Dorian and I went to Super Duper Burgers in The Castro for lunch.
There are a few tables out front on the sidewalk and it was a nice evening so we took our meal out there. That's when the doped-up dude came along and showed us Mr. Wang.
As he stumbled toward us all I could think was, "No dude, don't talk to us, we're having such a good time and you're just going to fuck it up."
He was about 25 and dirty, with a closely shaved head. He wore a grimy black-leather jacket and pair of loose-fitting jeans, sans any kind of underwear, that found their way down around his ankles as he walked up. He didn't seem to be aware of it at first and smiled like a little kid as he approached and waved at me.
"HI!" he said.
It was disconcerting to have this guy's appendage within about two feet of my wife's cheeseburger. I don't really think that's happened in our twenty-two years of marriage and it's a stretch even for San Francisco. Hell, even for The Castro District. Usually the standard naked guys don't walk up and wave their wangs at people having a meal outside, but as I said, this guy didn't seem to be aware that his pants had fallen down.
He must have seen the expression on my face, which probably looked like I was about to remove his appendage with my knife if he didn't do something about it right quick, so he glanced down and then yanked his jeans up while apologizing. Then he sat opposite us and stared at Dorian.
"Please don't join us," she said. "You weren't invited."
"Oh I'm sorry, I was just waiting for a friend!" His eyes grew big as if he'd just been scolded by his grandmother, then he looked at me and smiled again.
"I'm really, really sorry," he stammered. "But you look like Jesus." Then he turned back to Dorian. "So you must be.. MRS JESUS!"
Then a door opened next to our little sidewalk table and a guy came out. No doubt this was his dealer, because he certainly needed to get MORE of whatever he was on. "There you are!" he said to our guest. "Come on up."
They went through the door and headed upstairs, with Mr. black-leather dude glancing back a couple of times while continuing to smile as he tried to convince his friend that Mr and Mrs Jesus were sitting there eating cheeseburgers right by the front door.
In LA we once had a homeless guy come up and act like a dog. He begged for a bite of my burrito and then lifted his leg and peed on the bush beside me. In San Diego I once had a bum give me change, saying that I looked like I needed it more than him.
At Disney World, Dorian was stalked by an autograph hound who thought she was Shelley Duval, and while in a restaurant in Medford Oregon one evening, someone sent a bottle of wine to our table because they thought she was Alanis Morrisette.
But only in San Francisco have we been flashed and then mistaken for Mr and Mrs Jesus.
There are a few tables out front on the sidewalk and it was a nice evening so we took our meal out there. That's when the doped-up dude came along and showed us Mr. Wang.
As he stumbled toward us all I could think was, "No dude, don't talk to us, we're having such a good time and you're just going to fuck it up."
He was about 25 and dirty, with a closely shaved head. He wore a grimy black-leather jacket and pair of loose-fitting jeans, sans any kind of underwear, that found their way down around his ankles as he walked up. He didn't seem to be aware of it at first and smiled like a little kid as he approached and waved at me.
"HI!" he said.
It was disconcerting to have this guy's appendage within about two feet of my wife's cheeseburger. I don't really think that's happened in our twenty-two years of marriage and it's a stretch even for San Francisco. Hell, even for The Castro District. Usually the standard naked guys don't walk up and wave their wangs at people having a meal outside, but as I said, this guy didn't seem to be aware that his pants had fallen down.
He must have seen the expression on my face, which probably looked like I was about to remove his appendage with my knife if he didn't do something about it right quick, so he glanced down and then yanked his jeans up while apologizing. Then he sat opposite us and stared at Dorian.
"Please don't join us," she said. "You weren't invited."
"Oh I'm sorry, I was just waiting for a friend!" His eyes grew big as if he'd just been scolded by his grandmother, then he looked at me and smiled again.
"I'm really, really sorry," he stammered. "But you look like Jesus." Then he turned back to Dorian. "So you must be.. MRS JESUS!"
Then a door opened next to our little sidewalk table and a guy came out. No doubt this was his dealer, because he certainly needed to get MORE of whatever he was on. "There you are!" he said to our guest. "Come on up."
They went through the door and headed upstairs, with Mr. black-leather dude glancing back a couple of times while continuing to smile as he tried to convince his friend that Mr and Mrs Jesus were sitting there eating cheeseburgers right by the front door.
In LA we once had a homeless guy come up and act like a dog. He begged for a bite of my burrito and then lifted his leg and peed on the bush beside me. In San Diego I once had a bum give me change, saying that I looked like I needed it more than him.
At Disney World, Dorian was stalked by an autograph hound who thought she was Shelley Duval, and while in a restaurant in Medford Oregon one evening, someone sent a bottle of wine to our table because they thought she was Alanis Morrisette.
But only in San Francisco have we been flashed and then mistaken for Mr and Mrs Jesus.
Humor galore at my Amazon store:
~ RHODESTER’S EMPORIUM ~
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~ RHODESTER’S EMPORIUM ~
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