This is a true story. I think. I really can’t be one-hundred
percent sure because I didn’t get much sleep last night. I may have been
dreaming.
At work today I checked out the love child of Ziggy Stardust
and Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Tim Curry’s character) from Rocky Horror Picture Show.
You should’ve seen this guy, boy, was he something. In five and a half years as
a cashier, and 26 years of living in general, I had never seen something like
this in person.
Work was slow so to pass some time I figured I’d go back to
the kitchen to shoot the breeze with a co-worker. With my eyes toward the floor
I passed somebody going the opposite direction. Something caught me as unusual
about this random figure I’d walked by and I turned to look at him. I’m so glad
something told me I should turn around.
Not much about people surprises me so I won’t say that I was
startled by what I saw, but more so bemused or even amused. There was this
tall, slender man of maybe my age or younger with a sort of neon blonde mohawk and
bright green and white and yellowish makeup covering almost the entirety of his
face, like he was one of those rabid sports fans, in a Cirque Du Soleil troupe,
or a member of an effeminate Native American tribal war party.
He had stunning eyes – eyes my co-worker called beautiful –
but they weren’t his own, opting to choose turquoise contacts over whatever
color his naturally were. He clearly had a theme of light pastoral greens going
on and I wondered if that was consistent or changed from day-to-day – maybe with
his moods – maybe those colors are just who he identifies himself as.
His face was covered with piercings – rings and studs
everywhere – too many to count in such a short time and I didn’t feel like
staring at him anyway. He already had enough eyes upon him. His face had looked
like it had gone off to war and came back home with tiny shrapnel scattered
throughout.
He wore these tall black boots like the kind you see someone
like Rob Halford of Judas Priest wear – I’m sure they have a specific name, but
I don’t have the slightest clue what it is. They were stylish, but also
screamed ‘don’t fuck with me.’
He also wore a spiked black dog collar around his neck – but
can you truly call it a dog collar when it’s clearly manufactured for someone
of his type? This collar was the only part of the entire ensemble that I
thought was a little cliché, like he had this image of what it constituted to
be a punk and felt it was a necessary fashion statement.
While I found the dog collar the least interesting aspect of
his look – I bet many would find it quite possibly the weirdest aspect of the
outfit – I found the fact that he was wearing a black corset, much like Tim
Curry in the ‘70s cult classic, the most interesting aspect. I’ve never seen a
man – have I ever seen anybody? – in a corset in real life. It looks quite painful.
He certainly was a sight to see and one you’d truly have to
see to believe. He might not have been all that atypical in the New Yorks, San
Franciscos, Seattles and Portlands of this country, but for central Arkansas –
or Arkansas in general – he certainly stood out. There was no way he would go
unnoticed – was that what he was looking for?
After my eyes and brain had completely taken him in I turned
to one of my co-workers who looked up at me and simultaneously we began to
speak. I didn’t hear what she said. I said, “What the fuck was that?” to her. The
guy bought an item or two and checked out with the other cashier on duty. After
he departed I went over to see what she had to say. That’s when she told me
that she had told him he had beautiful eyes only to find out that they weren’t
his own. She said it was something she needed to say to keep herself from
laughing at him. I’m not sure if he noticed – or if he cares any or anymore –
but many of the customers who weren’t in complete shock over what they had seen
weren’t able to hold their laughter as well. An older gentleman turned to his
cute 18-21 year old granddaughter and said to her, “you better not ever bring a
boy like that home.” She told her grandfather that he needn’t have to worry,
but neither did she. She wore a nice little sun dress and wore cowboy boots –
the combo of which showed off her nice legs, but she didn’t seem like something
an aspiring Spider from Mars would be interested in.
The whole incident didn’t last long – by the time he had
entered the cafeteria to the time he had left was less than a minute – but it
left the whole room dumbfounded, entertained, confused and talking. I didn’t
know if we’d be seeing him again … but I kind of hoped we would.
Thirty minutes or so later he made a return appearance. This
time there was a little bit of a crowd gathered around the cash registers – he chose
my line. I asked him how he was doing. He didn’t answer. He pulled a little
cash out of his corset and handed it to me. I handed him back his change. I
said ‘have a good day.’ Again, he didn’t say anything. He probably thought he
was being judged by everybody in the entire building – he was probably right
about most of them. They probably thought he was weird. I just thought he was
mostly interesting. I desperately wanted to hear him speak though. I wanted to
know what his voice sounded like – I guess that’s a mystery that must remain
unsolved. He left again. Again the room erupted in conversation about this
unique freak.
He would only come back into the cafeteria once more the
entire day to get something out of the vending machines. I didn’t have any more
contact with him. But, I think he’d quickly become one of my all-time favorite
customers.
Work can become tedious, on the weekends it is particularly
slow and monotonous. You see mostly the same people, serve mostly the same
food, and hit mostly the same few buttons on the cash register. So, something
new, something abnormal, something downright strange can become entertaining,
enjoyable, interesting.
This guy was something special in a routine of bland. He
wasn’t a replicant like all the rest. He was original – maybe not everywhere –
but here on a slow Sunday afternoon he sure was. The sight of little old ladies
enjoying their post-church Sunday lunch mouths agape, some slightly frightened
was priceless.
You have to be completely comfortable with yourself and have
a right amount of “I don’t give a shit” rebellion to pull something like this
off any and every day of the year that isn’t Halloween. You’ve got to be tough
to withstand all the lurking and judging eyes, all the snickering and gossiping,
the potential dangers involved if somebody has a serious problem with the way
you look. I don’t know this man. I highly doubt that I’d ever want to know this
man. He very likely may be into some weird ass shit. But, I kind of had to
admire the strength to make this choice, to go through with this look, this
attitude, this identity in a location and culture that doesn’t know exactly
what to think about it all, but what they think about it ain’t good.
It reminded me of a Jimmy Buffett deep cut Truckstop Salvation that nobody has ever heard of. It was modern day long-haired, pot
smoking hippies meets Southern Baptist, stuck-in-their-way of life simpletons. Nobody
had known what truly hit them.
Yeah, I wish you had seen it.
It was beautiful.
