The Bum, The Drum, and the Budweiser
Folks from our east coast office were in town for a week. We took our guests on a tour of some watering holes in the Marina. As we rounded the corner a bum comes up and says “Man I just need a quarter and I can get a beer”. They always need just one more quarter. That’s just how it’s worked, this dance between the working stiffs and just the stiffs. Beer is a passion of mine, and seeing the count of change he presented in his hand I had to question his experiences with drinking beer that actually had some flavor. So I popped the question,
“If I give you a quarter, what kind of beer are you gonna get?”
He responds proudly, “The king of beers, a Budweiser”. “Bro that shit’s for people who like to piss but don’t want to get drunk.”
This exchange went on for a few minutes, and he proceeded to tell me how he is a rap star in the city on his way to a gig. Generally the more you talk to homeless people the more you learn they have more holes in their story than O’Farrell Theater has private rooms. So I thought, what have I latched onto here? He’s pretty harmless, lets see if he’s man or mouse. Clearly a lady’s man, a black man no less, and quick on his tongue but not fast enough for my wit.
He proved his sexual predat–er prowess when he was distracted by a group of art student hippy chicks across the street from the bar where I hustled everyone into for safety from him. The openness of the bar’s front area provided no cover, and he quickly realized just as I had already decided he had less than 10 seconds to get to the bar before losing his chance at a cold one. So he keeps saying he’s on his way to the gig, but I was too impatient. We found ourselves in this cuban-something bar with a little stage where the house band’s drummer was prepping his kit. So I told our new friend if he’s a great rapper get that drummer to kick him down a beat. He’s must earn his beer, only friends get them for free. Dee-lite rap star and said drummer negotiate for a few and I can immediately tell this isn’t going to end up in my favor. By that point my eyes floated over to the three cuties sitting fifteen feet from the stage. When my new friend came back to let me know the bad news, we all urged an A Capella session. He resisted at first blaming his upcoming gig and all his energy is saved for that, but when the sweet throw back of A Flock of Seagulls’ “I Ran” flowed from his vocal cords it was all I could do to keep my bearings.
Look, I’m no racist or prejudice person but I have to admit that’s the first black guy I’ve ever met who performed 80’s pop songs. Poorly is no surprise of course, but it was certainly better than my white ass trying to be a beat box for the second verse. Maybe it was the damn good beer I got us.