Miscellaneous Absurdity

I had court last week. Court is amusing in that there are always in excess of three hundred people shoe-horned into a room designed for two hundred, all in a hurry to dispose of or continue their cases. Unfortunately for them court is the slowest process ever designed. The same thing happens every month. They sit for hours on wooden benches before being told their cases are "not reached" and to come back the next month. Sore assed and angry, they leave dissatisfied. I can't help but appreciate the humor.

One of my coworkers, an amorphous blob who has a Myspace page full of pictures from a time when he wasn't morbidly obese, sits several seats down from me. I watch as pit stains creep down his shirt, fascinated by their flow. After four hours they reach his floating rib, an amazing accomplishment.

The next day I go for my morning coffee at Starbucks. An old man is waiting to go inside as I pull up. Get this, he's wearing a checkered button up short sleeve shirt with the top button fastened, plaid shorts that in no way match the shirt, and black shoes. But most disturbing are his sock pants. That's right, sock pants! The guy has bright white socks that actually cover his knees. They look like leggings a dancer might wear, only he's seventy and sporting a Santa beard.

Finally, several hours later, I go to BP for a Monster Energy. Inside I notice a line of about eight people waiting to pay. At the front of the line is a maniac. He has an assortment of items on the counter: Pork Skins, Disposable Razors, Superglue, WD-40, Chewing Gum, Root Beer, Gold Bond Foot Powder, Nasal Spray, etc. A bunch of items that, when viewed together, don't make logical sense. He sees me and immediately says, "Hey officer, do you know Davis?"

"No," I say.

"Really, you don't know Davis?"

"No."

He walks back to where I'm standing and points to my name tag. "Hines, is it? I saw Greg Hines dancing down the boulevard earlier today. Marvelous dancer."

"Don't know him."

"You don't know Greg Hines? Very popular dancer."

"You mean, Gregory Hines, the tap dancer?" I say.

"Yeah, yeah, Gregory Hines. I saw him earlier."

"I think he died several years ago, buddy. So if you saw him, you might want to consider getting some sort of help."

He strolls back up to the front of the line, smiling like a jackass. "What do you think?" He addresses the clerk. "What kind of cigarette do you think I should smoke. I've heard a lot about those Marlboros, but I see people smoking Winstons also. What do you think?"

The Nigerian clerk is not amused. "I don't care. Can you please hurry up?"

"Yeah," a random customer in line exclaims. "Hurry up, I gotta get back to work."

Crazy man reaches down and picks up a combo pack of Grizzly Chewing Tobacco in a cardboard case. Evidently it comes with a Grizzly pocket knife, all for the low price of $7.99. "This is a nice knife. I have a knife that looks like this." He looks back at me. "My knife looks a lot like this. Is that okay? If you pull me over I don't want to get arrested for it."

I don't say anything.

"I'm buying this for you, officer. What was it, Hines? You look intimidating with those sunglasses on. Can I?" He walks toward me. "I just want to get up under those glasses to see what I'm dealing with."

"Get away from me," I say.

"Ha, ha, ha..." He laughs for an unreasonably long period of time. "I get it. You know Davis. Ha. Alright." He turns back to the clerk. "Here you go," he says, handing a credit card to the angry Nigerian. The man swipes the card and it is immediately declined. "Oh, sorry, wrong card," he says, handing the man a second card. It is also declined. The clerk looks like he' s ready to commit murder. Finally the guy pulls out a third card and pays. He walks out waiving at everyone waiting in line. "Hope to see all of you again, soon."

I watch to make sure he doesn't get into a car, as I'm sure he'd crash it in mere seconds. He saunters off on foot toward a local crappy hotel. I pay for my soda and turn to leave. The clerk addresses me. "Hey, I think you forgot this." He holds up the Grizzly Chewing Tobacco combo pack.

"What?" I ask.

"The guy bought this for you. It's yours."

"I don't chew tobacco, sir. And I don't want anything that guy touched. Give it to someone who chews." I leave the store thoroughly confused.