Paul the Homeless Writer

This is actually about two people I met on a train after midnight; Paul the Homeless Writer, as he introduced himself, and Michael, a charismatic 52-year-old who looked 35 according to him.  They didn't know one another but both chose me for their travel conversation.

I was on my way home from a temp job, performing data entry from 4pm to midnight -- I'd just quit, but didn't tell them, in hopes they'd keep paying me -- with my notebook out writing a list of daily fears.  I'd just finished jotting down "getting AIDS" when a stranger boards the train, introduces himself as Michael, and continues the conversation without bothering to verify if I'd heard him.  Normally I don't make a habit of talking to strangers, but he'd introduced himself and I was curious about his teeth -- he didn't have any. 

Through our conversation, what I could make out, he fills me in with a series of facts about his life; he's a Gemini, divorced after 11 years and no longer looking for love, loved quoting Tina Turner's "What's Love Got to Do With It?" -- this I'm assuming based on the amount of times he quoted it, had a couple kids, two cars stolen from him, and always wound up getting hired to talk on the phone.  That last part threw me.  Talking on the phone?  I could barely understand him and I was looking at his face.  He was very charismatic, yes, but the only time I could imagine him being articulate was when he assured me how articulate he was.  He even got promoted, a title and everything.  I've never been promoted, me or my teeth.

Here were the other highlights.  I present them in script form...

MICHAEL, THE TOOTHLESS GEMINI: You have any kids?

ME: No.

MTTG: That you know of.

ME: Pardon?

MTTG: You're 28, you've seen the world, right?  You can't say "no" for sure.  Best you can say is, "that you know of."

MTTG: Are you laughing cause of the way I talk?

ME: No.

MTTG: Then what's wrong with you.

MTTG: My friends say I should get on stage and make some money.  I say, "I am on stage.  Every time the sun comes up, I'm on stage."

(Train stops)

This is my stop.

ME: It's been a pleasure talking to you.

MTTG: And I"m not even gonna charge ya.

MTTG: I worked a series of temp jobs until one of them gave me a title and put me on the phones.

After my new favorite-person-in-the-world got off, Paul the Homeless Writer introduced himself and shook my hand.  He was also missing teeth, but not as many, so I didn't like him as much.  I was curious to read the story he wrote, The Great Picnic, in which everyone in the city is invited to a great picnic except one person; that's where he comes in, he informed me.  He didn't have a spare copy and I didn't have the nerve to ask for his e-mail address out of fear he wouldn't have one.

He was nice, but I didn't want to forget everything that had happened on this train ride and wanted to jot down as much of it as I could, so I didn't pay him the attention he deserved.  After a bit, he told me that he needed to come up with enough money to get a room and a shower for the night, assured me he was not asking me for money, then he clarified that the reason he wasn't asking for money was because it was illegal on the train, then mentioned needing a room and a shower for the night.

I gave him the contents of my wallet, all I had on my was two dollars; I wished I had more to give.  Also, I'm glad I only had two dollars, I probably wouldn't have given him more than that, but now I get to say, "I gave him the contents of my wallet."  It makes me sound much more caring than I am.

There are so many fascinating people out there living such fascinating loves.

Stu's Daily Fears:

3. Getting AIDS

2. Someone thinking I said the N-Word when I didn't.

1. Not being invited to the Great Picnic.

Oh, high school, you still don't get it.

I am a 28-year-old child. I do not apologize for this because my mom isn't here and you can't make me. Please keep this in mind, as a justification for my behavior.

My 10-year reunion was last weekend (can you believe it's been 10 years already?????). I'd called my old high-school friends, they all promised they would go - one of them went. After I'd RSVPeeing (haha), my friends inform me that the ticket price is a little high and they'll be missing "this one." I don't know which other reunion they're planning on attending, but if it's the 20th , count me out; I hope to be dead due to a life of excess. If I'm not found at the bottom of a pool by then, I'll be too ashamed to show my face. It was $50/ticket for a meal and a couple drinks, which sounded fair to me. Then again, I usually eat gold, washing the gold down with a chilled glass of miracles. It's not that my friends weren't doing well for themselves. It's just that they can only sell everything they own once and $50 buys a lot of illegal substances. Un-der-standable. Besides, how many times can they be expected to hock their Playstation 1?

I arove? Arrived? Forget it, I'll use a different word. I got there over an hour late, you know us Hollywood types and our need to pre-party. By the time we walked in, every table was filled. They wound up finding a small cocktail table for us and set it up next to the bussing tray. (I never fit in during high school. It was nice of symbolism to remember.)

After dinner, I was approached to see if I could perform some of my "comedy thing." When I'd agreed to this prior, I'd thought my "comedy thing" would be a part of some "series of events." No, no, no. They called me up, stood me in the middle of the dance floor, and let me go at it in front of a room of people that loved nothing more, back in the day, than calling me a word that starts with "F" and ends with the inability to marry. At least the DJ took it upon himself to play sidekick, interrupting my punch lines with samples of songs I'd mentioned in previous jokes. Eventually I had to remind him that I am an artist, just like he is, and I'm very serious about my "comedy thing," so if he could please stop screwing up my jokes, I'd stop hating my life.

We had mock elections afterwards and I came out a winner. I won most likely to (I couldn't hear) AND most likely to (I forgot). I was honored. So, if anyone wants to share the spoils, I've a second matching ice cream dish – unused, like its brother - and a seizure-causing "Rock Star" button which will look wonderful pinned on something I'd never consider purchasing. I may have been a loser back then, but now I am a king!

The rest of the night was spent trying to get out of there as fast as possible.