I Only Need a Dollar!!!

Working at a bar on the Lower East Side, I grew accustomed to encountering the new breed of urban street entrepreneur (translation: bum). There was one gent, in particular, that stands out in my memory.

He was generally pretty straight forwarded. "I'm a hungry, bro, can you help me out?", "I need to get lit, my man. Help a brother out?", "I wanna check out the peep show next door. Can you spare a buck?" are prime examples. I never gave him money, but he frequently entertained me with his rap. Or at least what I thought was his rap.

One pleasant fall evening, I had gone outside for a smoke. Two doors down, was a "video store". I list it as such because they sell just enough regular videos to be able to sell adult videos and toys, as well as operate video booths under NY law. For those of you that are unfamiliar with the video booth, it basically works like this...you go into a room w/ a chair, a coin or token operated tv and a box of Kleenex. You feed the coin box and watch a porno for a fixed amount of time or until you're...done. Yes, you're initial reaction is/was correct - ewwwwww.

So I was enjoying the fall weather, when the "honest bum" came bursting out of the store, drawing the attention of myself, other bar patrons that were outside smoking and random passers by.

"Can somebody PLEASE give me a dollar!" cried the obviously frustrated, financially challenged, chicken choker.

"Please, I ONLY need a dollar...I'm almost done!!!"

He turned towards the bar and I realized his hand was inside his sweat pants, apparently attempting to keep his boner going.

"I'll be done in like a minute! I'll come back and tell you all about the movie!!! I ONLY need a DOLLAR!!!"

A random chick gave him a dollar to go away. He sprinted back in to the store to finish his business.

He emerged approximately 3 minutes later, seeming much more relaxed.

"I need a cigarette! Can somebody please help me with a cigarette!!!"

You can't make this shit up.

K-mart, where America shops for...WTF???

On the way to the bar from the cellular store, I noticed an oddity. There was a man, virtually upside down on the sidewalk up against the wall outside K-mart, with a small crowd gathering nearby. As I crossed the street, the gent was being helped to his feet. Once righted, he shook off his assistance and launched into a tirade worthy of authentic frontier gibberish, waving his arms wildly and repeatedly extending his middle fingers towards the building. This closer investigation showed me that the gent was, in fact, a wino.

As I passed, I noticed several men standing just inside the revolving door. As they were all dressed the same, I came to the conclusion they were K-mart employees...or the nerdiest street gang ever. My curiosity piqued, I stopped to enjoy the street theater next to a guy in a suit.

Me: Did he get thrown out?

Suit: Looks that way.

Me: What the hell do you have to do to get bounced from K-mart?

Suit: No idea. I bet he knows, though. (gestures towards the bum)

The crusty hobo continued his rant for several moments. When he ran out of breath, he charged back into the revolving door. The employees grabbed the door and held fast to prevent his re-entry into the store. I pointed out to my new friend, the suit, that their formation resembled the raising of the flag on Iwo Jima.

As the K-martians were determinedly preventing the bum's entry, they were approached by what I assume was a store manager (he was wearing a slightly nicer crappy shirt). He spoke to them quickly. The looked at him like he was as crazy as the would-be invader. Simultaneously, however, they released the door, allowing the door to spin freely. When the now quickly spinning door opened for the bum to enter the store, the manager simply pushed him back into the revolving door (with a noticeable amount of force) and allowed the door to keep spinning until the correct opening was back on the street side. At this point, the employees grabbed the door again, effectively putting the brakes on the demented merry-go-round. The abrupt stop caused the bum to rattle off the panes of the door, then spill back out onto the sidewalk. Brilliance.

After gathering himself, the now twice ejected asshat launched into another tirade for about a minute. He stopped rather suddenly, when he realized something that everyone watching already knew. He was cold. The reason for this apparent chill? His pants had fallen down. To add insult to injury...he was going commando.

Thoroughly defeated, he drew his pants back up, and drifted off into the now considerable crowd. I learned a few things from this slice of New York life.

1) If you fuck up bad enough, the good people of K-mart will put a whole different kind of Blue Light Special on your ass.

2) The manager at the place where America Shops for Value might just be smarter than I ever gave him/her credit for.

3) If you're not gonna wear a belt, never, EVER go commando.

4) If you should be both beltless and commando, at least make sure you're clean. It's just plain embarrassing to have everyone see your junk when it's that kinda dirty. Much worse than getting in an accident with dirty underwear. Go to Starbucks and wash it in the sink if you have to (enjoy your latte tomorrow).

and lastly

5) I seem to be a magnet for half-naked and/0r crazed bums, for some reason...how the hell did that happen?

Self-love on the A train

After moving to the city many years ago, I found myself waiting on a crowded 14th street subway platform waiting for the uptown A train. My destination was Hell's Kitchen, and I was looking for work. I was flipping through the Daily News when the train pulled in. I was still flipping through the paper when I stepped into the subway car. When I looked up, I was confused. Everyone that had entered before me was crammed to the the front of the car, leaving the rear virtually empty...save for one guy.

Sitting in the small seat by the door, was an urban outdoorsman (translation: bum). Ordinarily, I maintain a "live and let live" philosophy. That tenet was sorely test, however, as the crusty gent had made himself comfortable...VERY comfortable. His pants were down to his knees, and he was, to put it delicately, rubbing one out (stroking the bishop, flogging the log, spanking the monkey, choking the chicken, etc). Amazingly, the other occupants of the car were trying hard to pretend not to notice. I, on the other hand, lost my friggin' mind.

"Are you people fucking kidding? " (I started handing parts of the paper out to people to shield themselves from any possible release of bum seed) "Jeez, at least protect yourselves!" No one refused this small offering of protection. In fact, it seemed to both ease their fears and stimulate their disgust at the same time. "Dude, you're a fucking animal!" said one strap hanger. "That's gross, man. Get off the train!!!" said another. A small, elderly woman, apparently of Eastern European descent (complete with babushka) stepped forward and, using the soothing tones of a grandmother offered, "I hope you die, you bastard!!!" before spitting on the floor at his feet.

The guy was now trying diligently to ignore the crowd as we travelled through the underbelly of the city. He had kicked it into overdrive and was pumping his fist like a man possessed, but to no avail. The car was on the verge of riot. Something metallic flew over the crowd and hit the wall by his head. It was quickly followed by coins, keys, pens, batteries and what I believe was a half-eaten slice of cheese pizza. It was like "bat day" at Yankee stadium in the 70's.

This broke the mood of self-gratification as the train rumbled into the station, apparently. When we came to a stop, he stood up and shuffled off onto the platform, shocking the riders waiting there. And no, he didn't even bother to pull his pants up. He merely held the waist band and went off in search of a quieter place...with his junk still dangling. "This city sucks" said the unsatisfied gent, "ya can't get any privacy."

True dat, my friend, you can never find a quiet subway train on which to beat your meat anymore. The city ain't what it used to be...WTF???

epilogue: I didn't realize it til I got off the train at the next stop, but I never got any of my newspaper back from the people on the train. I learned a lesson that day. From now on, I'll save the 50 cents and let the rest of the train get Hep C...bunch of ungrateful ass-clowns.