It's fairly common knowledge around these parts that I hate the homeless. I don't so much mind the homeless so much as beggars who also happen to (purportedly) be homeless. I absolutely despise people pushing on me and when you push on me for a fucking handout you sit squarely in my hatebox. It's not something I've thought about until this very second but I suppose it's entirely possible that there are segments of the homeless population who really feel like they're getting a bad rap due to the seemingly larger population of homeless who are also beggars. Is it possible that we have a situation where a very vocal minority, the beggars, are bringing down a more humble majority, the dignified homeless? You see I don't have any idea how large the non-beggar homeless population is and I doubt it's a demographic statistic readily available which means this could be a riddle for the ages, hmm... I'd call this food for thought but I've already decided long ago to group the homeless and beggars into the "homeless" title, so even though there is certainly a distinction between the two I'm no longer consciously making it on a person by person basis because that would cause me to change my ways and as a victim of habit I'm terrified of change. So I apologize to the dignified, non-beggar homeless out there for I still must hate you.
Last Saturday night I was a touch overserved by one of my friends, Mustang, who works in the service industry at a bar off of Montrose in the Big Funky. Montrose is the "gay area" of Houston and boasts the most outlandish and eccentric gay bars in the Big Funky. As such, while I was not at a gay bar, the area of town is heavily populated with members of the gay community and an overserved strait man should be constantly weary of overserved gay men so as to avoid inappropriate and perhaps embarrassing situations from unfolding. Montrose also swanks a large homeless population, I'm not sure if the homosexual community is considered more giving and that's why the area teams with beggars or if the outlandish stylings of many homosexuals provides the homeless population with a more comfortably feeling of "fitting in" than, say, west-central Big Funky where a more conservative dress is the norm. Either way, with a large homeless population comes the constant danger of shiv in kidney that one should always be on the look-out for.
The bar I was at was very loud inside so when my phone rang I took it outside to better conduct the conversation. It was at this point that I was accosted by a rather pungent homeless man. "Can you spare a quarter?" he slurred. Standard horseshit line. "No," I said, "I don't carry change, I hate it, and I only use credit cards." I went back to my phone conversation, perturbed that this fuck would interrupt my phone dialogue to panhandle. Even the god damned homeless can have some fucking manners. The vagabond was not rebuffed despite my efforts. "Look, I'm sorry to bother you again but could you please just check to see if you've got a dollar you could spare? I'm really trying to scrounge up some money for a beer," he said. Normally I would just walk away from the fucker but I didn't have anywhere to go since the bar was too loud to carry on my conversation and I didn't want to turn my back to this certainly deranged drifter. To placate him I reached in my pocket knowing full well it would hold only my car keys and perhaps my Golden Tee League Play card, unbelievably I felt a bill touch my fingers and when I pulled it out it wasn't a curiously rolled one dollar bill but a crisp 5 spot! When I looked into the bum's eyes and saw the look of disbelief and glee (read: crack addled stupor) in his deranged eyes I realized that the quickest way to get shived at that moment was to put the 5 spot back in my pant pocket. So in an effort to avoid being stabbed by a disease encrusted philips head I handed the 5 dollar bill to the bum.
Calling the hobo shocked would be a massive understatement, giving him that fiver was like passing him the Christ-child. He cuddled it up real close to his chest with tears in his dead, homeless eyes. "Holy shit, man! Thank you so much! Five dollars, man! Nobody ever gives my five dollars!" he exclaimed. Comfortable that I had probably just paid 5 bones for my life I turned back towards the bar and put my cell phone to my ear. I don't recall who I had been speaking with but they had hung up at some point during my tête-à-tête with the beggar. Nonplussed, I headed back into the bar. As I walked through the door I heard the unmistakable grating voice of my latest foe behind me, "Hey man, hold on a second!" I stopped and turned back to face the bum since I knew I was through the threshold of the bar entrance the bum was unable to pass without being form tackled by the bouncer on duty. "Hey man, I wanna give you something! You really helped me out, man, and I got some shit I just lifted that I want to give you!" The whole affair screamed "TRAP" and the look on my face must have expressed just that to the bum. "No man, it's cool, it's just right over there at that bus stop. Just walk over there man, I got loads of shit, I want you to have some." I was incredulous to say the least, but I was also heavily intoxicated having been served beverages of an adult nature for the preceding 8 hours and my judgment was not quite as honed as it would normally be. I would never have followed the bum to the bus stop had he not piqued my interest with his use of the term "lifted" to describe his goods. I have such a soft spot in my cold heart for stolen merchandise that I was willing to risk being stabbed to verify such an opportunity.
I ambled over to the bus stop. The bum was lounging out on the bust stop bench as if it were the couch in his living room. In front of him was a giant duffle bag, zipped up, but certainly filled with something. All around the bum were piles of women's bathing suits. The vagabond looked at me smugly, triumphant in his spoils. It was my turn to be mesmerized, this fucking bum had stolen or procured in some fashion hundreds of dollars in women's bathing suits, all of which I might add were bikinis. I was rather dumbfounded and it apparently showed as evidenced by the bum saying, "go ahead man, don't just stand there dig through this shit, take all you want!" I pawed through the stacks of bikinis, it turned out that while the bum probably had 60 total bikinis there were really only 5 colors of the same style suit with the exception of one bikini bottom with a fish print of some kind on it, lending me to believe the bum probably just grabbed a rack of bikinis from some store and ran like a mother fucker.
At this point a very gay, very Jesus-esque bum wandered over to the bus stop. "What's going on guys?" he questioned with an eccentric lisp. The bikini vendor answered, "man I stole the shit out of this shit and this guy here just gave me five dollars and I told him to come take whatever he wants!" Jesus nodded his head in approval, "that's some great shit you got there." The bikini vendor was unimpressed with the volume of wares I had selected, "man, take more of this shit, man! Take two of everything man!" Then he began shoveling bikini tops at me. I grabbed all I could hold, my arms over flowing with bikinis. Sensing that I was about to leave, Jesus made his pitch, "so, you think I could get a dollar or something, please?" I stared at Jesus. I guess he figured there was blood in the water and he wanted to go in for the kill but I wasn't taking it this time, "sorry boss, I just gave my last skrilla to this guy here." With that I wandered back towards the bar my arms gleefully full of booty (quasi, half-hearted pun intended). I got close to the bar entrance and my cell phone began ringing. Juggling plastic encased bikini tops I tried to answer the phone and instead dropped all my bikinis to the ground around me. Just as I was looking at my phone to see who was calling me and noticed it was James St. James I heard someone cry out, "what the fuck!?" I looked up; James St. James was standing in front of me. "Where the fuck have you been? What the fuck is all that shit?" "Help me pick this shit up!" I responded, "we need to get the fuck out of here." As James St. James and I loaded up my unit with all my recently acquired goods I explained everything that had just gone down. I go outside to answer a phone call and 30 minutes later I'm fives dollars poorer and 8-10 bikinis richer.
Since I wanted James St. James to get a sense for the magnitude of bikinis this bum had stolen we doubled back upon leaving the bar so we could drive next to the bus stop. We pulled up to the light at the bus stop and James St. James rolled down his window exclaiming to me, "Jesus! You weren't kidding!" The bikini vendor looked at us, "hey man, you guys wanna buy some bikinis?" As I looked past James St. James in disbelief James St. James held up one of the bikini tops. The bum cried out, "oh man! You've already bought some! Come on man, get outta here!" and he waved us away in some way fearful that we would draw him any undue attention. I pointed my unit home, laughing with excitement. Fucking homeless, that fucker spent the last 30 minutes with me and not 5 minutes later had forgotten my face! Warming the cackles of my heart that by giving I received well more than in-kind and also vindicating my hatred of their foul race the beggar had made my evening. Despite giving him what he made me believe was the greatest gift he'd ever received he had forgotten my face within seconds of my leaving his presence! Delightful!
So now I've got bikinis strewn across my living room, which is awesome because it really helps lend to the "sexy party" atmosphere I try and promote and allows for great, adventurous story telling to boot. Yay homeless! Boo homeless!
