus.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
