Pay
phone!
The girl with the fuchsia and black hair looked more than
a little alarmed when he sidled up behind her. She tried not
to stare, finally turning to her boyfriend to make a "what
the fuck, save me!" face to her boyfriend.
He ate his Quizno sub and smirked. He did not save her. He
was too amused to rescue her.
Pedestrians stared. |
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While
the Chaps Man talked to God knows who, I was distracted
by this crazy old guy riding a motorscooter down the sidewalk.
He looked like he was about 80 years old. Imagine a cross
between Santa Claus, Peter Fonda and Jerry Garcia. (Turns
out he's "Ski" Demski, a local rabble-rouser and
patriot who has one of the largest American flags in the
world and a collection of pro-USA tattoos covering his body.)
As I tried to read the stickers on the sides of the bike,
the wily Chaps Man slipped past me. I looked up from Santa
Garcia to see his bare ass disappearing into a diner on
the corner. Cursing, I locked my bike to the metal fence
outside the door and booked into the restaurant.
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| You can only imagine
how surprised I was to go tearing into there and find him
still standing at the hostess stand, creating a furor. Every
employee in the diner had crowded in behind the counter to
watch him. Most of them were snickering as he pulled a blue
flannel robe from his bag and calmly tied it around himself. |
I
tried to inconspicuously slip into a seat at the counter,
but the Chaps Man saw me. As the (reluctant) hostess got ready
to show him to a table, he leaned towards me and said, "Ma'am,
would you like to join me for lunch?"
I gulped, smiled and managed to say, "No, thank you."
Eek! He knew I had been following him!
If he had been a bit more subtle about his entrance, I may
have considered it. As it was, I couldn't figure out why he
hadn't put on his robe outside. He created a huge scene
by standing there in the middle of the dining room with his
ass hanging out and his sasquatch fur everywhere. The customers
positively buzzed with excitement.
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Plus,
I couldn't tell if he was sober or not. I don't mind crazy
people (for the most part) and he would have been an interesting
person to interview, I'm sure. You can't wear an outfit like
that without some good stories to tell. But I didn't want
to get into a lunch date with a whacked-out freak. No offense
intended.
Outside, as I was unlocking my bike, I realized he was sitting
at the table right inside the window. The irony.
As I snapped one last picture, a cop strolled up the sidewalk
and said, "You're taking a picture of your bike?"
"Nah," I replied, "I've been following a guy
around, taking pictures of the crowd reactions." |
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He raised his
eyebrows at me questioningly.
"He's wearing chaps. And very little else. And his
ass cheeks are hanging out. And he's, well, he's very
hairy."
At that he nodded like he knew what I was talking about,
so I think maybe the restaurant had called him. Then I was
glad I wasn't eating lunch with the Chaps Man. Police presence
ruins my appetite.
Besides, I may
have already have been pushing my "Harriet the Spy"
moment." I am 32, after all.
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