Friday, April 20, 2007
Four-twenty/the Palmetto State
If your day ran anything like Rac's and mine, you received about four hundred and twenty "This is a virtual blunt - puff, puff, give! Pass it on!" text messages, during the course of your workaday dealings.
But I - I was so fortunate as to step outside of the virtual during my first smoke [cigarette] break of the day.
As I cruise out of the elevator, the sunglasses-sportin' guy next to me sees the full sun of spring outside and begins to exclaim "Sunshine!" repeatedly. He gently takes my arm and escorts me out of the door, across the oncoming traffic of the sidewalk, and into the rays of morning sun. We exchange some odd pleasantries, thank Jehosephat it's Spring etc etc, and I spark my Camel Light.
As we gaze at the traffic - scenic New York - we witness a usual scene: the man parallel parking across the street runs into a parked motorcycle and knocks the shit clean over. As he backs up for clear space, he rams into the stationary sedan behind him. Without bothering to inch off of this new crushed car, this motherfucker parks, gets out and tries to right the bike. He picks it up... but fails to grasp the technology of the kickstand. So when he lets go, it crashes to the ground anew, helmet bouncing across the pavement.
He muses but swiftly loses interest, instead turning his eyes to inspect his own semi-SUV for damage.
An onlooking 60-year-old jumps into assist, and tries his own hand at propping up the battered cycle. As this happens, the sun-marveling man next to me asks, "Do you have a lighter that works?" as he tosses away his now-beaten source of fire. Sure, I says, hand him mine, and return my attention quickly to the trainwreck across the avenue, where the struggle continues and new characters lend a hand with the bike.
Again, my would-be smoker-in-arms turns to me and asks, "Is it me?" as he tries in vain to light his own cigarette.
Yes, I says to him, yes it's you. I take the thing back and light it in one flick of the Bic, holding it up for him, when I realize that ain't no cigarette. It's a one-hitter, making this douchebag my new favorite one-hit wonder. I let out a small giggle and he smiles, says in all honesty, "It's 4-20."
"It is, in fact, 4-20, and apparently all day," says me.
He grins, takes a hit, and then begins to shadow-golf as he asks questions about me and my job.
"Um, do you work upstairs?" I ask, not sure what to make of this flirtatious minor felon.
"I do," says guy, and proceeds to tell me about how his work with casinos "on their advertising." Denies ever having sampled their wares, "never gambled, never watched the dancing girls," so on and on. I make glib reply and he says, "You just had to throw that Southern in on the end of it, didn't you?" With this, he removes his sunglasses and looks me dead in the eyes, smiling, whatever. "Where you from?" he asks, gaze steady.
"South Carolina." What part? Columbia.
Now, the standard response for this is, as we all well know: GO COCKS! So that's what I'm waiting for, be it commisseration or lambast to follow.
Not so.
He pulls in close, our faces about six inches apart, and lowers his voice to say, "I wanna Palmetto State you. All... night... long."
And with that, he squeezes my arm, winks, and says, "I will see you later," and heads off the curb to cross the street.
The cycle is upright, the crowd gone, the semu-SUV parked, and 4-20 started in style. Pipes raised to the rest of y'all - may your day include a puff, puff, give of summa that.
But I - I was so fortunate as to step outside of the virtual during my first smoke [cigarette] break of the day.
As I cruise out of the elevator, the sunglasses-sportin' guy next to me sees the full sun of spring outside and begins to exclaim "Sunshine!" repeatedly. He gently takes my arm and escorts me out of the door, across the oncoming traffic of the sidewalk, and into the rays of morning sun. We exchange some odd pleasantries, thank Jehosephat it's Spring etc etc, and I spark my Camel Light.
As we gaze at the traffic - scenic New York - we witness a usual scene: the man parallel parking across the street runs into a parked motorcycle and knocks the shit clean over. As he backs up for clear space, he rams into the stationary sedan behind him. Without bothering to inch off of this new crushed car, this motherfucker parks, gets out and tries to right the bike. He picks it up... but fails to grasp the technology of the kickstand. So when he lets go, it crashes to the ground anew, helmet bouncing across the pavement.
He muses but swiftly loses interest, instead turning his eyes to inspect his own semi-SUV for damage.
An onlooking 60-year-old jumps into assist, and tries his own hand at propping up the battered cycle. As this happens, the sun-marveling man next to me asks, "Do you have a lighter that works?" as he tosses away his now-beaten source of fire. Sure, I says, hand him mine, and return my attention quickly to the trainwreck across the avenue, where the struggle continues and new characters lend a hand with the bike.
Again, my would-be smoker-in-arms turns to me and asks, "Is it me?" as he tries in vain to light his own cigarette.
Yes, I says to him, yes it's you. I take the thing back and light it in one flick of the Bic, holding it up for him, when I realize that ain't no cigarette. It's a one-hitter, making this douchebag my new favorite one-hit wonder. I let out a small giggle and he smiles, says in all honesty, "It's 4-20."
"It is, in fact, 4-20, and apparently all day," says me.
He grins, takes a hit, and then begins to shadow-golf as he asks questions about me and my job.
"Um, do you work upstairs?" I ask, not sure what to make of this flirtatious minor felon.
"I do," says guy, and proceeds to tell me about how his work with casinos "on their advertising." Denies ever having sampled their wares, "never gambled, never watched the dancing girls," so on and on. I make glib reply and he says, "You just had to throw that Southern in on the end of it, didn't you?" With this, he removes his sunglasses and looks me dead in the eyes, smiling, whatever. "Where you from?" he asks, gaze steady.
"South Carolina." What part? Columbia.
Now, the standard response for this is, as we all well know: GO COCKS! So that's what I'm waiting for, be it commisseration or lambast to follow.
Not so.
He pulls in close, our faces about six inches apart, and lowers his voice to say, "I wanna Palmetto State you. All... night... long."
And with that, he squeezes my arm, winks, and says, "I will see you later," and heads off the curb to cross the street.
The cycle is upright, the crowd gone, the semu-SUV parked, and 4-20 started in style. Pipes raised to the rest of y'all - may your day include a puff, puff, give of summa that.
Labels: Dirrty Dirrty, FalloniusMonk, hilarious shit, NYC, perversion, smoking
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